The neon lights shimmered along the streets of Paris.
Messi stood outside the bar, gazing at the bustling nightlife.
Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, yet his heart was racing wildly.
He clutched his phone tightly in his right hand.
How badly he wished it would just vibrate.
Tonight was… strange.
He had come to France for the Ballon d'Or awards, and couldn't turn down Ronaldinho's invitation to hit the bar.
That's how he ended up meeting Kaká, Pirlo, and—most importantly—Suker.
And that's where things got out of hand.
Why did he drink those two glasses of wine?Why did he let Suker egg him on to send that text message?
Yes. A text.
Even after two big glasses of wine, he was still a coward. He didn't dare call that beautiful girl. He chose to confess via text.
The message was sent.
Back in Argentina, it should be evening.
Ten minutes had passed.
Still… no reply.
"I screwed it up…"
Messi's expression was blank.
He felt like he had lost her forever.
He turned to glare at Suker.
Suker was leaning against the wall, grinning.
"Relax. Girls usually hesitate for a bit. She'll reply."
"You—"
Just as Messi opened his mouth—
His phone vibrated.
He froze.
Suker pointed at the phone:
"See? She replied. Congratulations!"
Messi felt like his heart was going to explode.
His hands shook as he opened the message inbox.
One simple word.
One single English word.
[OK!]
Messi stood there, stunned.
"Well?" Suker smiled.
"She… she said yes…" Messi murmured.
Suker reached out his hand:
"Congrats. A beautiful girl likes you back."
Messi's face flushed bright red.
He looked at Suker.
"I… I want another drink."
Suker pointed back to the bar:
"Just one more. Don't forget—we've got things to do tomorrow!"
Messi nodded eagerly.
It was a night that made no sense at all.
He had somehow won over the girl of his dreams.
And maybe… made a friend?
At dawn, Suker finished his morning run and arrived at the hotel's dining area for breakfast.
The hotel cafeteria was reserved for special guests.
It was full of players and VIPs attending that night's Ballon d'Or ceremony.
Suker saw a lot of familiar faces.
"Suker!"
A middle-aged man in a gray suit with a noticeable belly came over.
Suker looked him over and teased:
"You've only been retired three years. Let yourself go much?"
It was none other than Davor Šuker.
"You little punk, now you care about my figure?" He ruffled Suker's hair with a grin.
"You here as a guest too?" Suker asked.
"Award presenter," Davor smiled.
Thanks to Suker, Davor was invited to the ceremony.
Looking at Suker, Davor was filled with emotion.
The kid who once needed his name to gain recognition—was now standing at the top of world football.
The honor he himself had never won, now sat within Suker's reach.
This was the first step toward Suker's football throne.
How could Davor miss this moment?
"Did you prepare your speech?" he asked as he ate.
"I'll wing it!" Suker replied.
"You better prepare a bit. Don't forget to thank the right people!"
"Don't worry," Suker waved him off."Since when did you get so naggy?"
The afternoon was filled with interviews and networking.
Suker followed Ancelotti and Berlusconi through a whirlwind of meetings and greetings.
Many people he didn't even recognize.But if they were here, they had to be important in football.
Among them, he spotted Florentino Pérez.
Florentino gave him a subtle nod. Suker smiled in return.
After the ceremony, they'd be having a chat.
Nightfall in Paris.
The Paris Opera House was now buzzing with people.
The Ballon d'Or Ceremony would be held here.
Inside the car, Suker prepared to walk the red carpet.
Seated beside him was Gisele Bündchen, dressed in a stunning black evening gown.
She knew how important this night was for Suker.So she canceled all her commitments and flew in from New York to Paris by midday.
She even pulled out a prized evening dress, saving it for tonight.
"Nervous?" she asked, seeing him fidget.
Suker stared out the window, his right leg shaking.
This was the first time she'd seen him like this.
"Honey, don't worry. Even if you don't win, you're still my star tonight!"
Suker turned to her:
"What pose should I strike later?"
"None!" she lifted her chin with confidence."Just stand there. With me next to you, I'm already the biggest highlight!"
Suker chuckled.
This woman… really is full of herself!
The car began to move.
Suker took a deep breath.
"It's our turn."
The car pulled up to the entrance of the Paris Opera House.
A red carpet, roughly ten meters long, led straight inside.
Lining both sides were reporters and fans, forming a sea of people.
As the car door opened—Flashbulbs erupted in unison, lighting up the night like day.
Suker stepped out first.
A perfectly tailored black suit, paired with a black turtleneck sweater—casual yet formal, understated yet elegant.
His physique carried the suit effortlessly.
He turned and extended his hand.
Gisele Bündchen stepped out.
In that moment, the entire event reached its climax.
The Ballon d'Or favorite and the world's top supermodel—
Together, they became the center of global attention.
Arm in arm, they walked into the Paris Opera House.
Suker lifted his chin with confidence.
This was the honor he had fought for.
From Bosnia to Paris.
From obscurity to glory.
Along the way, he had never once relaxed—seizing every chance, giving everything he had.
And today, he had finally stepped onto football's grandest stage.
Something in his mindset subtly shifted.
But Suker knew—
This was only the beginning.
"Let's go."
Hand in hand, they entered the venue.
All eyes turned to Suker.
He was the man of the hour—the Ballon d'Or frontrunner.
He had taken his first step into footballing legend.
Paris Opera House, Ballon d'Or Ceremony.
Out of 50 nominees, about 20 showed up.
With guests, officials, and players, the venue was packed.
Suker worked the room, repeating his networking efforts from the afternoon.
He wasn't a fan of the social scene—But he understood its necessity.
He cracked jokes, stayed humble, and made good impressions.
Charm plus modesty—a winning combination tonight.
After making the rounds—
Slap!
Suker clapped someone on the back.
"You came and didn't even say hi?"
Modrić turned around, smiling:
"I just arrived this afternoon!"
His girlfriend also greeted Gisele, and the two women chatted.
Suker wrapped his arm around Modrić's shoulder, joking:
"The Premier League's best midfielder, huh~~~"
"Ignore that media nonsense," Modrić waved him off."They just like exaggerating."
"If you weren't that good, they wouldn't be hyping you,"Suker responded.
Modrić was also nominated for the Ballon d'Or, though not expected to rank high.
Still, he was in the running for other awards.
The Ballon d'Or wasn't the only prize tonight.There were also awards like Best Forward, Best Midfielder, Best Club, and more.
"Hey! Suker!"
Messi came over while they were chatting.
"You came alone?" Suker asked.
Messi scratched his head shyly:
"Antonella's still in school. She said she'd come with me next time."
Modrić glanced at Messi, then at Suker.
"This is Lionel Messi. I'm sure you've heard of him,"Suker introduced.
Both were rising stars, so naturally, they knew each other.
They shook hands and greeted each other.
Not far away, Cristiano Ronaldo, chatting with Sir Alex Ferguson, noticed them.
He frowned slightly and called out:
"Luka!"
Modrić turned and waved:
"I've got to go."
Suker nodded, watching him leave.
Modrić and Ronaldo were chatting like old friends.
Suker smirked.
"Looks like I won't be able to poach him back…"
He regretted suggesting Modrić join Manchester United.
Wasn't that just handing Ronaldo another weapon?
But Suker wasn't too upset—
He still had Kaká!