245. Caos, Press, and the crushing defeat of RAYO VALLECANO.

Time: 24th april 2034

Location: Santiago Bernabéu Press Room, Madrid

Caos on his way to the press after defeating Rayo Vallecano 13 to 5. 

Caos had scored 7 goals.

Media was exploding. Caos did not care that much,

After all, Caos was the storm.

The press conference was supposed to be about football.

Another victory.

Another enormous performance.

Another week of questions about goals, training, tactics, Real Madrid, and what Caos could possibly do next.

For the first few minutes, that was exactly what happened.

Then a journalist from Marca raised his hand.

Caos looked toward him.

The room changed.

Everyone knew where the question was going.

The Marca journalist stood with his microphone.

“Caos, Leonor is now in her sixth month of pregnancy. How are you feeling about becoming a father?”

Caos leaned back slightly in his chair.

The usual confidence in his face softened.

“And how is the pregnancy progressing?”

Caos smiled.

“She’s doing well.”

He paused for a moment.

“Really well, actually.”

A few journalists smiled.

“Leonor is strong. The baby is growing normally. We talk every day. Sometimes about serious things, sometimes about completely stupid things.”

A little laughter moved through the room.

Caos smiled.

“I think that's what I like most about it. It doesn't feel like some distant event that's going to happen one day. It's already part of our life.”

He looked down briefly before continuing.

“I’m excited.”

His voice became quieter.

“And I'm ready.”

The journalist nodded.

“Are you nervous?”

Caos laughed.

“Of course.”

The room laughed with him.

“I can run faster than most people can see. I can hit a ball at ridiculous speeds. I've fought dinosaurs in training.”

He shook his head.

“And none of that prepares you for being a father.”

The room laughed again.

Caos's smile remained.

“But I'm learning.”

He rested his hands on the table.

“The baby will be loved. The baby will be protected. That's the part I'm certain about.”

Journalist 2:  International Outlet

Another journalist raised his hand.

“There have also been reports about Zeraphina's pregnancy. You're dealing with two pregnancies within your family while maintaining this level of performance. How are you balancing all of it?”

Caos looked toward him.

“I'm not balancing it perfectly.”

That answer surprised a few people.

Caos continued.

“Some days I'm training for hours. Some days I come home and I'm exhausted. Sometimes I have no idea what I'm doing.”

He shrugged.

“That's life.”

The room became quieter.

“Zeraphina is doing wonderfully. Leonor is doing wonderfully. The children are healthy, and that's what matters to me.”

He leaned forward.

“The football is important. Obviously. I love football.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the table.

“But when I leave the stadium, I'm still a person who has to go home.”

He smiled.

“I have people waiting for me there.”

A journalist asked from the side:

“Does that make you train harder?”

Caos thought about it.

“Sometimes.”

He looked toward the reporters.

“Not because I need to prove something to them.”

He shook his head.

“I train because I want to be strong enough to protect the people I love.”

He paused.

“And because I enjoy being better than I was yesterday.”

Journalist 3 : ESPN

The ESPN journalist stood.

“Caos, there's been a lot of attention around Sofía's growing influence and the royal court. With Leonor's child eventually becoming part of that world, how do you see the future for your children?  At some point, the skills do not translate. You would need to live it from a young age. Americans love to tell themselves they could be good at soccer if they only cared. Maybe they’d be better if they started young enough, but I’m not convinced it would be 6-3 WRs and there is no chance it would be LeBron or Kobe or anyone 6-8; there is a reason the best soccer players world wide are mostly under 6 feet. Either way, plugging “athletes” in and arrogantly assuming they’d thrive at soccer would never ever work. ”

Caos's expression changed.

He sat straighter.

The smile disappeared.

“The crown is their business.”

He spoke calmly.

“My business is being their father.”

Several journalists began writing.

Caos continued.

“I don't want my children growing up thinking they have to become something because of their surname.”

He looked directly toward the journalist.

“If one of them wants football, I'll support them.”

A pause.

“If one wants science, I'll support them.”

Another pause.

“If one wants music, painting, engineering, medicine, farming, business, or something I can't even imagine yet…”

He smiled.

“I'll support that too.”

The journalist asked:

“Even if they don't want anything connected to your legacy?”

Caos didn't hesitate.

“Especially then.”

The room went quiet.

“My children aren't here to continue my career.”

His voice remained firm.

“They're here to live their own lives.”

He leaned back.

“No throne will define them.”

Another Journalist : El País

“Do you worry that the attention around your family will make that difficult?”

