Before The Storm

Lisbon buzzed with nervous excitement.

Every paper, every sports channel, every podcast — they all had one question heading into Saturday:

Would the American wonderkid make his debut?

"Kai Alexander, is he ready for Sporting?"

"Kai's training performances have the staff excited."

"Could the 17-year-old American tilt the title race?"

The Portuguese press ate it up.

A fresh story.

A new hero.

The fans, though skeptical at first, had warmed fast.

Clips of Kai's dazzling footwork in training leaked onto Twitter and Instagram.

Nutmegs. No-look passes. A cheeky chipped goal over the keeper.

The buzz was real.

Comparisons to some of the great players. His flair was likened to Neymar. Composure on the ball likened to Thiago Alcantara and his finesse striking ability, likened to Coutinho.

The night before the match, Sporting arranged a small podcast appearance for Kai — a way for fans to connect with him before he officially set foot in the Primeira Liga.

The setup was casual — two hosts, a mic, and Kai in a simple Sporting hoodie, his curls tied back, looking young but focused.

"Welcome to Sporting Talk," the host said. "Today, we've got a special guest — Kai Alexander, our newest Lion!"

Applause sound effect.

Kai laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Thanks for having me."

They started light — questions about the flight, the food, first impressions of Portugal.

Then the host leaned in.

"Everyone's been asking — why the number 17? I mean numbers attractive to a player like you were available. Like 10, which has been vacant for some time now."

Kai's smile softened.

He glanced down at his Sporting jersey folded neatly on the table.

"The seventeenth," he said quietly, "is my mom's birthday."

The room went still.

Kai cleared his throat, finding the words.

"She's been through a lot for me. Sacrificed a lot. I wanted to carry a piece of her with me on the pitch. Every time I put on the shirt, it's for her."

The hosts nodded respectfully.

It was a perfect moment — raw, real.

It wasn't a PR-crafted answer.

It was Kai.

Back in Atlanta, the night air was thick, the streets buzzing.

Tez sat on a cracked stoop, hoodie pulled low over his face.

Around him, the usual crew lounged — drinking, smoking, laughing.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, he felt… hollow.

His boy — his brother — was gone.

Across an ocean.

Tez respected it. Respected the dream, and he supported his brother.

But damn, he missed Kai.

The only one who saw him as more than just a gangster. The only one who believed he could be more.

He pulled out his phone, smiling at the last message:

You're my brother, Tez. Always. Hold it down. I'll see you soon.

He was about to reply when the black SUV rolled by.

Too fast.

Windows down.

Tez barely had time to react before the shots rang out.

Pop-pop-pop-pop.

People screamed.

Bodies hit the ground.

The car screeched away into the night.

Tez lay still, hand still clutching the phone.

The screen cracked, blinking with a missed message.

A brother's promise — unanswered.

Back in Lisbon, Kai had no idea.

No inkling that halfway across the world, his past had been ripped away.

He finished the podcast, thanking the hosts, flashing a shy smile.

He posed for photos.

Signed some shirts.

Then slipped into the cold night air, walking slowly back to the apartment Sporting had given him.

The city lights blurred in the distance.

Tomorrow was matchday.

Tomorrow, the dream officially began.

He looked up at the stars, whispering a silent promise to the sky.

"For you, Mom. For you, Mads. For you, Tez."

Saturday arrived in a wave of green and white.

Fans flooded the Estádio José Alvalade, scarves raised high, voices roaring.

Braga wasn't just a good team — they were desperate. Dangerous. Fighting for their European place.

Sporting needed every advantage.

Every point.

Kai sat on the bench, nerves electric under his skin.

Coach Rui Borges clapped him on the back as the team warmed up.

"Stay ready, menino," he said. "You may get your chance."

Kai nodded, pulling the jacket tighter around him.

He watched Delap lead the front line, watched Inácio organize the defense, watched Fábio Silva drift between lines.

He learned.

He absorbed.

He waited.

The stadium shook as the players lined up in the tunnel.

Chants echoed through the concrete halls:

"SPOOOOOORTING! SPOOOOOORTING!"

Kai closed his eyes for a moment.

Soaked it in.

When he opened them, his eyes were clear.

Focused.

This was it.

The start of everything he had fought for.

The start of everything he could become.