Daoistt7c9cO

They referred to him as insane.
 He was too young, they claimed.
 Too crazy.  It's too poetic.  Too fixated.

 However, they failed to comprehend.

 Goals are not the reason Daniel "Caos" Gómez plays.  He rewrites history via his plays.
 He scores hat-tricks in eleven minutes at the age of fifteen.
 He outtrains titans, outruns legends, and rips over Europe like a prophesy at the age of sixteen.
 He doesn't talk when he trains.  uses Latin to write.  Dreams that burn.

 "I'm not playing here.  Football is what I'm here to make kneel.

 Pain, however, simmers beneath the stadium lights and growing celebrity: A rival who was once a dear friend.
 The death of a mother still stings.
 A girl who never turned around after dancing in the rain.

 Caos must now decide if he wants to claim immortality at the expense of his humanity.

Or will he strike the heavens—and shatter the gods?

 Start reading now if you love:

Mythic sports drama

Genius MCs with fire in their veins

Emotional rivalries and broken love

Football as poetry and war

Obsession, grief, ambition, legacy

Tags:
Sports, Football, Mythic Rise, Tragic Past, Legendary MC,
Coming of Age, Rivalry, Dark Romance, Training Arc, 
Late Love, Champions League, Football Royalty, 
Obsession to Greatness, Modern Epic, Latin Vibes, Poetic Hero, God Mode, Real Madrid

Striker of the Gods

The following weeks, Caos and Vesta spent their time going to restaurants, beaches, and other Spanish cities. One of them was Playa de Bolonia, Cádiz (Andalusia). Playa de Bolonia is a wild, unspoiled beach with golden sand and the jaw-dropping Duna de Bolonia, a massive sand dune offering panoramic views. Nearby Roman ruins (Baelo Claudia) add historical intrigue.

By the second week, they ventured to Seville, where the Alcázar's gardens bloomed with orange blossoms, the air heavy with their sweet musk. The city's cobblestone streets echoed with flamenco's pulse, and Vesta, in a flowing red dress, twirled under the moonlight, pulling Caos into a dance. "This is Spain," she laughed, her eyes bright. "Wild, free, like us."

Back in Madrid, the mansion welcomed them with its cool silence, the maids Michela and Keyla offering warm smiles as they unpacked Vesta's bags. The city's pulse felt different now, its restaurants and nightlife overshadowed by the looming season. Caos returned to Valdebebas; the Godmode drills had a rhythm that grounded him. Mbappé, ever perceptive, nudged him during a break. "Vesta's keeping you busy, eh? Or is it that Barça girl's duel messing with your head?"

Caos grinned, kicking a ball. "Vesta's a lot, but the duel's coming. Salma won't know what hit her." His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, Maat's shadow and Vesta's love a dual weight. At home, Vesta waited, her presence a comfort but also a challenge. Over dinner, she spoke of Milan, her voice wistful. "I have a shoot next week," she said. "Come with me, Caos. Just for a bit."

He shook his head, his jaw tight. "Can't. The season's heating up. Maat's waiting, and I'm not letting him get ahead." Vesta's smile faded, but she nodded, her hand squeezing his. Their love was a flame, but it burned unevenly, and Caos felt the strain.

Caos let himself be swept up, his boots scuffing the stones, but his mind wandered to Salma's gala dare—a crossbar duel, a challenge that felt like a game rather than a demand. "You make it easy to forget the world," he told Vesta, his voice soft but honest. Yet, as they explored the Plaza de España, her arm linked with his, he caught a glimpse of a Barça scarf in the crowd, a reminder of Maat's looming presence. Vesta's grip tightened, as if sensing his distraction, her love a tether he wasn't sure he could hold.

"Amo Spagna, ma adoro Milan come mai. Non devo lasciarti. Mio cuore," says Vesta.

"Problema non c'è. Puoi ritornare, mia Vesta. Ti amo." says Caos

"Mio cuore ha paura. Mio amore, senza te è niente. Per favore. Non voglio bene. Io ti amo." Says Vesta.

"Ego sum ignis tuus, aeternum ardens, et in omne tempus te solam elegi," says Caos.

"Mio cuore. Sei un romantico?" says Vesta.

As Vesta prepared to leave for Milan, Caos stood on the mansion's terrace, the city sprawling below. Her parting kiss was fierce, a promise to return, but her absence left a quiet that felt both heavy and freeing. At Valdebebas, the Godmode drills continued, Caos's leadership sharper for it. Maat's Barcelona loomed, a shadow he'd face soon.

38. Flame and Focus