After lunch, the family sat together in the grand hall — cousins stretched out on floor mats, uncles with full bellies, aunties sharing old stories. Laughter echoed off the walls, the kind of sound that only exists when love fills a room.
But Mirshad was not there.
He had quietly slipped out, walking through the heart of his underground facility. From the medical wing to the AI development zone, from the kitchen to the soldier training grounds — he moved like wind, greeting everyone with calm, asking questions, lending hands, giving comfort.
To the guards, he offered appreciation.
To the doctors, he listened with attention.
To the engineers, he shared ideas.
To the chefs, he joked like an old friend.
Because here, everyone was family. Titles meant nothing.
And then, near the corner of the healing center, a voice called out.
"Uncle!"
Mirshad turned and saw a small boy running toward him — the same boy once marked by cancer, now cured by Mirshad's own blood.
Mirshad knelt and scooped him up, lifting him high in the air.
"Where are you going, little storm?"
The boy grinned.
"Nowhere. I was waiting for you."
Mirshad laughed and carried him in his arms, walking through the corridors.
"You grew taller, huh? Eating well?"
The boy nodded.
"Yes. But I don't eat green beans. They're evil."
"Good man," Mirshad said. "I never trusted them either."
He handed him a chocolate from his pocket, unwrapped it, and smiled as the boy's eyes lit up. They walked together, talking about superheroes, robots, and how Mirshad should grow a mustache like one of the soldiers.
Time slipped away. He forgot the family waiting back in the hall.
Because in this moment, the boy's happiness meant more than anything.
Eventually, they reached the open playground — a wide, sunlit field where children ran wild with footballs, water guns, and imagination. Some of the Reapers sat with their wives and children under trees, enjoying the breeze.
No one expected Mirshad to appear. Not here.
But he walked onto the field with the boy still in his arms. He put him down, removed his overcoat, and pulled on a jersey from the sideline.
"Game time," he said with a grin.
The children stared for a second — and then exploded with cheers.
Two captains were already forming teams. One of them stood tall and pointed at him.
"MRD Uncle! You are in my team!"
Laughter echoed across the field.
Mirshad saluted.
"Yes, captain. I am yours. What position do I play?"
The boy thought seriously.
"Goalkeeper. You are big. You will block the goal."
More laughter followed as everyone saw the ruler of the world being ordered by a six-year-old.
"Forward position?" Mirshad asked with fake sadness.
"No, no," the captain said. "We have players for that. You stay in goal. Do not move."
Mirshad laughed and bowed.
"Yes, sir. I will protect the post with my life."
The game began. Shouts filled the air. Mirshad stood in front of the tiny goalpost, arms stretched wide, a giant among the little soldiers.
But he let the ball go in. Again and again.
He pretended to fall, to trip, to stretch the wrong way. The kids screamed, blamed him, yelled.
"You're the worst goalkeeper ever!"
"You let them score again!"
"You don't know how to play!"
He smiled every time.
"This is part of my plan," he said.
More shouting. More laughter.
From a distance, his family began to gather — uncles, aunties, his parents, cousins, brothers, all standing near the trees, watching the impossible sight before them.
their leader — the godlike figure — now being scolded by children, laughing freely like he never had a crown on his head.
Rayyan smiled.
"This is who he truly is."
The final whistle blew.
The kids rushed to the captain.
"We lost. Ten to four."
The captain walked over to Mirshad, arms crossed.
"Uncle, you are banned from being goalkeeper."
Mirshad knelt.
"I tried, captain. But their team was too strong."
"No. Next time, you play forward. We will make chubby boy the goalkeeper."
He pointed to another kid, and everyone laughed.
Mirshad stood up, spinning the ball on his finger.
"Deal. Next time, we score twenty."
Then from the sidelines, Amir shouted.
"Cheating kids, move away. It's time for the real game."
The kids cleared the field, forming a noisy crowd on the sides.
Amir stepped in with his usual flair.
"I'm one captain. Jabir is the other."
"Wait, why me?" Jabir asked.
"Because you look like someone who loses."
Everyone laughed.
"Choose your team," Amir shouted.
Mirshad raised his hands.
"Brothers, this is a family game. Talk strong, but play with your heart."
Amir smirked.
"Don't try your speech lines now. This is football, not world peace."
Laughter again. One by one, cousins, Reapers, and brothers joined the field. The kids sat with Sophia and the family, cheering for both sides.
And just like that…
A war hero became a forward.
A brother became a teammate.
And the field… became a kingdom of laughter.