Chapter 17: You're Just Jealous That I'm Better Looking Than You
"Ken, if you want to gain the upper hand in physical confrontations on the pitch, your lower-body strength and core stability must improve."
Inside São Paulo's training complex gym, fitness coach Lucas stood beside the squat rack, carefully observing Ken's posture. The metallic scent of iron plates and the rhythmic clatter of weights filled the air as several players continued their individual strength sessions nearby.
Over the past few weeks, Ken's daily routine had become even more intense. In addition to the team's regular tactical and technical training, veteran goalkeeper Rogério Ceni had taken responsibility for refining his set-piece technique, while Lucas and Lúcio oversaw his strength development. The coaching staff had made it clear: if Ken wanted to survive—and eventually dominate—in top-level football, physical conditioning had to match his technical talent.
"Back on the training pitch," Lucas continued, adjusting the barbell collars, "whenever you go shoulder-to-shoulder with Lúcio, you struggle slightly. That's not because your balance is poor—it's because your lower-body strength hasn't reached elite level yet."
Ken nodded seriously, listening as though attending an important lecture. He knew Lucas wasn't exaggerating. Even during training matches, Lúcio's physical presence felt like colliding with a moving wall.
"You can rely on agility and technique in many domestic matches," Lucas said, "but in Europe, defenders are trained from youth academies to engage physically in every duel. If you want to play there—and I believe you will—you must prepare your body in advance."
Lucas pointed toward the loaded barbell. "Sixty kilograms. Shoulder it."
Ken stepped forward, ducked under the bar, and lifted it onto his shoulders.
"Back straight. Tighten your core. Toes slightly outward—good. Now descend slowly, like you're sitting onto a chair."
Ken lowered himself into the squat, muscles trembling slightly as he maintained control.
"Excellent. Drive upward with your hips, not your lower back."
After completing the first set, Ken exhaled deeply. Sweat had already begun forming along his forehead, but his expression remained focused.
"Imagine this," Lucas said with a smile. "If you eventually squat one hundred and fifty, even two hundred kilograms, do you think a seventy-kilogram defender crashing into you will feel heavy?"
Ken laughed softly. "Probably not."
"Exactly. Strength is confidence."
---
The next exercise involved explosive medicine-ball slams. Ken lifted the heavy ball overhead and smashed it toward the floor.
Thud!
Lucas shook his head immediately. "Not like that. Don't rely only on your arms. Generate power from the ground. Push through your legs, tighten your core, transfer the force upward, and then release it through your arms."
Ken reset his stance and tried again.
Thud!
"Better. Ten repetitions per set. Three sets."
Soon the entire gym echoed with rhythmic impacts as the ball struck the rubber flooring again and again. Afterward came Bulgarian split squats, hanging leg raises, rotational core work, and resisted sprints. Each movement targeted stability, explosiveness, and endurance—the invisible foundation behind high-level performance.
By the time the session ended, Ken's legs burned intensely, but he felt satisfied. Improvement was rarely comfortable.
Outside the gym, Lúcio occasionally joined him for grappling drills—controlled pushing exercises designed to simulate physical battles during matches. The veteran center-back shared practical insights gained from years of competing in Europe: how to position the hips during aerial duels, how to use subtle body angles to maintain balance, and how to absorb contact without losing forward momentum.
Combined with Ceni's technical guidance on free kicks, Ken felt himself improving at a remarkable pace. Coaches and teammates often exchanged impressed glances. It had been less than two months since he joined the first team, yet his development was visible almost weekly.
Some veterans joked privately, "When talent and discipline appear together, it almost feels unfair to everyone else."
---
A few days later, São Paulo hosted Goiás in another league match. Ken again began on the bench, but when he entered in the 75th minute, he quickly made an impact—timing a late run into the box and finishing calmly to secure a 2–1 victory. It marked his third consecutive match with a goal contribution, further strengthening his position within the squad.
Confidence inside the team was growing. Fans had begun chanting his name more frequently, and local media outlets were already labeling him one of the most promising young players in the league.
Yet Ken remained focused on training, rarely leaving the base except for official duties.
---
That evening, after completing another strength session and showering, his phone suddenly rang.
"Hey… Neymar? What made you think of calling me?"
On the other end came the familiar teasing voice. "As expected, Ken. I just arrived in São Paulo and your name is everywhere. It seems that now that I've left, this city belongs to you."
Ken laughed. "You're back already?"
"Of course. The season just ended. Tonight we celebrate. I booked a table at Lotus Club—we haven't seen each other in over two years."
Ken hesitated briefly. Nightclubs had never been his preferred environment, but the thought of finally meeting his old friend again made him smile. "Alright. Send me the location."
"I'll pick you up instead," Neymar replied quickly. "Stay at the base. I'll be there soon."
After hanging up, Ken shook his head slightly. Neymar hadn't changed much—still energetic, still impulsive, still treating life like a celebration.
---
Half an hour later, Ken walked out through the training base gates. A bright red Ferrari 458 Spider was already parked nearby, its polished surface reflecting the streetlights.
Neymar leaned casually against the hood, wearing a white baseball cap, oversized streetwear, and—most amusingly—sunglasses, despite the darkness of the evening.
Seeing Ken approach, Neymar removed the glasses and opened his arms widely. "Brother! Long time no see!"
They embraced, laughing.
Neymar stepped back and examined him from head to toe. "Not bad—you've grown stronger. But your looks are still just slightly behind mine."
Ken punched his shoulder lightly. "Still showing off? Wearing sunglasses at night?"
Neymar clutched his chest dramatically. "See? You're jealous again. Jealous that I'm better looking than you."
Both burst into laughter, the years of separation instantly fading. Although their careers had taken them along different paths, the friendship forged during their youth remained unchanged.
As they got into the car and drove into the night, neither of them realized how much the coming months would reshape their futures—on the pitch, in the national team, and eventually on the world stage.