From Reject to Legend

The season had reached its end, and the awards were to be handed out for the achievements .

In a season that defied expectations, I was honored with the La Liga Player of the Season award—an award that filled my heart with pride and a deep sense of gratitude. Although Cristiano Ronaldo narrowly edged me out for the coveted Golden Boot by just one goal, the recognition of my contributions meant more than any tally could express.

And on the other side of the celebration, Coach Pellegrini was named Manager of the Season, a testament to the belief and tireless work of our entire team.

After a few more days of soaking in the cheers and celebrating our hard-won triumphs in Málaga, I knew it was time for a change of scenery—a return to my roots.

With the season winding down and my commitments in Brazil looming, I planned a short vacation to visit my parents in Portugal. I would take them on a journey they had long dreamed of—a vacation that would eventually lead us to Brazil, where they could see me play and witness the culmination of our shared dream.

It was the end of May when I finally boarded my flight back to Portugal. As the plane ascended into the clear sky, I gazed out the window, reflecting on the rollercoaster season behind me.

The stadium lights of La Rosaleda, the deafening roar of the crowd, the collective celebration—it all felt like a vivid dream now. I couldn't help but feel a pang of bittersweet nostalgia.

I had grown to love every inch of Málaga, but it was time to return to the familiar warmth of home and share my triumphs with the people who had supported me through every trial.

When the plane touched down in Lisbon, I knew immediately that my arrival would be anything but ordinary. The airport buzzed with an energy that mirrored the celebrations back in Málaga.

As I stepped off the plane, a sea of faces greeted me—fans with painted cheeks, holding banners, and chanting my name. The excitement was palpable. I could barely make out the voices among the cheers, but one thing was clear: my return was being celebrated like a homecoming of a true hero.

Security personnel, initially overwhelmed by the throng of adoring fans, quickly formed a protective barrier around me. They moved with efficient determination, guiding me through the throng to a designated arrival area.

Every step I took was accompanied by shouts of encouragement and praise. "Bring the World Cup to Portugal!" someone yelled with genuine fervor. I paused for a moment, smiling at the unexpected yet heartwarming wish, and replied with a chuckle, "I'll do my best—trust me, I'm not done yet!"

Soon, I reached the area where my parents awaited. Amidst the chaos of fans and flashing cameras, I caught a glimpse of familiar, loving faces. My mother's smile was radiant, her eyes brimming with tears of joy, while my father stood tall, his presence both comforting and proud.

The moment I saw them, a warmth spread through me that no victory on the field could ever replicate.

"Adriano, meu filho!" my mother cried as she rushed forward. In that instant, time seemed to slow down. I was enveloped in a tight embrace, the familiar scent of home and unconditional love filling my senses.

My father followed, his hand on my shoulder as if to say, "We've always believed in you." The hugs were long, full of words left unspoken—a silent acknowledgment of every hardship, every triumph, and every sacrifice that had brought me to this moment.

"We are so proud of you," my mother whispered, her voice soft yet resonant with emotion. "The struggles we endured, the days we barely had enough to eat… look at you now. You've become a champion in every sense."

My father added, his tone gruff yet affectionate, "Your talent has taken you far, son. But remember, with every success comes more pressure and expectation. Just promise us you'll never forget what it means to play for the love of the game—the way you played when you were just a kid with me in the backyard."

I smiled and squeezed both their hands. "I promise, Dad. I'll always be the same Adriano—the one who loves football more than anything, who cherishes every moment on the pitch. And I'll always come back, no matter where the road leads."

As we stepped away from the arrival area, the crowd continued to cheer. My parents, flanked by a few close friends who had come to welcome me, led me toward our car.

On the ride home, we talked about everything—the memories of the tough times in Málaga, the incredible triumphs of the past season, and the plans for our upcoming vacation. The car was filled with laughter, teasing, and the comforting murmur of shared dreams.

My parents were excited about our trip, already discussing possible itineraries for Greece, Italy, and even Hawaii, before finally making our way to Brazil, where they could see me play.

Back at our family home in Portugal, the familiar sights and sounds were a balm to my weary soul. The house was modest, filled with the comforting aroma of home-cooked meals and the gentle hum of life that I had missed during my long absence.

Over the next few days, my parents and I settled into a rhythm of quiet celebration. They showed me pictures of their thriving restaurant in Lisbon—a venture that had turned into a local hotspot where fans would come in, not just for the food, but to catch a glimpse of their famous son.

Large screens in the restaurant played my matches live, and every meal was accompanied by proud smiles and fond memories of our struggles and triumphs.

My mother often recounted the tough times we had faced. "I remember when you were injured, Adriano. Those were some of the darkest days, but we never lost hope. Look at you now—you're a champion, and you've brought so much light into our lives."

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, and I could see that the weight of those old memories had been replaced with a newfound joy.

My father, ever the realist, reminded me, "Being a star means you're always in the spotlight. The pressure, the expectations—they can be overwhelming. But never forget, it's that love for the game that got you here. Stay true to that, and no matter where you go, you'll always be our little champ."

I listened to them, feeling a deep gratitude for the unwavering support they had always given me. In those moments, I was reminded that no matter how far my journey took me, the foundation of my strength had always been built at home.

