It had only been a week since the Rayo Vallecano game, but to Tobi, it felt like a month had passed — a heavy, dragging, grey sort of month where time blurred and moods clung to him like sweat. It wasn't just about the bad performance. That kind of thing happened in football. What hit harder was how it had felt: the helplessness, the weight on his chest, the loss of joy. It was like the magic had slipped between his fingers.
But even in that darkness, something shifted.
Tobi knew from his past life that the biggest mistake after a fall was waiting for someone to pull you back up. No — this time, he'd claw his way up, finger by finger, until he was back on his feet.
It started small.
He woke at dawn — no alarm, just instinct — and pulled on his training gear. Not the sponsored kits from the club, but an old grey one with faded sleeves and a cracked Sporting logo on the chest. The one he'd kept through everything, the one that reminded him of Lisbon, of roots, of pain and growth.
