Chapter 12 – Whispers of Lisbon

Chapter 12 – Whispers of Lisbon

The morning in Lisbon carried a kind of hush.

Not silence—but stillness. A breath held before the day began.

Jota stood by the window of the dormitory, watching soft fog roll through the early streets. Far below, the academy grounds looked asleep, though he knew that would change soon. Boys would run, whistles would blow, coaches would shout. The city would stretch awake.

But for now, it was still.

He took a deep breath, laced his boots slowly, and headed out for his usual morning jog.

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The academy pitch, slick with dew, welcomed him like an old friend. He started slowly, one step, then another. His breath formed clouds in the chill. Every stride was steady, measured—not rushed. Just enough to feel the ground respond.

He thought of Penedono.

The vineyard hills. The goat field. The uneven gravel roads where he first chased a ball too flat to bounce.

Now the grass was perfect.