Caos nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

It was one of the more direct answers he had given that afternoon.

“Of course I worry about it.”

He looked toward the cameras.

“There are hundreds of cameras around us all the time. People talk about our lives. People speculate about things they don't know.”

He shrugged.

“I can't control all of that.”

“But I can control what happens inside my home.”

His expression softened again.

“My children will know who they are before they know what strangers expect them to be.”

Journalist : AS

“And what kind of father do you want to be?”

Caos smiled.

“A present one.”

The answer came quickly.

“I don't need to be perfect.”

He laughed quietly.

“I already know I'm not.”

The journalists laughed.

“I want them to be able to come to me when they're happy.”

He paused.

“And when they've made a terrible decision.”

More laughter.

“I want them to know they can tell me the truth.”

He looked down at the table.

“And if they make mistakes, we'll deal with them.”

His voice became more serious.

“They don't have to be afraid of disappointing me.”

Florentino Pérez, seated nearby, leaned toward his microphone.

The room immediately became quieter.

“Caos is obviously one of the greatest players we've ever had at this club.”

He smiled.

“But what people sometimes don't see is how seriously he takes his family.”

Florentino looked toward Caos.

“We support him.”

Caos turned toward him.

“Thank you.”

Florentino nodded.

“Always.”

The press conference began winding down.

One final journalist raised his hand.

Journalist : La Liga Media

“One last question.”

Caos nodded.

“If your children someday ask you why you became so obsessed with becoming the best footballer in history, what will you tell them?”

Caos sat quietly.

He didn't answer immediately.

He looked toward the cameras.

Then he smiled.

“I'll tell them I loved the game.”

He paused.

“And that I wanted to see how far I could take it.”

Another pause.

“But I'll also tell them something more important.”

He looked down briefly.

“Being the greatest footballer in the world isn't the greatest thing that can happen to a person.”

The room was silent.

“Coming home to people who love you is.”

Nobody interrupted.

Caos stood.

“Thank you.”

The microphones were lowered.

The cameras began clicking again as the journalists gathered their notes.

The Mansion : Garden

Madrid was quiet.

The city lights could be seen beyond the trees.

Caos sat outside with Zeraphina, Keyla, and Michaela.

No cameras.

No journalists.

No microphones.

Just the four of them.

Zeraphina sat beside him with one hand resting over her belly.

“You handled yourself well.”

Caos looked at her.

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

She smiled.

“You didn't get angry.”

“I wanted to.”

Keyla laughed from across the table.

“We noticed.”

Caos looked at her.

“Which question?”

“The crown question.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“They keep asking about my children like they're political assets.”

Zeraphina looked at him.

“And you hate that.”

“I do.”

He looked toward her belly.

“I don't care what title they have.”

His voice became quieter.

“They're children.”

Michaela rested her elbows on the table.

“You know the attention isn't going away.”

“I know.”

“And people are going to keep talking.”

“I know.”

Keyla smiled.

“You're going to have to learn to ignore them.”

Caos laughed.

“I've been trying.”

Zeraphina reached across and took his hand.

“You don't have to answer everyone.”

Caos looked at their hands.

“I know.”

A small pulse of violet energy moved across his fingers.

It wasn't violent.

It simply followed his breathing.

Michaela watched it.

“Your energy is calmer lately.”

Caos nodded.

“I'm calmer.”

Keyla raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

Caos looked at her.

“Mostly.”

She laughed.

“That's progress.”

Zeraphina leaned her head against his shoulder.

For several minutes they simply sat there.

Then Caos looked at her belly again.

“You know what I've been thinking?”

“What?”

“When they're old enough to understand all of this…”

He gestured vaguely toward the mansion, the city, the stadiums, the cameras, the money, the attention.

“I want them to be able to walk away from it.”

Zeraphina looked at him.

“Walk away from all of this?”

“If they want.”

She smiled.

“Even from you?”

Caos laughed softly.

“Especially from me.”

Keyla looked at him for a moment.

“You really mean that.”

“Yes.”

He looked at the three women.

“I don't want children who spend their whole lives trying to become me.”

His expression became serious.

“I want them to become themselves.”

Zeraphina squeezed his hand.

“That sounds like a good father.”

Caos looked at her.

“I'm still learning.”

“You'll keep learning.”

He smiled.

“Then I'll be alright.”

The four remained together in the garden.

No reporters.

No cameras.

No stadium.

Just conversation, laughter, and the quiet movement of violet energy around them.

And for once, Caos wasn't thinking about the next match.

He was thinking about the people waiting for him when the matches were over.

To be continued…