Chapter 87 – The Weight of Expectations
The morning air at the Sporting Lisbon Academy felt heavier than usual.
It wasn't the temperature. The sun had barely risen, and a thin mist still hovered over the training grounds, clinging to the grass like a reluctant memory of the night. It was the silence—the kind that existed only in places where competition was ruthless and opportunity scarce.
Jota stood at the edge of Pitch Three, boots planted firmly, eyes scanning the players around him.
This was different.
No chatter.
No laughter.
These boys weren't here to make friends.
They were here to survive.
Each of them wore the same green-and-white training kit, yet somehow, they all carried themselves differently. Confident shoulders. Controlled movements. A quiet certainty that they belonged.
Jota exhaled slowly.
So this is the next level.
