From Reject to Legend

*** So today's chapter is here on time. I didn't skip the streak 💀 This weekend, I plan to edit some of the earlier chapters, already did some changes .

I've also gotten back to collecting pokemon cards and bought a lot this week , so will be sorting them out as stress relief which means less time for writing . They have gotten super expensive man ! It feels I'll go broke if I continue xD , so I stopped at 300 bucks or so .

Anyway, Here's the good stuff you all want. I tried experimenting with the PoV changes in this chapter.

When I write anything other than match , it seems those are less viewed, but they take same time and effort to write. I bet some of you didn't even notice how I changed a little bit of stuff In the groups.

I hope you guys can embrace the journey rather than just some action and the match stuff. All of the things outside combined make it more fun. That's the true journey of football star.***

After training and preparing for a few days, the final matches of Group G were here. 26th June dawned crisp and clear over Brasília, as fans began their journey to the Estádio Nacional Mané Garrincha . The early morning sky was a pale blue canvas on which anticipation was painted in broad, bold strokes.

As the city stirred awake, thousands of supporters—draped in Portugal's red and green—converged on the stadium, their excited chatter and jubilant cries echoing through the empty streets. Banners, flags, and scarves created a vibrant tapestry of national pride that promised an unforgettable match.

In the secluded warmth of the dressing room, the atmosphere was electric with a mixture of nerves and resolve. Adriano and his teammates gathered around Coach Santos, whose calm yet commanding presence held their attention .

The coach's eyes swept over the young warriors as he outlined the strategy.

"Listen up, everyone," Santos began, his voice resonating with both authority and empathy. "Ghana is a team that thrives on physicality. They know that if we back off, they will use their strength to dominate.

Tonight, we must combine our willpower with finesse. Push them physically when needed, but do not compromise our style. We must show them the strength of Portugal.

And remember—this match isn't just about advancing; it's about proving to ourselves that we have what it takes to go further."

He paused, locking eyes with Adriano. "Adriano, your role in midfield is pivotal. You are the engine of our game. I need you to dictate the tempo and create opportunities, no matter the challenge.

Play with heart, play smart, and if they try to break you down physically, let that fire make you stronger. I know some of you guys might be in pain and get tired sometimes, but we're here to win. Are we clear?"

A chorus of determined voices filled the room. "Yes, Coach!" came the unified reply.

In that moment, a palpable sense of camaraderie and purpose surged through the group. The players clapped each other on the back, exchanged resolute nods, and stepped out of the room as one unified force.

As they strode out onto the pitch, the players were met by a deafening roar. The stands at Mané Garrincha were a living, breathing entity—a sea of red and green, pulsating with rhythm and hope. The national anthems blared over the speakers, and for a brief, transcendent moment, the players and the crowd became a single entity, united by an unyielding belief in victory.

Adriano, absorbing every sight and sound, allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The cheers seemed to wash over him like a tidal wave, filling him with energy and determination. The handshake ceremony, though brief, was charged with respect and mutual recognition of the battle about to unfold.

The whistle blew, and Ghana surged forward immediately with a determination to assert physical dominance.

From the very first moment, it was clear that the match would be a fierce contest of wills. Ghana's players pressed aggressively, their movements deliberate and forceful as they sought to unsettle Portugal's rhythm.

The physicality of the game was evident—shoulders collided, and every duel in midfield was a test of endurance and resolve.

Adriano quickly established himself as the heartbeat of Portugal's midfield. With each calculated pass, he created chances. His movements were fluid, almost poetic, as he navigated the congested center of the pitch.

Yet, the physical nature of Ghana's pressing meant that every touch was a battle, every dribble a defiance of their hard-charging defenders.

"Keep it together, boys! Control the game!" I called out to my teammates, my voice steady despite the intensity of the challenges we were facing .

Even as I dodged a robust tackle from a Ghanaian midfielder, I managed to flick the ball forward with precision, creating a momentary opening in Ghana's defense. My teammates recognized the spark in his play, echoing my passion with encouraging shouts and gestures.

The match unfolded as a delicate interplay between physical dominance and technical brilliance. Ghana's relentless pressing, peppered with several rough challenges, began to take its toll on Portugal's rhythm.

