From Reject to Legend

** This is a 4000 word chapter. Basically 2 chapters merged into one, so the match is covered fully. I've tried to capture the match properly. Enjoy!**

The day of the match dawned with a promise of redemption—a chance for Portugal to silence the critics and prove that our fighting spirit could overcome even the harshest setbacks. The match against Germany was a hard lesson, but we were eager to show the world our commitment and will.

I still remember the moment I stepped off the bus into the electrified atmosphere of Arena da Amazônia in Manaus, Brazil. The air was thick with humidity and anticipation.

Portuguese fans, desperate for a win after our heartbreaking loss to Germany, had transformed the stadium into a sea of red and green. It's basically now or never.

Everywhere I looked, banners waved proudly, and chants of "Força Portugal!" echoed off the concrete walls. At the same time, the voices of American supporters reverberated throughout the arena, their confident "USA! USA!" countering our supporters.

In the hours before kickoff, I scrolled through my phone in a moment of solitude . I scrolled through my phone and couldn't help but smirk at the cocky predictions of some American fans.

"Portugal is all hype. The USA is going through. Just watch," one message read.

Another claimed, "They got exposed by Germany, and now it's our turn."

"Adriano is overrated. We will show our team's strength today." Said another one, which made me raise an eyebrow.

I chuckled at their overconfidence, and without overthinking, I posted a simple black screen with the words "RIP" with a skull emoji on my Instagram story.

The post exploded online. Portuguese fans took it as a fierce warning—a sign that we were ready for war—while American supporters mocked it as a premature surrender. They didn't know the diseaster they just brought on their team.

Within minutes, the media caught wind of it, and the internet was ablaze with debates and predictions, adding even more fuel to an already intense pre-match atmosphere. I smiled slightly and closed my phone. I'll have to show why we should be respected and feared.

As kickoff approached, we gathered in the tunnel, our hearts pounding in unison. I could feel the weight of every expectation pressing down on my shoulders.

Our national anthem played, and for a few precious seconds, the world narrowed down to the sound of our voices and the rhythm of our determination.

I caught sight of my parents in the stands, their eyes glistening with pride and hope. Their silent encouragement bolstered my resolve—today was not just another match; it was a battle for pride, redemption, and the very soul of our team. Losing means the end of our Journey.

Then, with the referee's whistle, the match began. Almost immediately, the USA launched an aggressive attack. They pressed high, determined to catch us off guard, and their early efforts were met with an unyielding response from us.

In a display of precision and synergy, two figures—Ronaldo and I, moved in perfect sync. I still recall the moment as if it were etched in slow motion: while the American midfield scrambled to regain composure, Ronaldo and I closed down the ball carrier in a coordinated press that left no time for error.

It was a reminder that while our opponents were confident, we had come prepared to dictate the pace. An early goal will set that tempo nicely for us.

In the opening two minutes, our counterattack erupted like a well-rehearsed dance. I had been tracking the ball and noticed an opportunity when an American pass was intercepted.

With the stadium roaring around me, I stole the ball and bolted down the right flank at a pace that seemed almost superhuman. The German precision I've got from Kroos merged with my own instinct as I weaved past an onrushing defender using Pele's magic .

Meanwhile, Ronaldo, ever the visionary, sprinted down the left flank. The understanding between us had been honed over countless training sessions; it was as if we shared a single mind on the pitch.

Our counterattack reached its climax when I slid a quick, well-measured pass to Bruno Fernandes, who had surged forward , following closely as the perfect third man.

In a heartbeat, Bruno threaded a pass through the disorganized American midfield, finding Ronaldo in space near the penalty area.

With defenders still scrambling and the opposing team struggling to reassemble, Ronaldo side-stepped a desperate challenge, faked a shot to freeze his marker for an instant, and then calmly slotted the ball into the bottom corner of the net.

Gooaallllll!!! Portugal 1-0 USA !

Portugal started the game strongly after the previous defeat, and Cristiano Ronaldo scores his 2nd goal in the tournament! Portugal isn't willing to go back home tonight , they are on a mission to win.

The stadium erupted. For a moment, the entire arena—both Portuguese and American fans—fell into a stunned silence before exploding into cheers. Portugal fans were ecstatic at the early display of dominance. They were delighted by the goal and cheered loudly as Ronaldo and all of us rushed towards the sidelines.