With a couple of weeks to relax before joining the squad in Brazil, I planned to take my parents on a well-deserved vacation. We decided to visit Greece, Italy, and Hawaii—a journey that would offer them a taste of the world's wonders before finally heading to Brazil, where I would join the team while they are escorted by heightened security measures as they trav (the situation in Brazil was a bit unstable, and I wasn't willing to take any chances).

The plan was simple: a family adventure to create new memories, to savor the moments of peace and joy away from the relentless spotlight of professional football.

As Adriano settled back into the familiar comforts of home, his old phone buzzed incessantly with calls and messages. Some were from childhood friends congratulating him on his incredible season, while others were from distant relatives—relatives who had conveniently vanished during his struggles, only to reappear now that he was a superstar.

Their messages were riddled with feigned affection, conveniently ignoring the years of indifference and neglect they shown before .

One message in particular caught his eye. It was from an aunt who had barely acknowledged his existence during his injury-ridden years. Now, with the World Cup around the corner, she shamelessly requested an all-expenses-paid trip to Brazil for herself and her family so they could watch the tournament live.

Adriano scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. His parents, who were sitting nearby, immediately recognized the situation. His mother sighed, clearly annoyed, while his father simply said, "Ignore them, son. They don't deserve your time."

But Adriano had had enough. He decided he wouldn't let them pretend their past actions never happened. Picking up his phone, he typed out a direct response:

"It's funny how you remember me now, after all these years. Where were you when I was injured and struggling? When my parents had to sell their house just to keep us going? You didn't offer a single word of support, or even loan some money to help, and now you want me to sponsor your vacation? You should be ashamed of yourselves.

You're nothing but leeches, always looking to latch onto someone else's success instead of making something of your own. Don't contact me or my family again."

Satisfied, he put his phone down. His mother, while still irritated by the situation, smiled at him. "You didn't have to waste your breath on them, Adriano. They have no place in our lives anymore."

"I know, Mãe," I said with a small smile. "I just wanted to make sure they don't try pestering you and Dad."

His father nodded approvingly. "Good. Let them know we don't owe them anything. We made it without them, and we'll keep moving forward without them."

With that unpleasant matter handled, Adriano turned his focus back to what truly mattered—his parents and their upcoming vacation. Wanting to treat them before their travels, he took them on a shopping trip in the heart of Lisbon, where he planned to spoil them in ways he never could before.

As they strolled through the vibrant streets, Adriano relished the rare moments of normalcy. He held onto these experiences tightly, knowing that soon he'd be back under the glaring spotlight of the footballing world.

Their first stop was a high-end boutique, where he convinced his mother to pick out an elegant collection of dresses and accessories for the trip. "Mãe, you have to look your best when we visit these places. We're going first class all the way."

His mother laughed, shaking her head. "Adri, you act like I'm some celebrity's wife."

"You guys are biggest celebrities to me," he responded with a grin.

Next, they wandered into a Rolex store. As they walked past the gleaming displays, Adriano noticed his father sneaking a glance at a particular watch—a classic gold and silver timepiece with an intricate design. His father quickly looked away, pretending he hadn't been interested, but Adriano caught him.

"Dad, let's go inside."

"No, no," his father protested, waving a hand dismissively. "Just looking."

I chuckled. "Come on, Dad. Humor me."

Despite his father's continued protests, Adriano dragged him into the store, much to his mother's amusement. Without hesitation, he pointed at the watch his father had been admiring. "We'll take this one."

"Adriano, this is too much," his father said, shaking his head.

"Nothing is too much for you, Dad," I replied firmly. "As long as it's within my capabilities, I won't let a single wish of yours go unfulfilled."

His father fell silent, emotion flickering in his eyes as the watch was placed in front of him. He hesitated before finally slipping it onto his wrist. It fit perfectly. "It's beautiful," he murmured, running his fingers over the smooth surface.

"You deserve it," I said with a smile.

His mother, beaming at the sight, playfully nudged him. "And what about me? Don't tell me it's just an emotional father-son moment only. "

I laughed at mother's joke . "I was just about to take care of that mom."

A short walk later, they found themselves inside a jewelry store, where Adriano selected a stunning ruby necklace for his mother. When she saw it, her eyes widened. "Adriano, this must have cost—"

"Don't even think about it," I interrupted, placing the necklace around her neck . "Mãe, you've sacrificed so much for me. This is the least I can do."

She touched the gemstone gently, blinking back tears. "Wouldn't you be short of money?"

I laughed heartily. "Mãe, trust me, I'm fine. And after the World Cup, I'll be making even more."

"Oh?" his father raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean what I think it does?"

I smirked knowingly. "Let's just say there's a good chance I'll be heading to England next season."

His parents exchanged glances, excitement flickering in their expressions. "The Premier League?" his father asked.

"Maybe," I teased. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First, we enjoy this vacation, then we bring home the World Cup. After that... well, we'll see."

My father shook his head with a warm smile. "No matter where you go, we'll always be proud of you." Then he joked, "Don't think about winning, Brazil will be bringing it home," earning him a playful punch from mom who replied, " Portugal has our son, so forget about even cheering for Brazil."

With their shopping bags in hand and their hearts full, the three of them walked back towards their car, laughing and reminiscing about the past. For the first time in a long while, Adriano felt truly at peace.

There was still much ahead—his vacation, the World Cup, and the next chapter of his career—but for now, he had everything he needed: family, and the unwavering support of the people who mattered most.