The matches came fast
Midweek
Weekend
Then back to training
Then again
Cristiano barely had time to breathe
But he didn't ask for air
He chased the pressure
One night after a tough win he sat alone in the locker room
Shirt off
Muscles aching
Legs on fire
He stared at his reflection in the mirror across the room
Still not enough
The next match he played wild
Too many touches
Too many tricks
The crowd loved it
But Sir Alex didn't
He pulled him off early
Didn't say a word
Just walked past
Cristiano threw his shin guards against the wall
Angry
Not at the coach
At himself
The headlines flipped
"Showboat Ronaldo"
"Too Flash Not Enough Finish"
"More Style Than Substance"
Cristiano read every one
Then cut them out
Pasted them in his notebook
Under each one
He wrote
Watch me
In training he stayed longer
Took shooting drills alone
Practiced passing with both feet
Studied matches at night
Not just his
Everyone's
He didn't want to be good
He wanted to be complete
The next time he played
He was colder
Sharper
No wasted movement
Just fire
One goal
One assist
No celebration
Just a stare into the crowd
Sir Alex saw it
This time
He nodded
Now you're learning
But the media wasn't done
They dug deeper
Stories from Madeira
Doubts about his attitude
Whispers about being a selfish player
Cristiano smiled at the noise
Because every insult was a seed
And all he knew how to do
Was grow from it