The score was 1-0 in our favor. The noise was deafening. Portuguese supporters were jumping, waving scarves, and chanting Ronaldo's name, their voices carrying across the humid air; even some American fans couldn't help but applaud the sheer brilliance of the play, though their cheers were laced with disbelief. Though most of them were cursing loudly.

Yet, as is the nature of football, our early burst of confidence was met with an immediate response from the USA.

The Americans, determined not to let our opening flourish go unpunished, pressed with renewed vigor. Their aggressive style forced us into a cautious approach, and as the minutes ticked by, the pace of the game shifted.

The USA's pressure was relentless; their midfielders hustled every ball with fierce determination, and soon, the tactical battle turned into a test of endurance and nerve. But we were slowly pressing them back into a corner.

By the 20th minute, our dominance was clear: Portugal was in control, moving the ball with fluid precision. Bruno Fernandes and João Moutinho worked tirelessly in the center, orchestrating the moves, while I, along with Ronaldo, terrorized the flanks. I kept switching back and forth with Nani , making the USA defenders confused.

Our passing was crisp and incisive, each move a calculated step towards dismantling the American defense. The USA, now forced to recalibrate, began to adopt a more cautious approach, looking to counterattack rather than press continuously.

Yet even as they attempted to build momentum, our suffocating press stifled their every attempt.

Then, in the 32nd minute, an opportunity presented itself.

I found myself deep in our half, receiving the ball in a pocket of space just past midfield. I faked a pass to the right, drawing a defender in with me, and then—almost instinctively—I flicked the ball elegantly through his legs as I moved past him .

The move was a thing of beauty: a subtle yet audacious display of close control that left both the defender and the crowd momentarily speechless. I accelerated, weaving through two more defenders whose attempts to catch me were in vain.

As I reached the edge of the box, I spotted Ronaldo making a darting run toward the near post. Without hesitation, I delivered an outside-of-the-foot pass that curled gracefully toward him.

The ball arrived with perfect weight, but the USA goalkeeper, Tim Howard—a giant in his own right—pulled off a world-class save. He tipped the shot over the bar, denying Ronaldo a goal.

For a heartbeat, the stadium groaned in collective disappointment, but then erupted into thunderous applause. Even the neutral fans recognized the artistry of the play, their applause a testament to the beauty of the sport.

Yet, the drama was far from over. Just moments before halftime, the USA seized their chance.

A long, ambitious ball floated over our slightly disorganized defense, and their star forward, Clint Dempsey, timed his run perfectly. In a display of composure under pressure, Dempsey raced onto the ball, one-on-one with Rui Patrício. With a deft touch and a clinical finish, he slotted the ball into the bottom corner, leveling the score at 1-1.

Goooaaalllll! Portugal 1- 1 USA .

It looks like USA isn't willing to give up the fight either! They have flung themselves back into this match. It's still anybody's game folks!

The American fans roared in celebration, their cheers slicing through the tense air, as the first half ended with a flicker of hope for them. Portugal fans cheered to get us back into the game despite the setback.

In the locker room at halftime, the mood was heavy with mixed emotions. The echoes of our early brilliance mingled with the sting of conceding an equalizer.

Ronaldo, ever the leader, stood up and clapped his hands to break the silence. "Stay calm," he urged in a low, measured tone, "we're in control. Keep playing our game, and the goals will come." His words resonated with us, igniting a spark of determination that even the equalizer couldn't extinguish.

I sat quietly, my mind replaying every moment of the first half. My heart was heavy, yet it beat with a new resolve. My parents' voices echoed in my mind, urging me to rise above adversity. I knew that leaving Manaus without three points was not an option.

We were here to fight, to reclaim our dream, and to prove that our early dominance was not a fleeting moment. Guess I have no choice to go all out in the second half.

Coach Santos gathered us around the tactics board. He dissected every play with clinical precision, pointing out areas where our relentless press had stifled the USA and where we had allowed them space to exploit.

"We need to be sharper," he said, his eyes fixed on each of us. "Our control in midfield must be absolute. We must adapt to their counterattacks and build our plays with discipline. I know you all have the talent; now we must show it consistently. Adriano, you can return to your original role and focus more on attacking through the middle."