At times, the game resembled a tug-of-war in midfield, with each side vying for control of the ball. Despite the harsh challenges, Portugal maintained their composure, their movements reflecting the disciplined training and strategic foresight instilled by Coach Santos.

As the half progressed, the intensity built steadily. Ghana's physical approach was not without consequence—by the 25th minute, the referees had already brandished three yellow cards, a clear sign that the match was teetering on the edge of uncontrolled aggression.

Yet, Portugal's resolve only seemed to strengthen with every rough encounter.

Then in the 44th minute, In a moment that would come to define the first half, I found myself in a dangerous position near the edge of Ghana's penalty area. With the ball at my feet and a surge of inspiration, I sent a weighted, curling cross into the box.

The ball sailed with precision, as if guided by destiny, and found Eder—a forward known for his clinical finishing. Eder, unfazed by the maelstrom of challenges around him, turned and struck the ball with perfect timing. It sliced through the air and nestled into the back of the net, sending the Portuguese bench into an uproar of elation.

Goooaaallll!!! 1-0 for Portugal!

"Eder scores a brilliant goal to put Portugal ahead in this crucial match. Portugal is one step closer to the next round!"

"That's how we do it!" someone in the crowd shouted, and the stadium exploded with cheers.

The scoreline read 1-0 as the half came to a close, with Ghana's aggressive play evident in the three yellow cards they had accumulated. In that fleeting moment, the match had tipped ever so slightly in Portugal's favor, though both teams remained locked in a tense stalemate.

During the break, the locker room buzzed with a mix of adrenaline and anxiety. Coach Santos gathered the team for a brief huddle, his eyes reflecting both concern and steely determination.

"We've shown them what we're made of," he said softly, "but the second half will test us even more. Remember, every challenge on that pitch is an opportunity—if you're pushed, push back harder. Trust each other, and trust yourselves."

Adriano sat quietly for a moment, massaging his shoulder and mentally replaying the earlier challenges. His resolve was unshaken, even as the physical toll of the match was beginning to show. The team's camaraderie was palpable; every word of encouragement and every shared look reinforced their mutual commitment to the cause.

The second half commenced with a renewed sense of urgency from Ghana. News had spread like wildfire among their ranks that the USA had taken a surprising 1-0 lead over Germany in another match, a development that meant Ghana's fate now hinged on a single victory here.

Fueled by the possibility of advancement, Ghana's players increased their ferocity, their challenges growing ever more intense and their tackles more robust.

It was in the 62nd minute that the match took a dramatic and painful turn.

As Portugal prepared for a corner, Adriano surged into the air inside the box, his eyes fixed on the incoming ball.

In that split second, a Ghanaian defender, intent on disrupting the play, delivered a vicious elbow to Adriano's side of the face as he jumped for a header.

The collision was brutal—a sickening crack resonated through the stadium as Adriano's body twisted in mid-air. The referee, without hesitation, brandished a red card, signaling that the offending player had committed an act of unsportsmanlike conduct that would not be tolerated. Portugal was awarded a penalty.

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. My head spun; my vision blurred as blood began to trickle from a gash on my left side forehead, staining my left eye. Everything looked red .

The roar of the crowd shifted from excitement to anxious murmurs and curses as players and fans alike watched the unfolding drama in disbelief. A loud protest erupted from the gallery as I fell down.

The team physicians sprinted onto the field, their faces etched with concern as they closed in on me. Some of my teammates also rushed to check up on me and the others engaged in heated exchanges with the Ghana players.

"Adriano, can you hear me?" one of them called out as he gently helped ' me to the strecher.

" Yeah, I'm still alive," I groaned as I was seeing a blurry vision.

The medical team examined the injury with swift precision after they carried him off. Meanwhile Ronaldo stepped up to take the penalty kick, but in a surprising turn of events, the penalty was somehow saved by the Ghana goalkeeper, making him kick the ground in frustration. The crowd bristled, seeing how my injury affected the team.

After a tense few minutes that felt like an eternity, one of the doctors stood up, his face grave yet composed. "We need to take you off for a scan ," he declared.

