From Reject to Legend

** I'm not gonna drag this on , I could have explained more , but I'm tired. So I'm just gonna end it in one chapter rather than over multiple chapters and just ignore the romance part until World cup ends or later.

I know everyone has different opinions, but I can't make everyone happy. I just try to make it bearable at least.**

I sat alone in the quiet of my hotel room, the adrenaline of the Elche win still buzzing in my veins. The match had been a triumph—a 5-0 statement that not only solidified our position at the top of La Liga but also reminded everyone of the magic that had returned with my comeback. Yet, as I scrolled through my phone, the congratulatory messages and adoring comments from fans did little to fill the emptiness I felt inside. Amid the euphoria, one unresolved issue gnawed at my heart: Blanca.

Earlier that evening, I had tried to call her. My mind was a jumble of triumph and quiet melancholy, and I had reached out hoping for some solace. But she hadn't picked up. I'd left several messages, but each went unanswered. Now, as I stared blankly at the ceiling in my dimly lit room, I couldn't help but feel the weight of our distance.

The next morning, after a restless night of tossing and turning, fate finally aligned our schedules. My phone rang just as I was preparing to head to the training facility for our Levante match. I answered with a cautious "Hello?" Not expecting much, I was surprised to hear Blanca's familiar, trembling voice on the other end.

"Adriano," she began softly, and I could immediately sense the hesitancy in her tone. "I'm sorry I missed your calls last night."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the mix of emotions swirling inside me. "It's okay, Blanca. I know you're busy. How are you holding up?"

There was a pause—a long, heavy silence that spoke volumes before she finally replied, "I… I'm under so much pressure. The shoot, the constant work… I feel like I barely have time to breathe. And every time I see your messages, I worry that maybe you're… that you're upset, or that you're… not really being honest with me."

I felt a twinge of irritation, but I masked it with calm. I'd always tried to be understanding, to accept the way things were without stirring up conflict. "Blanca, I'm not upset," I said, my voice low. "I just… I'm not complaining. I'm doing my best to keep everything together here on my end."

But she pressed on, her tone now edged with frustration. "That's just it, Adriano. You never say anything. I know something's bothering you, because I can see it in your eyes—even if you say you're fine, I know you're not. You always try to hide it, and it hurts. Why can't you be honest with me?"

I paused, the words catching in my throat. I'd always believed that by staying silent, I was sparing her additional worry. "Blanca, I—" I began, then sighed. "I try not to burden you. You already have so much on your plate with your career. I didn't want you to feel guilty or pressured about my own feelings."

Her voice cracked on the other end. "But that's the problem, isn't it? I know you're not happy, and yet you just let it pass. It's like you're tiptoeing around everything, afraid to say what you really feel. Is this how we're going to be from now on? Always walking on eggshells, never speaking our minds so as not to hurt each other?"

I could feel my heart pounding as I struggled for the right words. "I—I expected things to be different," I admitted quietly. "When I fell in love with you, I thought we'd be able to share everything—our fears, our frustrations, our dreams. I expected you to be by my side, always. But I never really considered how hard it must be for you with your career, your obligations… I thought I could just handle my own disappointments without weighing you down."

There was a long silence, and I could hear her take a shaky breath. "Adriano, I'm under so much stress," she whispered. "I'm expected to finish this campaign—it's a major contract, and it won't be over until halfway through May. I can't just drop everything, even if I wanted to be there for you every minute. It feels like we're living separate lives."

I felt a mix of sorrow and exasperation. "Then why do you keep bringing it up?" I asked, my tone more biting than I intended. "You know I'm not complaining just to keep you from worrying. What did you want me to do? Tell you every single time that I'm miserable because you're not here?"

Her silence was palpable for a moment, and I could almost picture her biting her lip, frustrated and teary. "I'm sorry," she finally said, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "I know you're trying to be understanding, but it isn't fair for you to just keep everything bottled up. I need to know that you're honest with me, that we're not always just… tiptoeing around our feelings to avoid conflict. I want us to be real with each other, even if it hurts sometimes."

I swallowed hard, the truth stinging. "Blanca, maybe I'm the one who's wrong here," I said, my voice softening. "I expected things to be different from this relationship. I thought you'd be always by my side, not caught up in your work or your career. But I realize now that I never considered how much you sacrifice to maintain your own dreams. And that… that hurts even more."

A pause, filled with the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of city traffic, followed. Then I ventured, "Will you be back next month?" The question hung between us, heavy with implication.

There was a bitter laugh on the other end before she answered, "Adriano, I'm under contract to finish this campaign. It won't be done until mid-May. Unless I break the contract—which I can't do—I'm not coming back any time soon."

I let out a laugh that was more sorrow than amusement. "If your schedule is packed like this, you'll never have time for us," I said, a hint of sadness coloring my words. "Even if we try to struggle through now, I fear it will just repeat itself. Maybe… maybe before we hurt each other even more, we should consider parting ways."

The line went silent for what felt like an eternity. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears as I waited, dreading her response.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "Adriano… I didn't expect you to just give up like that. I—I beg you, please don't do this. We can try again. I can give up most of my work, even sacrifice my top actress status and work part time if I have to. I just—I don't want to lose you."