His words, though measured, carried the weight of expectation. I vowed silently to myself that I would do everything in my power to embody that trust.

With our minds refocused and our hearts burning with renewed purpose, we stepped back onto the pitch for the second half. The atmosphere in Arena da Amazônia was electric, the roar of the crowd even more determined now.

American chants still echoed, but the Portuguese supporters, though still smarting from the equalizer, had not lost their faith. Their voices, a powerful blend of hope and defiance, lifted us up as we resumed play.

Almost immediately, it was clear that our team had found a new rhythm.

USA, still aggressive from the start, began to find their footing in a more balanced manner, but we were in control. I took to the field with a newfound sense of urgency. My movements were more deliberate, my passes sharper.

I deliberately drifted away from the suffocating press, seeking pockets of space where I could orchestrate our play. Meanwhile, Ronaldo dropped deeper to gather the ball and spread the play—his presence a constant reassurance that we were building something together.

The game began to tilt in our favor as we initiated a series of rapid, incisive attacks. Our midfielders moved the ball with the fluidity of a well-oiled machine, and soon the dominance of Portugal was evident.

Every time the USA attempted to mount an attack, our disciplined press disrupted their rhythm. I could see the frustration on the faces of their players as our team relentlessly pressed forward, weaving intricate patterns of passes that left little room for counterplay.

I decided use my passing, dribbling and shooting skills to constantly keep them under pressure. I got past defenders like they didn't exist, threaded passes whenever they let down their guard, not to mention shooting some shots that made Tim Howard break out in cold sweats. My dribbling was on point today, and the USA defenders couldn't stop my movements, making them more aggressive.

The coach made a substitute for Nani with Cancello coming on in the 56 th minute , as he suffered an injury after a tackle that resulted in a yellow card.

Then in the 58th minute, the breakthrough came.

A quick one-two between Bruno Fernandes and João Cancelo on the right flank opened up a dangerous corridor in the American defense.

Cancelo whipped in a cross that was cleared by an American defender, but fate had other plans—the clearance fell perfectly into my path just outside the penalty area.

I took a moment, adjusting my body, and struck the ball first-time with my left foot. The shot was a rocket, curving wickedly away from Tim Howard, who dove desperately in vain. The ball hit the back of the net, and the scoreline swung to 2-1 in our favor.

Goooaaalllllll! Portugal 2-1 USA .

Adriano with a rocket of a shot that finally breaks through Tim Howards defense. The goal was long overdue after the last few minutes , where Adriano has toyed with the USA defense and midfield.

He also scores his 2nd goal of the tournament to prove again why he is being considered as one of the most valuable players in the world currently.

The roar that followed was indescribable. Portuguese fans leaped to their feet, their cheers swelling into a tidal wave of emotion. I remember the deafening chants and the jubilant screams that filled the arena. In those few seconds, the entire stadium seemed to come alive with renewed belief.

I sprinted toward the corner flag, my arms outstretched in a celebratory gesture, before Bruno and Cancello intercepted me and jumped on my back. Ronaldo joined in and pulled me into an exuberant embrace. His laughter, warm and sincere, echoed across the pitch. The bench erupted in celebration, and Coach Santos smiled with relief .

But the match was far from over. As the momentum swung in our favor, Portugal continued to press the attack. Our passes became more daring and our movement more synchronized.

I found myself playing as the lynchpin in the buildup, threading passes through tight spaces, dodging challenges with a blend of agility and composure that had become my trademark. Each time I received the ball, I felt the surge of adrenaline and the weight of the fans' expectations mingling into a powerful drive.

In the 70th minute, an opportunity presented itself that would add another memorable chapter to this epic encounter. Moutinho, with a keen eye for a long-range pass, lofted a ball deep into our half.

I could sense it coming; my instincts took over. I sprinted forward, the ball at my feet as if it were an extension of my own desire to lead. Beasly was quick to react, his shouts urging his teammates to converge. But I was ready.

With a deft feint, I left him in my wake, surging past him with the precision of a well-rehearsed maneuver. The crowd held its breath as I dodged one defender after another, every touch a defiant statement against the earlier adversity.

USA coach Klinsmann shouted at his players, " What are you guys doing! Stop him !" But his shouts couldn't help his players.

