Chapter 12
Return to Fame
The final whistle blows.
4–2.
Barça B takes the win.
And Bunny… a hat-trick.
I stare at the scoreboard, stunned. Bunny crushed Sae. He didn't just outperform him—he dominated the pitch. I can already feel it... this rivalry will be one for the ages.
Even though I wasn't on the field, this match left a mark on me. It burned into my memory—the kind of game you carry with you, forever. The kind that becomes a warning... and a promise.
Scene Shift – Leaving the Stadium
We're walking slowly back to the hotel. Alina's holding my hand—though it looks a bit odd. She's still taller than me for now. The sky is painted in shades of night, and the last light from the sunset fades behind the city skyline. Our bags are already packed.
We hop into a taxi and catch the last train back.
She rests her head on my shoulder. I pull the travel blanket over us and silently think about the road ahead. The training. The grind. The evolution. And the battles I'll need to fight to carve my name into the world.
We reach Russia late the next night. Snow blankets the streets like a memory of silence. I walk Alina home, and as we step into her front yard, her father opens the door.
"Mickeal. Come with me to the back."
I pause. Then nod.
Her father—Sergei Rossa—was the UFC World Champion for seven years. Undefeated. First- or second-round knockouts or submissions. A beast in human form.
Now retired, but his presence still carries that quiet, suffocating intensity.
Scene Shift – Backyard of the Rossa Home
He doesn't waste time.
"You were at the gym with my daughter when you came to Russia, right?" he says, folding his arms. "That leg technique… the speed. Have you ever considered mixed martial arts?"
I think for a second. "...Not really. But would you teach me during winter break?"
He chuckles, the sound like gravel and pride. "Maybe. Could be good to push Alina harder, too."
He pulls a flash drive from his coat and hands it to me.
"This has leg-focused training—explosiveness, reflex, balance, jump control, precision. Also stances, weight distribution... It's all in there. Some of it's from my personal archive. Might help you."
I take it, bow slightly. "Thank you so much, Mr. Rossa."
Scene Shift – Dortmund Academy, Germany
The plane lands. Cold air hits my face as I step outside. Taxi. Arrival. Security checks. My dorm. Finally.
I throw my bags on the floor and collapse into my bed.
Jet lag wins. Sleep hits me like a freight train.
Two Days Later – BVB Training Facility
I'm walking out of the gym. Today's training focused on explosive jumps and mid-air rotations—stuff that'll help my Falcon Impact and my aerial game.
I hit the showers. Refreshed, I notice the flash drive still in my bag.
Curious, I plug it into the dorm TV.
The first video loads. It's… Khabib Nurmagomedov. As a child. Wrestling a bear. Then clips from his teens. His adult fights. His world domination.
I watch him shift weight like a phantom. His stances, explosive transitions. The pressure. The control. Every grapple, every slam—measured destruction.
Even more than raw strength, he uses perfect timing, posture, technique. He makes his full body work in unison.
I pause the footage.
"…How can this help me?"
It doesn't look like football, but… it is. In disguise.
He doesn't rely on brute power. He transfers force. He controls it, directs it like a missile. I don't need to wrestle like him, but I can learn from his understanding of the body. I can use it to refine my movements. Make Falcon Impact more lethal. More precise.
But… I don't have a bear to train with.
Still… I'll adapt.
I put the flash drive away and turn to my phone. Notifications explode across my feed.
Commentary. Highlights. Replays from Spain to England. The UEFA Youth Champions League is heating up.
There are still posts about Messi and Ronaldo. About Noel Noa. Even at the tail end of their primes, they're still monsters. But Noa?
He's on another level.
People are already expecting him to win his second Ballon d'Or this year.
Then I see highlights from the Barça B vs Real B match.
Bunny's name is everywhere. Analysts calling him the "real striker" while Sae is labeled a "temporary fix." The world's already picking sides.
I watch one clip again.
Flashback – 87th Minute
Sae stands over a free kick from 35 yards out. He fakes a pass, creating chaos. He's about to shoot—
But Bunny jumps.
Traps the ball mid-air.
Turns. Clears it to Pablo on the wing.
Counterattack.
Goal.
Match over.
And the look on Sae's face...
It wasn't defeat. It was murderous.
Present
I sigh and drop my phone. Lay back.
Then I see the academy schedule.
Our next match?
Roma U15. The Greek giants.
And then I remember.
Aloe Dybala. He plays for Roma's main team now. He's a New Gen 11 prodigy. My blood runs cold… then hot.
He's already on a pro roster.
And I'm still in the academy.
I clench my fists.
Inner Monologue
Just give me one year and a half.
I'll be on Bayern Munich's B-team.
And after that—
I'll shine enough to walk into the main squad.
Then I'll surpass them all.
Isagi.
Loki.
Aloe.
I'll devour them.
One. By. One.