World football system

The London skies were mellow this morning—no blazing sun, no drizzle, just a calm, cloud-brushed expanse that gently greeted the waking world. The house was quieter than usual for the Oliveira family, a rare kind of peace that settled in after a storm of baby giggles, late-night feedings, and diaper runs.

Tobi lay still for a moment, soaking in the warmth of the bed and the sound of soft breathing beside him. Emilia's face was turned slightly toward him, her hand resting protectively over the swell of the blanket where their daughter, Luna, had fallen asleep between them in the early morning hours. Tobi smiled.

"Three hours of uninterrupted sleep," he whispered under his breath. "We're moving up in the world."

Luna stirred, her little arm twitching in response to the shift in his voice. Tobi gently reached over and smoothed back a tuft of her soft, curly hair. She looked so much like Emilia—those delicate eyebrows, that tiny button nose. But her eyes, when open, were all him.

As if on cue, the baby monitor on the nightstand crackled to life.

"Waaah!"

Tobi groaned and laughed at the same time. "Liam," he guessed.

Emilia stirred beside him, not quite awake. "Your turn," she murmured.

"Yeah, yeah."

Tobi slipped out of bed, stretching briefly before moving across the hallway into the nursery. Sure enough, Liam was the culprit—fists balled, cheeks red, ready to lead a rebellion if he didn't get milk in under two minutes.

"Aye aye, little man," Tobi muttered, picking him up and cradling him with practiced ease. "Let's not wake the others."

Liam's cries quieted slightly as Tobi walked him over to the rocking chair. He sat, bottle in hand, and began feeding his son, the moment so surreal it made him pause mid-rock.

He was 20 years old. He had four kids. He was one of the best footballers in the world. And this—this quiet, sleepy-eyed bonding at dawn—felt more important than any trophy.

⚽️⚽️⚽️

Later that day, Tobi pulled into the Arsenal training grounds with dark circles under his eyes and a coffee cup he hadn't let go of since leaving the driveway. But he was there—ready for preseason.

The boys noticed.

"Oi, Captain Daddy's in the house!" Bukayo Saka called out, grinning as he tossed Tobi a training bib.

"Sleep much, T?" Declan Rice laughed.

Tobi shook his head. "What's sleep?"

The banter was light, familiar, and comforting. It was clear that the squad had grown close over the past two seasons. And now, after four major trophies, the hunger hadn't faded—it had only evolved.

Mikel Arteta walked out from the tunnel, clipboard in hand, giving them all a sharp nod.

" he said, voice cutting through the summer air. "We've set the bar high. And the world is watching. But our goal isn't just to defend titles—it's to grow, evolve, and make this club even greater."

All eyes turned to Tobi.

He didn't need to say a word.

He simply lifted his chin and stepped forward, already jogging onto the pitch.

Actions spoke louder than speeches.

🏟️ Later that evening

Home again.

The babies were napping. Emilia had taken a rare nap herself, exhausted from the week. Tobi stood in the kitchen, meal-prepping like a low-budget Gordon Ramsay, wearing an apron that said "DAD MODE: ACTIVATED."

Ava and Luna had started eating solid food, which meant he was now an expert in steaming carrots and mashing bananas. It also meant that their walls were covered in food splashes and his shirts often smelled like pureed peas.

He didn't care.

He looked up at the baby cam display on the fridge—four little icons, all showing sleeping babies.

A soft laugh escaped his lips.

This… this was what people didn't see when they watched him score screamers from thirty yards out or deliver last-minute assists. This was the other half of his legend—the private half, the part that made everything else feel meaningful.

He cleaned up the mess, checked on Emilia, then sat on the living room couch and opened his phone.

There were over 200 unread texts. Most of them from agents, clubs, sponsors.

But one message caught his eye—it was from Cristiano Ronaldo.

Ronaldo: You're doing amazing, kid. You've already surpassed so many. Now raise your kids like you lead your team—by example.

Tobi stared at it for a long time.

