Chapter 69
Cristiano stayed in the virtual therapy room for several days, completing the full treatment time until he was automatically kicked out by the system.
To be honest, his ankle really hurt. Cristiano saw that his ankle was swollen and looked like a bright little bun.
He briefly told Kaka about his injuries and then entered the space. Not long after, Kaka also came in.
The system space did not show his ankle, which was swollen like a steamed bun in real life. Cristiano's ankle was clamped by a black instrument that was as thick as two fingers and looked like shackles, which made his ankle look thinner and whiter.
Kaka's palm loosely grasped Cristiano's calf muscle above the ankle, frowned slightly, and his other empty hand was flipping through the diagnostic details report given by the system.
Cristiano moved his calf and asked Kaka in a bored tone: "Kaka Kaka, can you help me get my dumbbells? I'm so bored, can you at least let me exercise my biceps?"
"You just can't stop, can you?" Kaka glanced at Chris, who grabbed his lover's legs and read the diagnosis report.
Cristiano hated hearing things full of professional terms. Even if they were in his native language, he couldn't understand them and they always made him drowsy.
Anyway, what he knew now was that he needed at least three days for the system to repair his injuries, and nothing else mattered.
Kaka obviously knew more than him - at least Kaka wouldn't fall asleep while reading these things - Cristiano supported his chin and looked down at Kaka. His lover was sitting at his feet, allowing him to look down from an upward angle.
His lover pursed his lips, not smiling at all.
Oh, Kaka was wearing a white T-shirt, which was his casual clothes. Maybe he put it on after training? He remembered that Kaka didn't play today. Cristiano was thinking aimlessly, then noticed that his lover was holding a medical report with his elbows bent. This action made Kaka's upper arm muscles arch, filling up his white T-shirt.
Cristiano touched the tip of his nose, and his eyes involuntarily moved to Kaka's palm that always stroked his calf. The veins on the back of his hand were visible, and his fingers were much longer than his, with wide and distinct knuckles, and the entire palm was also larger, as if it could completely grasp his calf.
He was somewhat surprised to find that the skin color of his calves was actually whiter than Kaka's palms.
Cristiano blinked, and suddenly he realized that Kaka really gave people a sense of pressure when he didn't smile, but in his eyes, this was more like an attraction of a different flavor.
He even had to force himself to move Kaka's hand away from his calf to prevent himself from thinking of more inappropriate things.
"Cris?" Kaka looked up at his lover and saw Cristiano's eyes drifting absentmindedly. He raised his eyebrows slightly in confusion, "Cris, did you hear what I said?"
"What?" Cristiano suddenly came back to his senses, touched his nose, and asked in a low voice with guilt, "Say it again?"
Kaka looked at his lover helplessly and joked, "Will you be distracted when you are with me? Cris, you make me wonder if my charm has diminished."
Cristiano's eyes widened slightly, and he almost jumped up like a frightened squirrel: "No!"
"Oh God! Damn it, Cris! Watch your feet!" Kaka exclaimed, and quickly stopped Cristiano's reckless movements. He didn't even realize that he had actually sworn a curse. He was shocked - very scared, and hurriedly held up Cristiano's delicate and pitiful ankle with both hands. Thank God, the instrument above was still showing a green light.
Cristiano sat back awkwardly, gave Kaka a thumbs-up with a dry laugh, "Oh...it's fine, it's fine."
Kaka was almost laughing out of anger. He pinched that pretty face that made people angry and adorable at the same time: "Why are you jumping?"
"It's you." Cristiano thought about it and rolled his eyes. The content of his distraction was enough to make him feel guilty, but Kaka had to say such things.
Kaka took a few seconds to react. He shook his head with a smile, and suddenly became more interested in the reason why his lover was distracted: "So, since it's not that my charm has diminished on you, what caused you to be distracted?"
Cristiano: “…”
Honestly, he wasn't one to be shy about revealing the real answer, but only if he hadn't embarrassed himself by it before.
But in the end, Cristiano lowered his head and spoke frankly in a low voice, for which he felt his ears were about to burn.
Kaka never expected the answer to be like this. He was stunned for a second, and then he saw his boy lowering his head and playing with the two laces on his shorts, his ears turned red.
God.
Kaka's breathing became heavier. He resisted the urge to laugh. He had to admit that he got a strong sense of satisfaction from Cristiano's answer - he aroused his lover's sexual desire, which was a good evaluation.
"Okay, I'll make a note of that." He suddenly said, meeting Cristiano's slightly blank gaze, and curled his lips. "Next time we meet, I'll dress like this, how about that?"
Cristiano: “…”
Aaaah.
Kaka propped himself up slightly, put one hand around Cristiano's neck and gently pressed him down, then kissed Cristiano's hot earlobe and laughed softly: "Cris, I like that you are always so honest."
Cristiano closed his eyes. His body trembled slightly, then quickly softened. He grumbled, "That doesn't sound like a compliment to me."
"Honey, this is teasing." Kaka corrected, then smiled and kissed his lover's dissatisfied lips, blocking what Chris was about to say.
