Chapter 7 — Roots of a King, Heart of a Boy
Julian stepped out of Galeão International Airport and the warm Rio air hit him like a memory. The sky was painted in gold and pink, and the distant silhouette of Christ the Redeemer stood high over the city — watching, judging, welcoming. Taxis moved in chaotic lines, music blasted from open windows, and the scent of sea breeze mixed with street food.
He pulled down his hood. A star returning home. Yet his chest tightened.
*Two years gone… and what did he leave behind?*
The System materialized beside him — invisible to everyone else.
[Observation: User emotional state is unstable.]
[Recommendation: Hug mother immediately.]
Julian rolled his eyes with a smile. "Shut up."
[System: Logging emotional growth milestone.]
He walked through arrivals — and then a voice broke through everything.
"*MEU BEBÊ!*"
Lilliana slammed into him with a hug so strong it nearly cracked his ribs. His father Vítor arrived moments later, adjusting his glasses and offering that familiar proud, tired smile of a man who worked miracles in a hospital every day.
"You've grown taller," Vítor laughed, patting his shoulders. "But not wiser, I fear."
Julian wiped a tear with a thumb. "I missed you both."
Home. Finally home.
The drive into Flamengo district was filled with rapid-fire questions from his mother and cheeky remarks from the System.
[System: Mother's question rate = 47 per minute.]
Julian ignored it all just to stare out the window — passed the shoreline where he once juggled a ball barefoot on cracked sidewalks, passed the Lapa Arches where street players defied gravity, and finally to the court squeezed between towering apartment blocks where he *became* Julian.
The court was newly painted, yet the graffiti remained: "Reis são feitos aqui." Kings are made here. He smiled without meaning to.
Then a voice — loud, explosive, unmistakable:
"Look who finally remembered his address!"
Renato "R7zinho" leapt the fence to tackle him in a hug. "Careful!" Julian laughed. "I'm Europe's most valuable child, remember?"
"Pshhh," Renato spat. "You still owe me a Coke."
Others spilled onto the court: Thiago "Tigrinho" cracking his knuckles like a bouncer, Juliana and Alexandro Costa arguing mid-sprint, Ruben Oliveira adjusting imaginary glasses and analyzing Julian's haircut, Fernando Luís Iglesias waving awkwardly in designer clothes unsuited for heat, and Maria Clara — with a slow, unimpressed stare.
"You forgot us," she said simply.
Julian's grin faltered. "I never—"
"You left," she corrected. "Never called. Never messaged."
He opened his mouth… but no words came.
[System: DEFENSIVE ERROR. Suggest: Apologize.]
He sighed. "You're right. I messed up. I'm sorry. I… I needed to see you again."
Maria Clara's expression softened. Just a little.
Renato clapped loudly. "SENTIMENTALITY IS OVER. WE PLAY NOW."
Cheers erupted.
Rio demanded magic.
The futsal ball rolled out — rough and scuffed from too many late-night battles.
"Teams?" Alexandro shouted.
Ruben stepped in. "Julian goes with us. But we handicap him."
"What?" Julian laughed.
"Only your right foot," Ruben declared.
"That's the DRIBBLE FOOT!" Thiago groaned.
Ruben smirked. "Exactly."
Julian cracked his neck. "Alright. Let's see what Europe has made soft."
[Training Center Perk Active: Street Style Compatibility +45%]
[Skill Activation: Hiper Drible Infinito]
From the very first touch — chaos. A defender lunged. Wrong step. Wrong angle. Wrong universe. Julian weaved through without the ball seeming to touch the ground — like he bent the rules of friction itself. His foot flicked the ball behind his heel — *panna*. The crowd that had gathered screamed.
Renato dropped his jaw. "He… learned witchcraft in Amsterdam."
Thiago tackled aggressively — Brazilian style. Julian popped the ball over his leg with a rainbow and bounced it off Thiago's head — on purpose. "HEY!!" Thiago roared as everyone cackled.
[System: Skill: Castèllano's Controlled Drive Shot available.]
[Effect: Net cries.]
Julian toe-poked — *BOOM* — top corner, chain net slamming loudly.
Renato whistled. "Man just pistol-whipped the goal."
Next, the twins double-teamed him. He flicked the ball up — spinning — cracked a volley backward between them without looking. Gol.
Shouts of disbelief echoed between buildings.
Then Maria Clara stole the ball from Julian with a clean tackle, dead calm. She smirked. "Still predictable sometimes."
Julian stared… then smiled. Yeah. This was home.
[Friendship Stats Updated: Maria Clara +5 Respect]
He began passing instead of hogging glory, threading through-balls with absurd angle perception. Fernando volleyed one in and looked at Julian like he'd been given the world. "You haven't changed," Fernando said quietly. "I hope I have," Julian replied.
Renato intercepted a pass, danced past Thiago, and fired a goal of his own. "HA! The King returns, but the Prince stayed grinding!"
Julian and Renato butted heads competitively. "Let's see if the Prince can handle the crown."
The game continued — rough, messy, beautiful. Sweat dripped. Knees scraped concrete. Laughter rang louder than the goals.
Night had arrived, but nobody stopped.
Until a phone alarm rang loudly — in unison — from almost every spectator.
Julian blinked. "What…?"
Fernando sighed. "Curfew. Parents get angry, cops get bored."
Renato kicked the ball as high as he could. "Then tomorrow — Sunrise Court Cup!" Everyone cheered. Except Maria Clara, who lingered. "You're leaving again soon." Julian nodded. "Yeah. My dream is up there." She looked at his hands — the same ones that carried impossible skill. "Then don't forget the ground beneath your feet."
He took a slow breath. "I won't."
Later, Julian lay in bed — the same childhood room, posters still on the wall. Flamengo heroes staring down at him like ghosts of what once was.
[System Update Available: New Stat Category Unlocked: Bond Strength]
[Effect: Emotional Stability, Performance Consistency, Morale Buffs]
Below it — names.
Renato +50
Thiago +47
Maria Clara +62
Juliana +44
Alexandro +48
Ruben +53
Fernando +51
Family +80
Julian's eyes stung again.
"Strength from bonds, huh?"
[System: Football is love. Football is connection. Football is home.]
He smiled up at the ceiling. "Yeah… it is."
Tomorrow, he would train again — fight again — chase the path of legends. But tonight, he was just **Julian** — barefoot kid from Rio.
He fell asleep to the distant echo of street courts and the dream of glory, wrapped in a simple truth…
A king without his roots is no king at all.