He typed slowly.

Tobi: Thank you. That means more than you know.

The journey wasn't slowing down. If anything, it was about to accelerate again—with life, love, football, and everything in between.

But for now, for this quiet moment, Tobi Oliveira let himself feel content.

And that… was rare.

The early morning haze hadn't even lifted from the London skyline when Tobi Oliveira was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, quietly slipping on his socks. The gentle breathing of his children — Ava, Luna, Liam, and Thiago — filled the baby monitors by the nightstand, a constant background hum to his new reality. The house wasn't quiet anymore, and Tobi didn't mind. In fact, the chaos of fatherhood had become his grounding force.

He glanced over at Emilia, who stirred slightly under the covers, her dark curls fanned over the pillow like a halo. She murmured something in her sleep, and instinctively, Tobi reached out, gently brushing her shoulder. She didn't wake, just shifted deeper into the mattress.

A few months ago, he'd stood on the Champions League podium with confetti raining down, the crowd chanting his name. Now, his mornings began with diaper changes and warming up formula.

And he loved it.

He moved silently through the nursery. Ava was the first to stretch, tiny fists punching the air as she let out a mewling cry that stirred her siblings one after another like dominoes. Soon, the room was alive with soft baby noises.

"Alright, alright," Tobi whispered, grinning as he lifted Ava into his arms. "Your captain is on duty."

It was in moments like this that he realized how different his life had become. Fame, fortune, and trophies used to be the goals. Now? Getting four babies changed and fed before Emilia woke up felt like winning the Ballon d'Or.

After thirty minutes of focused care, teamwork with Emilia (who finally joined him groggily but with a smile), and two burped babies, Tobi managed to sneak in a few minutes of coffee on the kitchen balcony.

His phone buzzed.

Arteta: Preseason starts next week. Light fitness check Friday. You good?

Tobi stared at the message for a moment. The competitive fire inside him — the one that had never gone out — sparked again.

He replied: More than good. I'm ready.

---

Later That Day – Training Ground Visit

Tobi arrived at Arsenal's London Colney training facility that afternoon, this time not as the kid with a point to prove, but as a man with legacy on his shoulders — and diapers in his backpack. A few of the younger players watched him in awe. He was no longer just the wonderkid; he was the team's talisman, their double-winning superstar, and now... the dad of four.

"Captain Daddy!" Martin Ødegaard joked, greeting him with a warm clap on the back.

"Captain Babysitter, you mean," Tobi chuckled.

He joined the staff in the gym for a light fitness check: blood pressure, muscle density, flexibility, and a 3K treadmill run. Nothing heavy. But it was enough to remind his legs that another long season was coming.

Arteta pulled him aside afterward.

"You've come a long way, Tobi."

Tobi nodded. "And I still feel like I'm just getting started."

"You'll need to find balance this year," Arteta said. "Your children... the pressure... expectations. We'll manage your minutes early on, keep you fresh."

"I trust you," Tobi replied.

---

Evening at Home – Emilia's Journal

Back home, Emilia sat near the window scribbling in her leather-bound journal. The babies were asleep. Tobi sat cross-legged on the floor, slowly folding baby clothes.

"What are you writing?" he asked.

"Just something about today. I like keeping notes. Helps me stay grounded."

"Anything about me?" he teased.

She looked at him, warm and teasing. "Always."

He crawled over and rested his head in her lap. "Can I read it one day?"

"When you're old and gray, maybe."

"Deal."

---

The Next Morning – Surprise News

Just as Tobi was feeding Thiago, his phone buzzed again. This time it wasn't from Arsenal. It was from his mother — a video of Emily, now almost a teenager, performing in a local football showcase back in Portugal. She was dazzling on the wing, just like her brother in his youth.

Under the video, her message read:

"She's ready for Valencia U17. They're watching her. Again."

Tobi's eyes widened. "Wow…"

He knew this journey wasn't just about him anymore. It was about Emily. About his children. About the legacy he was building for them.

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