But in a moment that defined the very spirit of the team, Adriano shook his head defiantly. "Not now," he murmured through gritted teeth, his voice low but resolute.

"I'm not leaving—not now. We need to win. I want to stay." I shook off the pain and stood up shakily. My teammates, witnessing this act of stubborn courage, erupted in applause and supportive shouts.

Despite the blood and pain, Adriano forced himself to his feet, ignoring the protestations of the medical staff. The crowd's cheers, now tinged with awe and admiration, lifted his spirit.

" Adriano isn't going anywhere folks. It seems he plans to play despite the injury. His red shirt more red with blood, yet he fights for his nation. What a player! this is why football is more than a game!" Derek Rae exclaimed loudly.

I returned to my position on the pitch, hmy face set in a mask of determination, a silent promise that he would fight for every chance of victory. Yet I could feel my head not clear enough, but I was willing to push through this.

The match resumed its frenetic pace, with Ghana's increased aggression now meeting a bolstered and defiant Portugal.

The physicality of the game had escalated, but Portugal's players, motivated by Adriano's display of grit, found new reserves of energy. Every pass became a statement, every tackle a declaration of intent. Yellow cards came out every few minutes, signifying the brutality of the match.

In the 67th minute, as Ghana roared in an attempt to level the contest, Portugal regained composure and began crafting a new attacking move.

Moutinho, who had been orchestrating the midfield with increasing authority, broke through Ghana's lines with a surging run. With deft skill and an eye for precision, he threaded a ball past two defenders, slicing open a corridor leading toward the penalty area.

The ball landed at the feet of Nani, whose eyes lit up with anticipation. With a quick, decisive movement, Nani sent a perfectly weighted cross into the box—a cross that seemed to float in slow motion against the backdrop of a tense stadium.

Adriano, still reeling from his earlier injury but undeterred, positioned himself perfectly in the box. As the ball descended, time seemed to suspend in the eyes of every onlooker.

With a deft touch, Adriano fooled a Ghanaian defender—his footwork a blur as he shifted the ball away from the oncoming challenge.

In one fluid motion, he delivered a crisp, incisive pass to Bruno Fernandes, whose vision and instinct had already read the game like an open book. Bruno quickly passed the ball to Ronaldo, the final link in a chain of brilliant play.

Ronaldo, whose reputation for turning fleeting chances into unforgettable moments was well established, approached the ball with a steely focus.

Without hesitating, he took a first-time shot—striking the ball with an explosive power that sent it rocketing past the flailing arms of the Ghanaian keeper. The net bulged as the ball hit home, and the stadium erupted in a deafening roar of elation.

Goooaaalllll! 2-0 for Portugal!!

" Ronaldo doesn't miss this time as he buries the ball in the net after a quick counter attack. Portugal is safe now, they can start planning for the next round in peace."

"2-0!" the score flashed on the big screen as the Portuguese fans went wild. The sheer joy of the moment was infectious—cheers, chants, and waves of red and green cascaded across the stands.

The emotions of the crowd were mirrored on the faces of the players, who now wore expressions of relief and triumph. The goal was not just a numerical lead; it was a reaffirmation of their resilience and collective spirit and rekindling the hope of the nation.

With the score now comfortably in Portugal's favor, Coach Santos made a tactical decision. Recognizing that Adriano's injury was taking its toll, he signaled for a substitution.

"Carvalho, come in," he ordered in a firm yet respectful tone. Adriano, his body battered but his spirit unyielding, was led off the pitch to a thunderous ovation from the crowd. As he walked off, teammates patted him on the back, and the stadium chanted his name, a tribute to his heroism and stubborn resolve.

"Take care, kid," Santos murmured with a hint of admonition as he pulled Adriano aside. "I know your heart is in this, but don't risk your future for one match. Get checked out as soon as we're done here."

Adriano nodded silently, the pride and pain mingling in his eyes as he watched Carvalho join the fray.

The remainder of the match became a grim affair for Ghana. The red card had sapped their energy and disrupted their momentum.

With one player down and their pressing reduced to half its former ferocity, Ghana's efforts to claw back into the game faltered.

