Chapter 160: Volume 2, - 160: Back in Lisbon

Chapter 160: Volume 2, Chapter 160: Back in Lisbon

The cabin of the chartered aircraft tilted slightly, banking over the dark outline of the Tagus River before the landing gear locked into place with a heavy, mechanical thud. The wheels touched down on the tarmac of Humberto Delgado Airport with a firm jolt, spraying a thin mist of rubber against the concrete as reverse thrusters roared to slow the momentum.

Rayan switched off airplane mode and sent Mum a quick message.

Rayan: Landed. Just waiting for the bags.

Mum: I’ll be outside. Take your time.

Disembarkation was a slow, weary affair. There was no energetic chatter or rushed movement down the aisle. Players stood up sluggishly in the dim cabin light, swinging heavy overhead bags onto their shoulders with stiff, aching arms. Rayan retrieved his backpack from beneath the seat, his eyelids feeling as though they were lined with lead. The thrill of Goodison Park and the adrenaline of his late seven-minute cameo had entirely burned away, replaced by the profound, hollow fatigue of professional travel.

Descending the mobile stairs into the warm, humid Lisbon night air felt less like a homecoming and more like hitting a physical wall.

A club official guided the tired squad across the tarmac toward a private arrivals gate, where passport control at the private arrivals facility was handled swiftly through a dedicated customs channel. From there, the players filtered out into the baggage reclaim area. The oversized kit trunks came thudding down the carousel belt first, followed by the players’ personal luggage.

Staff members moved up and down the line with clipboards, conducting headcounts and confirming transport arrangements.

"Everyone got their kit bags? Check your numbers," an assistant coach called out over the muted noise of the terminal.

Outside the private terminal bays, two club vans and a larger minibus idled against the curb to disperse the squad according to their pre-arranged drop-offs and residential zones. Rayan wheeled his bag toward the second van, but before he could climb inside, a hand caught his shoulder.

It was Rui Amorim, stepping out from the shadow of the terminal pillars with his clipboard tucked beneath his arm.

"El Mansouri. A word before you leave."

Rayan stopped, shifting his bag to his other hand and forcing his tired eyes to focus. "Yes, boss?"

Rui looked at him with calm, professional directness, wasting no time on pleasantries. "You got your exposure in England. You felt the pace, you felt the contact, you saw what the senior environment demands. Now you need competitive minutes and consistent responsibility. Monday morning, you report back to Nuno with the under-seventeen squad."

The words hit Rayan with a dull, stinging thud in his chest. For a fleeting second, standing under the glaring yellow lights of the airport parking bay, part of him had secretly expected, or hoped that a taste of Alvalade and Goodison meant staying permanently upstairs with the first team.

"Does that mean..." Rayan started, his voice dropping slightly, "...am I out of first-team consideration?"

Rui gave a slight, patient shake of his head. "It means you train where Sporting believes you need to develop right now. First-team call-ups aren’t permanent privileges; they are earned through weekly performance and selected when the tactical picture calls for it. Nothing is promised. Go home, sleep, and be sharp on Monday."

"Understood, boss," Rayan murmured, the disappointment heavy in his throat, even as his logical mind acknowledged the grounded truth of the manager’s words.

He climbed into the back of the club van, sinking heavily into the fabric seat as the doors slid shut. The vehicle trundled away from the airport, dropping off a couple of other academy prospects at their respective apartment complexes across the city before finally turning toward Olivais.

When the van pulled up near the street past one in the morning, the headlights illuminated Sofia standing quietly by the pavement, waiting in the cool night air.

Rayan stepped out, hoisting his travel bag over one shoulder, his legs feeling stiff and sluggish. Sofia walked over, her eyes immediately scanning his face, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes, the slight slump in his posture, and the way he gingerly adjusted his weight off his bruised ribs.

She didn’t subject him to a twenty-minute interrogation in the middle of the street.

"You look completely exhausted," Sofia said softly, reaching out to touch his arm.

"I am," Rayan breathed.

"Did the medical staff check you?"

"Yes, Mum. Just a bruise. I’m fine."

"Good," she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Let’s get you home. You can tell me everything tomorrow."

They walked up the steps into the apartment in silence. Downstairs, the home was dim and quiet; Leonor was long since asleep in her room. Rayan dragged his boots off by the entryway, washed his face with cold water, and collapsed straight into his bed, his phone battery dying with a faint chime on the bedside table just as his head hit the pillow.

The next morning, sunlight filtered lazily through the shutters as Rayan sat at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of orange juice while his phone reconnected to the charger.

The doorbell chimed softly. Sofia walked over to the entryway, unlocking the front door to let Karim in. Driving over from Amadora for his usual Sunday check-in, Karim stepped into the kitchen holding a pastry bag, his eyes lighting up as he saw Rayan.

"I watched the second half replay this morning," Karim said, pulling out a chair opposite him and dropping his keys on the counter. "That acceleration down the wing was brilliant. The Everton right-back had no chance against you. You played at Goodison Park, Rayan. That’s a massive step. Believe me, more opportunities like that will come."

Sofia set a plate of toast down on the table alongside a fresh coffee, her tone balanced. "I’m glad he got those minutes, Karim. But he came home sore, and he’s got training on Monday. I want him properly recovered before he starts pushing himself again."

Karim smiled warmly. "I’m just saying the raw acceleration was there."

"The acceleration is fine," Sofia countered smoothly, her eyes warm as she poured a cup for Karim. "I just want him taking care of his body."

"Actually," Rayan interrupted quietly, staring down at his toast. "I’m back with the under-seventeen squad on Monday."

Karim’s brows knitted together instantly, his paternal instincts flaring as it sounded like a demotion. "Back with the under-seventeen? After getting minutes in England? Why would they drop you back down already?"

"It’s not a drop, Dad," Rayan explained, remembering Rui’s precise phrasing. "Rui said I need regular minutes and responsibility. U17 daily work. First-team call-ups are earned week by week. Nothing is promised."

Karim listened, letting the words settle in. Slowly, the initial irritation faded from his face, replaced by a grounded nod of acceptance.

"Alright," Karim said quietly, taking a sip of his coffee. "If that’s what the club structure demands, you put your head down and dominate at under-seventeen level. Make it impossible for them not to call you back up."

"Yeah," Rayan nodded, feeling the last lingering weight of the pre-season defeat finally shift into clear, purposeful focus. ℴℴ𝘮

After breakfast, Karim headed back toward Amadora, and Rayan walked back up to his bedroom. He picked up his heavy green England travel bag and placed it quietly in the corner, right beside his normal academy kit bag.

He tapped his phone screen, which flickered back to life with 100% battery. The digital calendar app displayed Monday’s U17 training schedule, already neatly synced and waiting.