The stadium's roar grew louder, each cheer a reminder of the stakes at hand. Omar and Besler converged rapidly, their determination evident as they sought to halt my progress. I slowed my pace for just a heartbeat, feigning vulnerability, before unleashing a burst of speed that left them grasping at air. They could only watch as I ran past them.

Then came the moment of audacity. With the goalkeeper rushing at me , I gathered the ball in my right foot , in one fluid motion, executed a Cruyff turn that seemed to suspend time. The ball stayed glued to my feet as I maneuvered through the narrowing gap.

Tim Howard, ever vigilant, leaped forward in a last-ditch effort to intercept, but his outstretched fingers met only empty space.

In one graceful, defiant move, I chipped the ball delicately over the advancing Goalkeeper , and sent it arcing toward the goal.

The ball curled beautifully, and nestled into the top corner. The stadium erupted in a cacophony of cheers and gasps—a moment of pure magic that sealed the score at 3-1. I jogged slowly to the corner flag as I spread my arms with an indifferent shrug .

Gooaallll! Portugal 3 -1 USA !

There's no stopping them now as they run rampant amidst the USA defense! And It's him again, the 18 year old superstar who is having the time of his life! Nobody can stop Adriano as he breaks though USA like bullying some toddlers ! Portugal fans can rest easy now, they aren't going home. They are on their way to the next round !

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. I remember the expression on my teammates' faces—the shock, the joy, the overwhelming sense of achievement.

My teammates surrounded me with cheers of joy and embrace. Moutinho joked, " After this show , you will definitely win the Golden ball." Bruno laughed and said, " You are literally playing on easy mode Bro!"

Across the pitch, even the USA's Tim Howard, who had fought valiantly to keep us at bay, could only sigh and pick up the ball..

The atmosphere was electric; fans on both sides were caught up in the sheer spectacle of the moment. Portuguese supporters celebrated with unbridled passion—some wept tears of joy, others danced and sang, their voices a powerful anthem of redemption.

As the game wore on from that moment, Portugal's dominance became increasingly evident. Our attacks flowed with renewed confidence, every pass and movement a testament to our collective will.

We pressed high, and though Tim Howard made several world-class saves to keep the scoreline at 3-1, our offensive pressure was unrelenting.

The Americans, reeling from the momentum shift, struggled to regain their composure. Their counterattacks were sporadic and lacked the incisive quality of our plays.

Then came the moment that put the game to bed .

Around 76th minute, After getting the ball in midfield, I saw a gap in the middle and signalled Ronaldo and Cancello to cut in the box. They rushed in immediately as I sent a weighted ball into the box. Cancello reached it and headed towards the goal, but Tim Howard made another great save as he parried the ball .

Sadly, Ronaldo was there, waiting patiently for the ball to drop, and he sent a bullet shot in the right corner without missing. The scoreboard changed to 4-1 as I saw some of the American players just slumped down in the field.

Goooaaalllll! Portugal 4-1 USA.

Cristiano scored his 2nd goal in the match and his 3rd in the tournament. Looks like Coach Santos's gamble paid off as Adriano and Ronaldo are playing in sync perfectly . This is an entirely different Portugal. Now they have the last match to look forward to, as they fight for the next round.

The crowd went wild with celebrations . All of us gathered around and hugged each other, celebrating our almost certain victory. The fans erupted in cheers and applause as they shouted 'Forca Portugal!' .

Throughout the remainder of the match, I found myself involved in a series of attacking moves. At one point, Bruno Fernandes orchestrated a rapid interchange in midfield that saw us slicing through the American lines like a hot knife through butter.

I managed to thread a couple of dangerous passes that almost split the defense wide open, only for Howard to pull off another acrobatic save. It got to such a stage that whenever I would recieve the ball, the whole USA team would get panicked and nervous.

His performances that night were nothing short of heroic—each time the ball threatened to find the back of the net, his reflexes and anticipation denied us at least 3 more goals. Yet, his heroics only fueled our desire to keep pushing forward.

The commentary in the stadium and across television screens was a mix of admiration and disbelief. "What a comeback by Portugal! With such a big win , they have all but secured their place in the next round, unless they lose the next match against Ghana!" Derek Rae exclaimed, his voice barely containing his excitement.