///
In the World Cup qualifier against Ireland, Cristiano only played for 50 minutes, he failed to score a goal, and when he left the field, the score was still 0-0, which made him feel depressed and dissatisfied.
He was obviously fine, but Scolari didn't let him play the whole game!
Figo trotted over and patted Cristiano on the cheek. He didn't say a word and soon returned to the field.
Cristiano will never learn to hide his expression, especially on the court, so Scolari can almost tell at a glance that their young player is very unhappy with his decision.
When Cristiano walked to the sidelines, he reached out and put his arm around Cristiano's head, pressed Cristiano against his shoulders and patted him twice, explaining and comforting his student like a patient teacher:
"Replacing you doesn't mean I think your performance is not good enough. On the contrary, I believe in you and always have. But I need you to come back to me 100%. I am not willing to take any risks even if there is a little uncertainty."
Cristiano pursed his lips and nodded slightly, but he still subconsciously pressed his tongue against the soft flesh inside his mouth, pushing his cheeks slightly bulging out like an angry puffer fish.
Scolari watched with amusement the little boy silently getting angry with him. He knew that Cristiano was not complaining about him, but more about complaining about his own injury and having to rest and reduce his playing time.
Scolari took a look at the field, then sat back in his seat with the water. He glanced at the older boy sitting silently on a chair, and stuffed the water into Cristiano's arms: "This is just the beginning, Cristiano. I need you to run longer and farther, and so does Portugal. Do you understand, kid?"
"I understand." Cristiano replied in a low voice. He took the water from the coach's hand and looked deeply at the field, at Figo, Costa, Deco...
He did it, and after this generation came to an end, he carried his country long enough, but not far enough.
- At least for him, it was far from enough. All he wanted was the championship. He inherited the helm from Portugal's golden generation. He wanted to take Portugal to see scenery it had never seen before, but he only had time to do part of it in his previous life.
In the next dozen years, there will be no team closer to the World Cup championship than the current Portugal team, Cristiano thought to himself, which is why he is so eager to participate in every World Cup qualifier. He must ensure that their team can make it to the end just like the trajectory of the previous life.
Moreover, Cristiano has his greater ambitions. He wants this team to win the championship, and he wants this generation of Portuguese main players to end without regrets.
He whispered to Scolari: "I want the World Cup."
Scolari laughed: "I want it too, kid, everyone wants it, it's so beautiful."
Cristiano curled the corners of his mouth slightly, then quickly pursed them down.
Scolari did not understand the calm enthusiasm behind his words.
After the World Cup qualifier, Cristiano returned to the club to prepare for the final round of the Premier League.
He didn't know if it was because his desire for victory was too urgent recently, he dreamed of himself on the Real Madrid ship in his previous life, dreamed of Florentina, dreamed of the deafening boos at the Bernabeu Stadium, dreamed of himself curled up in the dark bed alone in the middle of the night because of pain, and dreamed that no matter how fast or hard he ran, he could not get the trust and playing time he deserved.
Cristiano woke up in the cabin on the plane flying back to England. He opened his eyes suddenly, gasped for breath, and his temples were soaked with cold sweat.
The nightmare follows you everywhere.
In his previous life, his psychiatrist told him that even if he could lock these things in a box, there would always be times when they would sneak out, wander around in his mind and then go back in. He answered the doctor that he would remember to lock the box.
The flight attendant came over quickly and asked him if he was okay. Cristiano subconsciously looked at the flight attendant who walked in front of him. He met the deep brown eyes that were somewhat similar to his lover, and it took him a few seconds to come back to his senses.
"Give me..." He spoke, only to find that his voice was pitifully hoarse. He couldn't help but clear his throat, then smiled apologetically: "I mean, please give me a glass of water, thank you."
"Okay sir, are you sure you don't need anything else?" the young male flight attendant asked with concern.
"A glass of water is enough," Cristiano replied.
The flight attendant nodded and left. Cristiano leaned back in his chair, let out a long breath, closed his eyes tiredly, and pinched his brows.
He wants to lock the box.
Soon, the young flight attendant came back with a glass of warm boiled water and a warm, slightly hot towel.
Cristiano looked at the flight attendant in surprise, blinked, and then laughed: "Thank you, wow, really, I really need this."
He took the towel, covered his face with it and pressed it hard. The slightly hot heat evaporated quickly with the water vapor, as if taking away the tiredness.
Cristiano sighed softly and took off his towel with satisfaction, then he noticed that the flight attendant was still there, as if waiting for his towel.
"Thank you." Cristiano returned the towel to the other party and said thank you. He looked much more energetic than before.
The flight attendant smiled and said, "You're welcome. Have a nice trip. If you need anything, please feel free to call us."
Cristiano nodded.
The flight attendant returned to the cubicle with the towel and waved it at her colleague in a frenzy: "Oh my God! That guy smiled at me! He's nothing like what the tabloids say! He's great!"
"Smell the towel he used! It has a faint fragrance!"
“…”
After getting off the plane, the driver arranged by Mendes took him back to the club.
Ferguson saw Cristiano return to the club. He snorted, still somewhat dissatisfied, but he was more concerned about his boy's injury and asked, "How is your ankle?"