I took a long, shuddering breath. "Blanca," I said slowly, "I don't want you to change who you are for me. I fell in love with you—the brilliant, driven, passionate woman you are. I could never want you to become someone hollow, someone who gives up your dreams just to keep me around. I can't make you feel chained in this relationship."

Her voice broke, and I could hear a tearful snuffle. "Then what are we, Adriano? What are we supposed to do? I feel like we're constantly tiptoeing around each other, afraid to speak our truth for fear of hurting one another. Is this all there is?"

I tried to keep my tone calm, though inside I felt a crushing sadness. "I don't know," I admitted. "I feel like I'm not suited for this kind of relationship anymore. I expected us to be inseparable, but every time we try, it just ends up hurting us both. I'm beginning to think that maybe… maybe it would be better if we just… ended this chapter."

The words hung in the air, heavier than any I'd ever spoken. I could almost hear her heartbeat through the silence. Finally, through a choked sob, she said, "Please, Adriano, don't say that. We can work this out. I—I love you. I don't want to lose what we have."

I forced a sad laugh, my voice hollow. "Blanca, we'll always be friends. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. But I can't keep waiting—hoping that things will change—when it feels like we're destined to hurt each other over and over again. I think… I think it might be best if we take a step back."

There was a pause, and then she asked, "Will we ever meet again?" Her voice was small, full of despair and longing.

"Of course," I said quietly. "Friends can meet, share a coffee, talk about life. But we can't keep rehashing our relationship. Even if we got back together, I don't know if it would ever be the same."

She sniffled, her tone a mix of resignation and heartbreak. "These few months have been the happiest I've ever been," she whispered. "Thank you for loving me, for showing me something real." There was a pause as if she was gathering her courage. "Maybe when I come back to Spain, we can meet… just as friends."

I managed a small, sad smile. "Of course. I'd like that."

The call ended abruptly, and I was left staring at the ceiling, feeling an emptiness that no victory or accomplishment could fill.

Later that day, with the conversation still echoing in my mind like a bitter refrain, I stepped onto the training field at our complex. Manuel Pellegrini approached me quietly, his gaze filled with concern. "Adriano, you've been off all morning. What's wrong?" he asked, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.

I hesitated, then said, "I'm… I'm not feeling like myself today, coach. It's nothing physical, just… heavy on the heart." Pellegrini's eyes softened, and after a moment of silence, he said, "Rest for the next match. You need time to gather yourself." I felt a wave of gratitude mixed with regret. This was the first time I had ever asked for a rest, and it hurt to admit that the weight of it all was too much to bear.

The match against Levante was next on the schedule—a crucial La Liga fixture that would see us travel to Valencia's rival Levante's home ground. Our records read 89 points from 35 matches, a slender margin above Atletico, and every point was precious. As I sat on the bench for that match, I watched my teammates warm up. I knew I'd have to stay out of the game this time, a decision I had never wanted to make but one that Pellegrini insisted on for my sake.

The atmosphere at the Levante stadium was tense and charged with expectation. The stands were a mosaic of colors—Levante's passionate red and white clashed with our proud blue and white. The fans of Levante, desperate to see their team avoid relegation, cheered every tackle and every save, while our traveling supporters did their best to drown out the opposition with chants and songs of hope.

From the kickoff, the match was a tightly fought contest. Levante, true to form, defended with grit and determination. They pressed high and countered with bursts of speed, trying to disrupt our rhythm. Our players, fueled by recent victories and the lingering sting of my conversation with Blanca, played with a mix of cautious aggression and raw determination. I watched from the bench, feeling every pass and every challenge through the air, the weight of our collective ambition pressing down on me.

The first half was a tense affair. Málaga created several early chances—Griezmann and Joaquín linking up with a series of incisive passes that sliced open the Levante defense. But Levante's goalkeeper made a series of acrobatic saves, keeping the score level. The crowd roared with every close call, the noise almost deafening in its intensity. I could feel the passion and pressure of the moment, even from my place on the sidelines.

Then, midway through the second half, a moment of brilliance emerged. A quick exchange between Juanmi and Griezmann in midfield led to a sudden break. Griezmann, ever the orchestrator, surges forward and finds the back of the net with a well-placed shot from outside the box. The Levante fans erupted in disbelief, but our supporters cheered even louder, sensing that our season was still within our grasp.

The match ended in a hard-fought 1-1 draw. As we left the pitch, I couldn't help but feel a pang of bittersweet relief. The result maintained our narrow lead in the standings—only 4 points clear of Atletico—but I also knew that my absence on the field had come at a personal cost. I sat quietly in the locker room afterward, watching as my teammates celebrated the hard-earned point, their voices filled with determination for the battles still to come.

Pellegrini approached me again, his expression thoughtful. "Adriano, I know this isn't what you wanted," he said gently. "But sometimes, rest is necessary. I hope you can use this time to sort through your feelings."

He then patted me on the shoulder with affection and said seriously, " I don't know what happened, but I've seen too many young players get ruined due lack of discipline, personal life issues and the pressure of media. I don't want you to become one of them.

Coaching you will be something I will always remember fondly, you will be a great player someday if you can continue performing like this. Don't let it end for you kiddo."

I nodded silently, the earlier conversation with Blanca still echoing in my mind . Every cheer from the fans, every congratulatory pat on the back from a teammate, only deepened the contrast between my public success and my private sorrow.