Chapter 4:
After the Whistle
After the match ended, the crowd began to trickle out of the stadium.
Kaká was getting ready to leave too.
He had booked a hotel near the airport and would be flying back to Brazil early the next morning.
People around him were sneaking glances, and the attention made him uneasy. He pulled his cap lower and adjusted his sunglasses, feeling a little more secure behind the disguise.
Steve noticed Kaká preparing to leave and, after a moment’s hesitation, worked up the nerve to speak.
“Could you… give me an autograph?” “Me?” Kaká looked genuinely confused.
An autograph wasn’t a big deal—but wasn’t this guy hoping for Ricardo’s signature?
“Yes, you. Could you sign something for me?” Steve asked again, with complete certainty.
He wasn’t getting Ricardo’s autograph today, that much was clear. But Kaká’s? That wasn’t half bad either.
He was Ricardo’s brother, after all—and who’s to say Kaká wouldn’t become a footballer too someday? “Alright,” Kaká said good-naturedly.
“Got a pen?” “Yes, yes, yes!” Steve fumbled through his bag and pulled out a marker. Kaká took it, casually popped the cap off, and asked where he wanted it signed.
Without hesitation, Steve spun around. “Here! On my shirt!” “Really?” Kaká looked at the jersey with the big number 7 printed on the back and paused.
Kaká was getting ready to leave too.
He had booked a hotel near the airport and would be flying back to Brazil early the next morning.
People around him were sneaking glances, and the attention made him uneasy. He pulled his cap lower and adjusted his sunglasses, feeling a little more secure behind the disguise.
Steve noticed Kaká preparing to leave and, after a moment’s hesitation, worked up the nerve to speak.
“Could you… give me an autograph?” “Me?” Kaká looked genuinely confused.
An autograph wasn’t a big deal—but wasn’t this guy hoping for Ricardo’s signature?
“Yes, you. Could you sign something for me?” Steve asked again, with complete certainty.
He wasn’t getting Ricardo’s autograph today, that much was clear. But Kaká’s? That wasn’t half bad either.
He was Ricardo’s brother, after all—and who’s to say Kaká wouldn’t become a footballer too someday? “Alright,” Kaká said good-naturedly.
“Got a pen?” “Yes, yes, yes!” Steve fumbled through his bag and pulled out a marker. Kaká took it, casually popped the cap off, and asked where he wanted it signed.
Without hesitation, Steve spun around. “Here! On my shirt!” “Really?” Kaká looked at the jersey with the big number 7 printed on the back and paused.
....
Signing his name on Cristiano’s jersey felt… wrong.
But Steve was so eager, it was hard to say no—so he signed anyway. Others nearby noticed the interaction and started getting excited.
No one really knew what Kaká’s connection to Ricardo was, but hey, an autograph didn’t hurt.
And who knew? This guy might be the next big thing.
Finally, a pretty girl made her way over and asked—rather sweetly—if she could have an autograph too.
Kaká had never been great with girls, and now that he was seventeen again, his social skills had taken a time-traveling downgrade.
Not turning red was already a victory; rejecting her was out of the question.
And once the second request came, the floodgates opened. Fans swarmed in.
Some wanted autographs, others just wanted a closer look at the handsome stranger. Soon, Kaká was completely surrounded by an enthusiastic mob.
The stadium security noticed the commotion and rushed over. To Kaká, the arrival of the guards felt like divine intervention—like celestial beings descending to pull him from chaos.
They led him to a corridor near the players’ tunnel and told him to wait there. Someone would escort him out once the crowd dispersed.
Then they disappeared to tend to other duties. So Kaká stood and waited, alone in a sea of passing staff members.
Some gave him curious glances, but no one asked who he was or what he was doing there. He didn’t dare wander.
He knew this place like the back of his hand—but that was in another life. Now, he was just another face without a badge.
Wandering around might get him mistaken for a trespasser or a nosy reporter.
But Steve was so eager, it was hard to say no—so he signed anyway. Others nearby noticed the interaction and started getting excited.
No one really knew what Kaká’s connection to Ricardo was, but hey, an autograph didn’t hurt.
And who knew? This guy might be the next big thing.
Finally, a pretty girl made her way over and asked—rather sweetly—if she could have an autograph too.
Kaká had never been great with girls, and now that he was seventeen again, his social skills had taken a time-traveling downgrade.
Not turning red was already a victory; rejecting her was out of the question.
And once the second request came, the floodgates opened. Fans swarmed in.
Some wanted autographs, others just wanted a closer look at the handsome stranger. Soon, Kaká was completely surrounded by an enthusiastic mob.
The stadium security noticed the commotion and rushed over. To Kaká, the arrival of the guards felt like divine intervention—like celestial beings descending to pull him from chaos.
They led him to a corridor near the players’ tunnel and told him to wait there. Someone would escort him out once the crowd dispersed.
Then they disappeared to tend to other duties. So Kaká stood and waited, alone in a sea of passing staff members.
Some gave him curious glances, but no one asked who he was or what he was doing there. He didn’t dare wander.
He knew this place like the back of his hand—but that was in another life. Now, he was just another face without a badge.
Wandering around might get him mistaken for a trespasser or a nosy reporter.
...