"I can play the whole game for you," Cristiano said quickly.
Ferguson glared at him angrily and said, "I don't care whether you can play the whole game for me! I don't need you to prove that!"
Cristiano paused, as if he couldn't react immediately to why Ferguson was angry at him, but soon he realized the problem, and he grinned and pulled out a silly smile - he had just forgotten where he was for a moment.
He leaned over to Sir Alex Ferguson and hugged the chubby older man. He smiled and whispered, "Sorry, that's not what I meant. I just had a nightmare on the way. I dreamed of something... terrible. I was confused."
Ferguson's heart softened when Cristiano leaned in to hug him, and the anger that had just risen was extinguished in an instant.
"So what did you dream about?" Ferguson asked.
If it were someone else, Ferguson would not care about what the other person was dreaming about. He might just give him a big slap in the face and let him adjust himself before appearing in front of him.
But Cristiano was always different.
The boy in front of him hesitated for a few seconds, as if he was not used to talking about where his fear and anxiety came from, but under Ferguson's gaze, he still confessed. He whispered: "...dreams about not being able to play, no one trusting me anymore, and things like that."
Ferguson was stunned when he heard this. He tilted his head to look at the big boy who was close to him. The other party looked very serious.
Ferguson began to curse Scolari in his heart as the old fool. It was only possible that Scolari made his boy have such thoughts. Even though he knew that Scolari would never take such an action, maybe that careless Brazilian made his Ronnie think too much?
Brazilians, huh.
He hugged the big boy in his arms, then held Chris's face, squeezed the soft flesh on his cheeks in the middle, and squeezed out a funny look. He laughed and deliberately joked: "Oh Ronnie, my poor little Ronnie, he must have been tortured by that guy Scolari and had a nightmare."
Cristiano blinked, Scolari?
He didn't know how Sir Alex Ferguson thought of his national team coach, and he denied it: "Not really..."
Before he could finish his words, Sir Alex Ferguson pinched his mouth, preventing him from speaking.
Ferguson didn't want to hear his little boy defending another manager.
Cristiano: “…”
"Dreams are always the opposite, Ronnie. It's okay to have nightmares." Sir Alex Ferguson said. He looked at Cristiano and showed a gentle and confident smile, which made people feel at ease. He patted Chris's shoulder, pointed at himself, and said with full energy, "As long as I am here, no one can question you or shake you. Just play football with peace of mind, my child. All you have to do is stay healthy and take good care of yourself."
Cristiano smiled, curled his eyes, and hugged his coach tightly again. He sniffed and whispered, "Thank you, Boss, I know."
With Ferguson around, he never has to worry.
Ferguson heard the nasal tone in Chris' voice, his eyelids twitched, he felt a little amused and helpless - and a lot of anger was directed at Scolari, his little Ronnie was obviously still a child! Crybaby little boy! What did the Brazilians say to him? !
Cristiano had been training at the club for a few days. His teammates came to him to care about his injury. Giggs stared at his ankle and shook his head: "Ronnie, gain muscle. Listen to me. You are like a bamboo pole now, except for some meat on your face and buttocks."
Cristiano grumbled in dissatisfaction: "Hey..."
"I'm gaining muscle! But it takes time and it's not obvious now..." Cristiano said with a pout.
Maybe it's because he's still growing in height? Even though he had been gaining muscle since he came to this world, the results seemed to be no different from his previous life - even though the test data provided by the system showed that it was much better than in his previous life.
"Ronnie has a small frame. He won't be able to get much stronger even if he gains muscle," Keane said. He frowned, looked Chris up and down, then shook his head.
Fanny nodded in agreement: "That's true."
He thought to himself, look at that Brazilian Kaka, even if Ronnie gains more muscle, he can't compare to such broad shoulders, he is definitely a size bigger than Ronnie! It's innate.
"I'm starting to worry about the World Cup and European Championship qualifiers, and the World Cup in Germany after that." Pique frowned worriedly.
He stared at Cristiano's slender ankle, which could be held in one hand, as if it would be broken with a little force. He half-crouched at Cristiano's feet and muttered: "If you ask me, Portugal needs one or two defenders who can intimidate the opponent."
"Otherwise, if you play against England, against defenders like Leo and the captain, or even worse, against them themselves, Chris, you will be in trouble!" said Pique.
Ferdinand and Keane were named: "..."
Cristiano almost laughed out loud, he thought he did face off, but Portugal won in the end!
And if he were to say anything, it would be - Pique is in trouble!
He looked at Pique with a little pity. His Spanish friend always spoke without thinking. It was hard not to think of some discord in the locker room when he said this in front of Ferdinand and Keane.
Pique met Cristiano's gaze and tilted his head, but soon, he felt a chill on the back of his neck and an iron hand grabbed his collar: "Gerard Pique, what do you mean?"
He turned his head slightly stiffly and met Ferdinand's squinting look.
Pique: “…”
Cristiano grinned.
But what Pique said was indeed right, he thought of his old friend and that they would meet again soon after the World Cup.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