"And look at Tim Howard—he's been an absolute wall today. Every time it seems like the inevitable happens, he's there to pull his team back!" Adrian Healey added, "Adriano's vision tonight is something special. That goal, that run—he's truly shown why he's one of the best creative forces on the pitch."

As the clock ticked into the 85th minute, the physical toll of the match began to show on both sides.

Our players, though fueled by adrenaline and determination, were visibly exhausted. Every sprint, every tackle had taken its toll. I felt the fatigue in my legs, each movement a battle against my own weariness, but the fire within me—ignited by the roar of the crowd and the belief of my teammates—kept me moving.

In a final, orchestrated effort to secure the victory, Coach Santos made a tactical change. Recognizing the need for fresh legs, he substituted me for Carvalho in the 85th minute. The decision was a bittersweet one; I had given everything on the pitch, but I also knew that it was time for a new player to bring even more energy to the game. The stadium stood on their feet as they clapped loudly and gave me a standing ovation.

Even some American fans clapped with a begrudging expression. I smiled clapped slowly at the fans as I walked off the field. Carvalho gave a hug and laughed, " You were amazing man!" as I hugged him back.

With my replacement , the match's dynamics shifted slightly. The USA, sensing a glimmer of opportunity, began to press once again, but the damage had been done.

The American side, now fighting to claw back into the game, launched a series of desperate attacks.

In the 88th minute, with the tension at its peak, my presence was replaced in our narrative by the relentless efforts of Bruno and Ronaldo .

A long-range free-kick from just outside the box found its way into the path of their goal, and Tim Howard, in an almost heroic display again , managed to keep them in the contest with one more spectacular save.

The American fans roared in approval every time he made a save, but ultimately, their efforts were in vain. The final whistle came in the 90th minute, sealing the score at 4-1. A relatively okay score considering it could have been double that!

As I watched the final whistle blow, a wave of relief and exhaustion swept over me. We had done it—we had taken a painful loss from the previous match and transformed it into a statement of dominance. The scoreboard read 4- 1, and the scene in the arena was a collection of emotions and cheers .

Portuguese fans were jubilant, their cheers echoing in every corner of the stadium, while American supporters, though disappointed, had to acknowledge the brilliance of our performance.

The media reaction was swift and unrelenting. Headlines across Portugal celebrated the comeback: "Redemption in Manaus: Portugal's Dominance Shines Through!" newspapers proclaimed.

Sports channels replayed the highlights, analyzing every detail of the match and our tactics . Ronaldo enjoyed some praises after playing well in this world cup after a series of failures in national jersey. Not to mention myself, being the man of the match.

In online forums and social media, fans debated the tactical mastery of Coach Santos, the stunning individual performances, and the audacity of our counterattacks.

Many praised the sheer artistry of my goals and skills —a performance now etched in football lore—while others marveled at the overall cohesiveness of our team on the night.

In the press conferences that followed, I found myself fielding questions about our strategy and our performance.

"What was the turning point for you in this match?" one reporter asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. I answered, "I'd say second half when we decided to go all out. Our fans supported us throughout the game, and we decided to give them a show they could enjoy.

Not to mention my teammates who played their roles perfectly. It was about trust—trust in my teammates, trust in our plan, and the belief that when we play together, magic happens."

Another question focused on Tim Howard's heroic efforts. "Do you think his saves kept the game within reach for the USA?"

I replied thoughtfully, "Absolutely. He was the last line of defense, and every time we threatened to add another goal, his performance reminded us of the fine margins in football. It felt like I was facing Neuer or Buffon. I Respect his efforts and wish him all the best ."

Social media exploded after the match.

"Adriano is a global superstar right alongside Messi and Ronaldo . No debate."

"That second goal was an absolute banger."

"USA was too cocky. Adriano made them pay."

"That 'RIP' post aged like fine wine 💀."

"Bro literally said book a ticket home for the whole team, but not for Portugal 😭😭!"

Back in the locker room, as Adriano scrolled through the reactions, he smirked. He had let his football do the talking.

With one final post, I simply wrote:

"Told you guys ." Which was followed by a series of fans replying with 'RIP 💀' to my post with laughter and memes . Meanwhile, there was a congratulatory message from someone which attracted my attention.

I smiled as I read the message, and then replied, " Sure, why not!"