Cristiano Ronaldo rushed back to the locker room after his interviews.
He showered quickly, changed into clean clothes, grabbed his phone from his locker, and scrolled to a familiar name in his contacts.
The last message there was a generic holiday greeting. Cristiano pressed his lips together and tapped the input box.
I heard you have a brother. Why didn’t you tell me? 😏 No. Delete. Your little brother came to see my game. 3–1.
Pretty sure my skills blew his mind. 😎💪👍 Still no. Delete. Did you watch the match? Delete.
He clicked his tongue in frustration and shoved the phone back into his bag with a clatter. The locker slammed shut.
He stomped out of the room. But the moment he stepped into the corridor, he saw Kaká standing there like an awkward lamppost, nervously checking his phone every few seconds, as if that might make time pass faster.
Kaká’s eyes lit up the second he saw Cristiano—but then he remembered they didn’t technically know each other.
“Uh… hi?” Kaká raised a hand uncertainly. Cristiano stood frozen, staring at him, expression unreadable.
He stared for several long seconds before finally speaking. “What are you doing here?” “Um… One of the staff told me to wait here.
He said he’d come back and take me out.” Cristiano looked like he was about to walk away—but then turned back, as if making a decision.
“Come with me. I’ll take you out.” There was no telling when that staff guy would return, and it was getting late.
Any more delays and it might be impossible to catch a cab. So Kaká agreed, and they started walking together.
“Where are you headed?” Cristiano asked.
He showered quickly, changed into clean clothes, grabbed his phone from his locker, and scrolled to a familiar name in his contacts.
The last message there was a generic holiday greeting. Cristiano pressed his lips together and tapped the input box.
I heard you have a brother. Why didn’t you tell me? 😏 No. Delete. Your little brother came to see my game. 3–1.
Pretty sure my skills blew his mind. 😎💪👍 Still no. Delete. Did you watch the match? Delete.
He clicked his tongue in frustration and shoved the phone back into his bag with a clatter. The locker slammed shut.
He stomped out of the room. But the moment he stepped into the corridor, he saw Kaká standing there like an awkward lamppost, nervously checking his phone every few seconds, as if that might make time pass faster.
Kaká’s eyes lit up the second he saw Cristiano—but then he remembered they didn’t technically know each other.
“Uh… hi?” Kaká raised a hand uncertainly. Cristiano stood frozen, staring at him, expression unreadable.
He stared for several long seconds before finally speaking. “What are you doing here?” “Um… One of the staff told me to wait here.
He said he’d come back and take me out.” Cristiano looked like he was about to walk away—but then turned back, as if making a decision.
“Come with me. I’ll take you out.” There was no telling when that staff guy would return, and it was getting late.
Any more delays and it might be impossible to catch a cab. So Kaká agreed, and they started walking together.
“Where are you headed?” Cristiano asked.
...
“To a hotel.”
“Which one?”
“Near the airport.
I’m flying back to Brazil in the morning.” Kaká answered every question without hesitation. Cristiano frowned.
The airport was far, and it was already late. Getting there by taxi now would take forever. “It’s too late to be taking taxis across the city.
Just stay at my place tonight.” Then, more casually: “Ricardo and I used to be neighbors… though you’ve never been over, have you?”
Kaká didn’t pick up on the subtext. He just thought Cristiano was being unusually nice tonight. Maybe it was because they used to be such good friends.
Looking after a friend’s little brother—that was perfectly normal, wasn’t it? Cristiano had always been kind like that.
“I know. Ricardo told me about it.” Ricardo told you about me, Cristiano thought. Funny—he never told me about you.
He didn’t know why that annoyed him, but it did. And suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking anymore. Silence filled the car as they drove.
Until— Kaká’s stomach growled. He looked sheepish and let out a nervous little laugh. “Are you hungry? I’m kind of starving.
Can we stop somewhere and grab something to eat?” Cristiano stared at those big white teeth and immediately felt more annoyed.
But he couldn’t bring himself to say no. “…What do you want to eat?” he asked, reluctantly.
Kaká grinned. “Brazilian barbecue. You want some too?”
I’m flying back to Brazil in the morning.” Kaká answered every question without hesitation. Cristiano frowned.
The airport was far, and it was already late. Getting there by taxi now would take forever. “It’s too late to be taking taxis across the city.
Just stay at my place tonight.” Then, more casually: “Ricardo and I used to be neighbors… though you’ve never been over, have you?”
Kaká didn’t pick up on the subtext. He just thought Cristiano was being unusually nice tonight. Maybe it was because they used to be such good friends.
Looking after a friend’s little brother—that was perfectly normal, wasn’t it? Cristiano had always been kind like that.
“I know. Ricardo told me about it.” Ricardo told you about me, Cristiano thought. Funny—he never told me about you.
He didn’t know why that annoyed him, but it did. And suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking anymore. Silence filled the car as they drove.
Until— Kaká’s stomach growled. He looked sheepish and let out a nervous little laugh. “Are you hungry? I’m kind of starving.
Can we stop somewhere and grab something to eat?” Cristiano stared at those big white teeth and immediately felt more annoyed.
But he couldn’t bring himself to say no. “…What do you want to eat?” he asked, reluctantly.
Kaká grinned. “Brazilian barbecue. You want some too?”
