Real Madrid

Chapter 16 

May 24th, Wednesday. 

But not just any Wednesday (even better than the loli goth). 

Today was the final of the Champions League. 

And I was hyped. 

Back in my old life, I'd spent a year doing an exchange program in Madrid. I fell in love with the city—the food, the people, the energy. But more than anything, I fell in love with Real Madrid. Their stadium, the Santiago Bernabéu, felt like a monument. I'd never been the type to support underdogs just for the sake of it. That meant no Atlético nonsense. I was all-in on the kings of Europe. 

This season? Vintage Real. 

Casillas, Roberto Carlos, Raúl, Anelka—legends. I'd followed every step of their campaign: the hard-fought quarterfinal against Manchester United, the thrilling semi-final victory over Bayern. And now, they were up against Valencia. Valencia. A team I had completely forgotten made it this far. 

The best part? We'd placed our bet before the quarterfinals—odds were 5 to 1. 

Charlie and I were planted on the couch. He had a beer in hand, feet up, mostly watching for one reason: the bet. 

Alan wandered into the living room just as the Champions League anthem echoed through the TV. 

"So how much did you guys bet on this again?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. 

I glanced over, smirking. "Three hundred thousand." 

Alan froze. "What?!" 

"Sixty thousand each," I said casually. "Me, Charlie, you, Mom, and Gradma." 

I shrugged. "300 grand on the pot for each, before taxes. Good pocket money." 

Alan stared at me like I'd just slapped his financial sensibilities. "Jake, that's more than some people save in a lifetime. Pocket money? Seriously?" 

Charlie burst out laughing and clinked his bottle against mine. "Let the kid enjoy the richness." 

I just smiled. Of course, three hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. But after you make millions in just a few months, you get a little numb about money. It's strange. In my past life, it would've taken me years to save that kind of money. Carefully budgeting, cutting corners, avoiding expensive vacations. And now? A soccer night and a good bet. 

Kickoff. 

Real came out sharp. Casillas made an early save that set the tone, and soon enough, Morientes rose above the defense and headed in a perfect cross. 1–0. 

"There we go!" I said, pumping a fist. 

"Kid's psychic," Charlie muttered. 

Shortly after, McManaman hit a ridiculous volley off a cleared ball. The kind of goal you dream about. 

"Okay, that was nice," Charlie admitted. 

2–0. 

Alan was leaning in now, glued to the screen. 

Late in the second half, Valencia pushed up for a corner. But Real countered. A lightning-clearance, a pass through the lines—and Raúl was off. He rounded Santiago Cañizares like he'd done it a hundred times and tapped the ball into the net. 

3–0. 

Final whistle. 

Alan jumped up, arms raised. "YES! YES! WE WON!" 

Charlie grinned. "Look at him. Didn't care an hour ago." 

I chuckled. "Funny what 300 grand will do to someone's team spirit." 

Real Madrid were champions of Europe for the eighth time, their second title in three years. Vicente del Bosque got his first major trophy as manager. It was also the first final between two teams from the same country. And McManaman? First English player to win it with a non-English club. 

Historic. 

Charlie leaned in with a sly grin. "You really gotta turn eighteen soon, kid." 

I raised a brow. "Why?" 

"If you were legal," he said with a wink, "I'd take you out to a very fun place tonight." 

I laughed. "Guess I'll settle for soda and pizza." 

"Cheers to that," he said, raising his beer. 

We clinked bottles. 

Later that night, we were still lounging in the living room, the TV playing highlights on loop. 

Alan looked at me thoughtfully. "So what do you even gonna do with that kind of money, Jake?" 

I leaned back, arms behind my head. "Honestly? Not much. Probably put in our fund. There isn't a whole lot to spend on when you're twelve." 

Charlie scoffed. "You say that like you're seventy." 

"I've already redone my entire wardrobe. Bought every toy I ever wanted". Especially the ones I couldn't have in my last life. "Giant Lego sets, remote-controlled everything. Even got a computer" 

Alan blinked. "You're telling me you have millions, and you've only spent it on toys and T-shirts?" 

"Well… yeah. I can't buy a car, can't own property, I have zero interest in jewelry, and Uncle Charlie covers most expenses already." 

Charlie raised his beer again. "Best roommate I ever had." 

I laughed. "The real challenge is figuring out what's worth spending on. At this point, a great vacation during school break might actually be it." 

Charlie perked up. "You thinking beaches, resorts, Europe?" 

"Maybe Spain," I said, glancing toward the TV where Raúl was lifting the trophy. "Or Italy. London, maybe." 

Alan crossed his arms with a half-smile. "You're twelve. Shouldn't you be thinking Disneyland?" 

"We had been there already" I said. "This time, I want tapas in Madrid, pasta in Rome, and tea in London." 

Charlie whistled. "Kid's got taste."