The final 15 minutes were marked by a cautious, almost resigned style of play from Ghana, while Portugal settled into a disciplined defensive posture. Every tackle, every clearance was met with a sigh of relief from the Portuguese bench and a wave of approval from the jubilant crowd.

When the final whistle blew, the noise in the stadium was overwhelming—a cacophony of celebration that reverberated far beyond the pitch. Portugal had secured a hard-fought 2-0 victory, ensuring their passage to the next round.

The celebrations spilled over from the field to the stands, with fans dancing, hugging, and chanting in pure, unadulterated joy. Social media exploded with congratulatory messages, and the news channels were quick to hail the match as a testament to Portugal's unbreakable spirit.

The news from another part of the tournament had just come in: Germany had won 2-1 against the USA, and with that result, they had emerged as Group G champions with a total of 7 points.

The prospect of a knockout clash with Belgium loomed large for Portugal, adding yet another layer of excitement and anticipation to the already euphoric atmosphere.

As the celebrations began to subside, the focus quickly shifted to the aftermath of the game. Amid the festivities, Adriano was taken aside by the team's medical staff.

In a quiet, tense atmosphere in the medical room , the doctors administered a thorough scan of his head. The doctor was surprised by his sturdy skeleton despite his lean physique.

The results were a mixture of relief and caution—they confirmed that while the injury was serious enough to warrant a few days of rest and a couple stitches , it was not too threatening. Adriano's fiery determination and fitness had carried him through the ordeal, but even he would need time to heal fully.

Later, in the privacy of the team's recovery room at the hotel, I reached for my phone and dialed a number that I know is really concerned about me, judging by the number of missed calls.

When my parents answered, their voices were laced with worry and relief. "Adri, are you alright? We've been so worried," his mother's voice trembled with emotion.

I took a deep breath, forcing a calm he did not entirely feel. "Mom, it's nothing serious. I'll be fine—I just need to rest a few days rest . Coach said I'll be ready for the next match against Belgium, although I might not start." he reassured her, a smile of determination breaking through the pain.

His mother's voice softened, "Promise me you'll take care of yourself, sweetheart. We can't have you risking too much for one game."

I chuckled lightly, despite the lingering ache in his forehead. "I promise, Mom. I'll be careful. But tonight, we celebrate a victory that means so much for all of us."

Dad added from the side, " Don't try to act cool next time. You are our only son, and even if you don't do anything in life , all we want is for you to be happy and healthy."

I nodded with a smile, " I'll remember dad. But no promises."

After the call, Adriano returned to the hotel where his teammates had gathered to continue the celebrations. The corridor was filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the warm camaraderie of a team that had just overcome tremendous odds.

In the midst of the revelry, Coach Santos took a moment to speak to the group. "Today, we witnessed the power of determination and sacrifice. Adriano's bravery on that pitch is something we will remember for years. But let it also be a lesson—we must balance passion with care. Rest now, and come back stronger."

That evening, as the city's skyline glittered under the night sky, the celebrations continued into the early hours. In one of the hotel's modest banquet halls, the team gathered around a long table.

Stories of the match were recounted with animated gestures and bursts of laughter. Ronaldo, who had played a crucial role in the second goal, raised his glass in a toast.

"To our team, our spirit, and to every challenge that made us stronger tonight!" The cheers were thunderous, and even those who had not taken the field that day felt a deep sense of inclusion in the collective victory.

Amid the jubilant chatter, conversations grew more personal. Bruno laughed and said , "I've never seen a match where every minute felt like a battle for survival. Today, I learned that playing for something bigger than ourselves is what really matters."

The sentiment was echoed around the room, each story weaving into the fabric of the team's legacy.

For Adriano, the night was a mixture of quiet reflection and shared elation. Sitting in a corner, his head still lightly bandaged, he watched his teammates celebrate.

Every cheer, every pat on the back, was a reminder that while the match had been grueling, it was also a stepping stone toward greater dreams. He knew that the upcoming clash with Belgium would demand even more of them—but tonight, in this moment of triumph, they had proven that no obstacle was insurmountable.