He didn't remember when the world had turned grey.
Perhaps it was when the meals at home became smaller, or when the quiet fights between his parents turned into long, suffocating silences.
Walking down the stone-paved alleys of Barcelona, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his faded, oversized hoodie, the ten-year-old boy watched the people passing by.
A couple laughing over coffee. A vendor exchanging a bright smile with a customer. A group of kids hanging off a balcony, shouting merrily.
Why do they get to smile?
The thought was dull, heavy, and constant. It dragged behind his heels like a shadow. He didn't hate them, hatred required too much energy. He was just tired. Tired of the noise, tired of the empty stomach that pinched at his ribs, tired of feeling like a stray dog navigating a city meant for human beings.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
A sudden, sharp sound cut through his thoughts. His sharp, feral eyes flicked up instantly. A stray football was spinning violently through the air, ricocheting off a brick wall at an awkward, dangerous angle, heading straight for a fruit stall.
Before his mind even processed the movement, his body reacted.
It was pure, unadulterated instinct. He exploded off the balls of his feet, his worn-out sneakers biting into the pavement. In a single, fluid leap that defied his ragged appearance, he launched himself nearly waist-high into the air, extending a leg to cushion the erratic bounce. His foot acted like a magnet, killing the ball's lethal momentum instantly and dropping it softly onto the cobble.
He landed lightly on his toes, barely making a sound.
A few feet away, a younger kid with bright green eyes and a sheepish grin was stepping forward, hand raised to apologize.
The older boy didn't listen to the words forming on the kid's lips. He didn't care about the rich, clean clothes the younger boy wore, or the fancy shoes on his feet. But the ball made him remember something he deemed far more important.
Without a single word, he hooked the ball around his ankle, turned on a dime, and sprinted into the dark vein of a nearby alleyway.
Raphael blinked, momentarily stunned.
Just a second ago, he had been floating on cloud nine. He was still riding the dizzying high of the Champions League semi-final, his mind completely intoxicated by the ghosts of Messi's zone state and Noel Noa's ruthless execution.
He had been navigating the streets with a football glued to his feet, casually juggling, trying to recreate the eclipse, that audacious, airborne Brazilian streetball maneuver he had watched Lavinho perform with such arrogant ease during the match over the defenders head.
He however, had miscalculated the spin, the ball had slipped off his toe, and he was about to call out an apology to an old man sitting near a café.
And then... that.
A kid had practically materialized out of thin air. The aerial control, the sheer explosive leap, the instantaneous trapping of a wild, spinning ball. It was breathtaking. But before Raphael could even admire the technique, the boy had stolen his ball and vanished into the shadows.
A panicked yelp sounded from Raphael as he gave chase.
"Hey! Wait!"
His legs churning as he darted into the narrow alley. He was fast, Oscar had ensured his coordination, speed, and endurance were far ahead of any average eight-year-old. He expected to close the distance within a few seconds.
He was dead wrong.
The gap didn't close. If anything, it felt like it was widening.
The stolen ball was tucked securely under the older boy's arm as he navigated the urban maze like a ghost who had lived in the walls his entire life. He didn't just run; he glided over the terrain. He leapt cleanly over wooden crates, banked off concrete walls to cut sharp corners, and weave effortlessly between startled pedestrians without breaking his stride for even a microsecond.
"Hold up! Just talk for a second!" Raphael called out, pouting slightly as he leaped over a low stone bench, his chest beginning to heave.
The boy didn't even turn his head. He moved with a cold, desperate efficiency, ignoring Raphael's voice entirely.
He's nuts, Raphael thought, a surge of adrenaline spiking his heart rate. I'm not slow, but he's treating these crowded streets like his personal playground!
For 10 agonizing minutes, the pursuit continued. Raphael refused to give up, his eyes locked onto the faded hoodie cutting through the city.
Finally, the suffocating alleys opened up into a sun-baked, sunken concrete court surrounded by rusted chain-link fencing.
The local streetball pitch.
It was loud, gritty, and chaotic. Teenagers and young boys were gathered around the court, shouting in rapid succession, arguing over boundaries and setting up teams for a pick-up match.
The boy with the worn hoodie finally stopped, tossing Raphael's football casually toward a the mass of kids who accepted it without hesitation, his attention briefly flicked to Raphael, who shocked him by keeping up with his pace, but immediately shifted away as if he was of no importance.
Raphael trotted into the court, hands on his knees, taking a deep, heavy breath to quickly steady his lungs. He looked at the thief. The boy wasn't even breathing hard. Not a single drop of sweat beaded on his forehead. His heart rate seemed entirely calm, his dark, hollow eyes scanning the crowd.
Raphael's annoyance instantly evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming, electric curiosity. The football he had lost was entirely forgotten.
"Hey!" a older, muscular teenager called out from the center of the court, pointing at Raphael. "Kid! You know how to play, or are you just staring? We're missing one for a five-a-side!"
Raphael's eyes lit up. "I'm in!"
He jogged over enthusiastically, stepping onto the cracked concrete. As the teams were divided, Raphael found himself lined up opposite the boy who had led him here.
The older boy turned to face him. He offered a melancholic, almost pitying look. There was no fire in his eyes, no passion, no joy, just a dark, empty void.
The referee, (a kid with his arm in a cast) dropped the ball in the center, and the game began.
Within seconds, the stray kid intercepted a loose pass from Raphael's teammate. He didn't wait. He immediately turned and drove straight toward Raphael, the ball glued to his battered sneakers like it was bound by a spell.
Raphael dropped his center of gravity, locking his green eyes onto the ball, setting his feet just as his father had taught him. A smile gracing his features.
'Come on. Show me what you've got.'
As the boy closed the distance, he looked up. His face was entirely apathetic, but when he spoke, his voice carried a quiet, venomous edge that chilled the air between them.
"Why do you look so happy?"
Raphael's breath caught, not from fear, but from the raw hatred embedded in those quiet words.
Before Raphael could process the statement, the boy moved.
Snap-snap.
An elastico with his right foot, snapping the ball outside then violently whipping it back inside. Raphael shifted his weight to cover, only for the boy to fluidly transition the ball to his left foot and execute another elastico in the exact opposite direction without losing a single frame of speed.
'A double elastico switch?! ' Raphael's eyes widened in sheer shock.
The boy breezed past him as if Raphael were nothing more than a wooden training cone, leaving him turned around and grasping at air.
"Here! Bunny! Over here!" a teammate shouted from the wing.
The boy, Bunny, didn't hesitate. He played a lightning-fast one-two pass off the wall, using the concrete angle to bypass two defenders, before accelerating into the penalty box. The ball was popped high into the air toward the far post.
Bunny didn't wait for it to drop.
He exploded upward, his body twisting mid-air with the ferocious athleticism of a hunting panther. While suspended in the sky, he contorted his frame and struck the falling ball with a vicious, thunderous volley.
BOOM!
The ball slammed into the top corner of the chain-link net, rattling the metal frame so hard it echoed across the entire block.
"YES! WHAT A SCREAMER, BUNNY!"
"Unbelievable, man! You killed it!"
His teammates rushed him, slinging arms around his shoulders, cheering wildly at the sensational goal.
Through the cluster of celebrating players, Bunny turned his head. His dark, emotionless eyes locked onto Raphael, who stood frozen in the center of the court, his heart hammering against his ribs, a wild, sharp grin slowly spreading across his face.
Bunny didn't smile back. He just stared, cold and unbothered, as the game raged on around them.