Striker of The Gods

”Chaos is twofold: the void from which all life was born and the divine spark that creates destiny. But today, chaos has a name—Caos. A boy who, one day, will sit atop the world of football and leave every stadium trembling in his wake, slaying the game under the eyes of nations.” As he trains tirelessly, each kick of the ball echoes his ambition, and every drop of sweat becomes a testament to his relentless pursuit. With every match, he inches closer to his fate, ready to carve his legacy into the annals of history.

La Fábrica—the mythic forge of football greatness.

Legends say it was here that Daniel Carvajal, Raúl González, Iker Casillas, Guti, and Hierro first kicked their destiny into motion. This place is more than a training ground. It is sacred. It is an empire.

Tucked on the outskirts of Barcelona, La Fábrica is no longer just a cement factory. Transformed by the Taller de Arquitectura, it now stands like a monument to ambition—its gray bones rising like Babel, scratching the clouds and testing the limits of young prodigies.

Here, beneath skies trembling with summer heat, Chaos rises.

The match is brutal. Defenders swarm him like storms, their cleats slicing the turf, their eyes fixed on the prodigy who dances with the ball as if born from Olympus itself. With each deft move, he weaves through the defenders, a blur of skill and determination that captivates the crowd. The air crackles with energy as spectators hold their breath, witnessing the birth of a legend in the making.

”¡Vamos, Caos!” someone screams from the sidelines.

Four defenders close in. They lunge, stretch, and foul. But Caos is a phantom—slipping through shadows, bursting through gaps. One touch. A second. A pivot. In an instant, he finds himself in front of the goal, the keeper’s eyes wide with disbelief. With a swift flick of his foot, the ball sails past the outstretched hand, hitting the back of the net and igniting an eruption of cheers from the stands.

Goal.

Then another.

And another.

Seven goals in a single match. The stadium doesn’t erupt—it worships. The players on the field are spellbound, caught in the magic of his performance. Each goal seems to weave a tapestry of dreams, binding the crowd in a shared ecstasy that will linger long after the final whistle.

Inside the towering halls of La Fábrica, under the stained glass glow of sunset, Emily walks the corridor in a simple gray robe. Her elegance is timeless, her presence effortless. Sunlight kisses the edge of her cheekbones, tracing the past she once shared with Caos.

She watches from the corridor as he wipes sweat from his brow. It’s been six months since they split. Six long months since she left him for Jack—Caos’s best friend and now the captain of the school team. Jack, always louder, flashier, and cockier. Chaos had been more poetic. More... dangerous. Now, as she observes the two of them laughing together on the field, a pang of regret flickers within her. She wonders if she made the right choice or if the thrill of Jack’s bravado has dulled the deeper connection she once had with Caos.

”That must be Caos, right?” She mutters, her voice lost in the hall.

But Caos doesn’t look at her. Not anymore.

He has moved on. His heart now belongs to Mizuki, the soft-spoken girl who sketches footballers in her notebook and once told him that gods walk among men—and he was proof.

Emily strolls beside Jack, her hand tangled in his, but her eyes still drift back.

“Shouldn’t Caos still be chasing me?” She mutters, clenching her jaw. “Why the hell am I the ex now?” Jack glances sideways at her, sensing the turmoil behind her bravado. “Maybe he finally realized that some things are meant to be left behind,” he replies, trying to comfort her, though he knows the sting of heartbreak is never easy to shake off.

Later that afternoon…

Caos’s phone vibrates.

? Email from: Real Madrid CF – Recruitment Division

Subject: Official Offer of Entry into Youth Program

Caos,

You have been selected to join our youth academy as a developing professional. Compensation: €30,000 per season + housing + training package.

Report to Valdebebas this Friday.

Congratulations.

Caos stares at the screen. His heart is a drum. His hands shake, then steady. With a mix of disbelief and excitement coursing through him, he quickly rereads the email, ensuring he didn’t misinterpret the words. This was the opportunity he had dreamed of, and now it was within his grasp.

“HURRAY! I’m going to play for Real Madrid!” he shouts, eyes wide with disbelief. “HA! HAHAHAA!”

From behind a vending machine, Emily and Jack freeze.

Jack snorts. “Real Madrid? Yeah, right. Dream on, bro.”

“Check it out, you fool,” Caos says, stepping forward and showing him the email. As Jack leans in to read the message, his expression shifts from skepticism to shock. “Wait, you’re serious?” he stammers, his earlier bravado fading away. Emily, still hidden, can’t help but smile at the unexpected turn of events, secretly rooting for Caos as he stands on the brink of his dreams.

Jack walks up, reads, and scoffs.

“This has got to be a scam. You? Real Madrid?” Caos’s smile falters for a moment, but he quickly regains his confidence. “It’s not a scam, and you’ll see just how wrong you are when I’m scoring goals on the world stage!” He can feel the excitement bubbling inside him, determined to prove Jack wrong and to chase his dreams, no matter the skepticism of others.

Caos raises an eyebrow. “Why not? Delight your eyes.”

Jack frowns.

“We’ll see.”

“You’ll never even get close to playing with them,” Jack says, trying to hide his tension. “Pfft. I’d love to see you try.”

Emily says nothing. But her eyes speak: fear.

And then—the wind shifts.

A black car rolls up to the school gates. Doors open.

Out steps Vinícius Jr.

His eyes scan the field.

“Where’s the kid?” he asks.

To be continued…