“Huh?”
Tomás blinked, startled by the sudden, playful shift in her tone.
“We’ve known each other for three years now,” Lucia said, walking with her hands clasped behind her back.
She looked up at him with a charming, easy smile.
“I think that’s long enough to drop the formalities, don’t you?”
Tomás nodded.
It was true enough, but hearing her speak to him so warmly right after Marcus had stormed off felt dangerously intimate.
If any of their teammates overheard, they’d undoubtedly jump to the wrong conclusion.
They walked side by side, Lucia purposely keeping a small, respectable gap between them.
He had always admired that about her.
She was understated and reserved.
She was known around school as the quiet princess—naturally beautiful, fiercely intelligent, and rarely hiding behind heavy makeup.
“Have you been studying something new lately?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground.
“Actually, yes. I’ve been learning some Portuguese from Christine,” she said, her eyes flashing with mischief.
“Listen to this: Olá, o meu nome é Lucia, e eu amo você! Portugal! How was that?”
She stopped walking and looked up at him, clearly fishing for praise.
Tomás chuckled, entirely missing the actual translation of what she had just said.
“Not bad. Pretty solid. But ‘eu amo você’ is Brazilian. In Portugal, we usually say ‘amo-te’.”
Lucia grinned, clearly pleased with her own delivery, and threw in a little theatrical bow.
“Amo-te, Tomás.”
Tomás blinked, caught off guard by how natural the phrase sounded coming from her.
“Yeah. Exactly like that. Your pronunciation is getting much better.”
Lucia’s smile widened, a hidden, bittersweet triumph in her eyes.
“Christine is a good teacher. But she only taught me because she wanted something in return. Guess why?”
“Why?”
“She’s curious about you. Everyone is. You’re the new golden boy at United. She wanted the inside scoop, so she taught me those phrases, and in exchange, I told her exactly what your ‘type’ is. Fair trade, right?”
Tomás frowned.
“Do you even know what my type is? I don’t think I even know.”
Lucia nodded confidently.
“Of course I do. And right now, every girl at school knows that Manchester United’s shiny new star has a massive thing for bleach-blonde bob girls who wear way too much makeup.”
It was a complete lie.
Classic Lucia.
Wait.
Holy crap.
So that was why every girl at the academy party last weekend looked like they had dunked their faces in glitter and hairspray!
A perfectly good party had turned into an absolute nightmare because every girl was trying entirely too hard to get his attention.
“You…” Tomás stared at her, wide-eyed.
“You were the one behind that?”
Lucia smiled, completely unbothered, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“Do you think I’m a bad person now?”
“No,” Tomás said quickly, shaking his head.
He could never think poorly of her.
She was beautiful, kind, and fiercely independent.
Before Lucia, Tomás had never seen a girl hold Marcus Rashford off for even three days.
Marcus had chased her relentlessly for over six months.
She had turned the academy’s biggest, most arrogant playboy into a devoted monk just to win her over.
Tomás had often wondered what kind of man could truly deserve a girl as brilliant and complete as Lucia.
He assumed whoever she eventually married would be the luckiest man alive.
But he didn’t dare let himself think about it any further than that. The source of this chapter is g.com.
“Maybe once those girls find out I sabotaged them, they’ll think I’m the worst woman in the world,” Lucia mused softly, looking down at the pavement.
“Worse than a wicked queen. Right, Tomás?”
Tomás blinked.
Quiet princess.
Wicked queen.
It struck him that beneath the playful sabotage, she was actually asking him for reassurance.
She was asking if he thought less of her for it.
Before he could answer, Lucia looked back up, her eyes shining with quiet fierce loyalty.
“Actually, I don’t care whether the world thinks I’m a kind princess or a wicked queen. You know who I really am. That’s enough for me.”
“Lucia…”
“Anyway, I’m off to class,” she said, suddenly stepping back and breaking the heavy tension with a bright smile.
“Good luck tomorrow! I can’t wait for the day you actually start for United. I’ll be in the stands cheering for you.”
She waved and walked off, her dark hair catching the breeze, leaving a lingering, undeniable warmth behind her.
Tomás watched her go, his chest tight.
Such an incredible girl.
She wasn’t his to have.
But knowing she believed in him—knowing she was fiercely in his corner—ignited a fire in his blood.
He had a first-team training session to survive tomorrow.
He just had to keep his head down, play well, and let the rest of the world sort itself out.
Tomás got back to Carrington.
The two camps were still sharply divided.
Moyes, though, looked a lot better than he had that morning.
Giggs and his group, on the other hand, didn’t look happy at all.
What had happened in between?
Someone as insignificant as him didn’t need to know.
Playing good football and giving everything he had mattered more than any of that right now.
Tomás glanced over at Rashford.
Rashford was watching him right back.
Two people who used to be inseparable, now with a huge gap between them.
The afternoon session was a scrimmage to settle the squad and starting lineup for tomorrow night’s Champions League second leg against Olympiacos.
All the first-team players were split into two groups.
Tomás obviously wasn’t expecting to start.
But could he at least make the bench at Old Trafford?
Even a place on United’s bench would make him an instant name.
When he was truly somebody, maybe he’d finally have the confidence Rashford had, in all sorts of ways.
Tomás glanced at Rashford again.
Maybe he could find a moment to apologize.
He probably shouldn’t have argued with him like that.
Rashford gave a cold snort.
Tomás looked away quickly.
Rashford noticed Tomás stop looking his way, and felt oddly disappointed by it.
Had he been too harsh?
Had his expectations been unfair?
Wasn’t it kind of understandable, though?
Three years riding the bench in the U16s under his and McTominay’s protection, then suddenly thrown straight into the first team, of course Moyes and his crowd could get their hooks into somebody like that.
He’d never seen the ugly side of a professional club before.
Besides, Tomás was exactly the type to get led astray easily.
Find a moment to apologize?
Absolutely not!
As the future king of Old Trafford, did he have no pride at all?!
Manchester United’s whole future rested on his shoulders.
Not Tomás’s.
Rashford thought back over it all and wanted to bury his face in his hands.
So embarrassing.
This was all McTominay’s fault!
Spending all that time letting Tom Martin drill some bullshit United spirit into his head!
That idiot actually bought into it!
He’d find a way to strangle that little weasel later.
The future king of Old Trafford stayed aloof.
Tomás listened closely to Moyes’s big promises.
Out of the entire United first team, Tomás was the only one actually listening.
Did playing well guarantee a starting spot?
Really?
Nani, Kagawa, Chicharito, plenty of people were quietly sneering at that.
Tomás kept listening anyway.
Moyes was thoroughly pleased with how seriously Tomás was taking this.
He hadn’t felt this kind of authority as United’s manager in a long while.
A good teacher needs obedient students.
If every single United player were this obedient, wouldn’t he already be the next Sir Alex Ferguson?
“Tomás, repeat back what I just said.”
“You said whoever performs well in training gets priority for the starting lineup!”
Moyes nodded, satisfied, then swept a cold look over the rest of the squad.
“Did everyone else hear that?”
Apart from those already being called ‘Moyes’s Army’ by the press and the academy kids, the rest stayed silent.
Most of them still thought Moyes was full of it.
After all, why would they trust a seventeen-year-old’s account of what got said?
As if a kid like that could actually win them over.
Sir Alex Ferguson, now that was more like it.
But for Tomás, Moyes’s words meant something else entirely.
Ding!
Manchester United manager has issued you the mission: ‘Shut Everyone Up.’ Mission: in the upcoming scrimmage, prove to the entire squad that you deserve a starting spot.
Reward: a starting position in Manchester United’s next match.
Holy crap.
Tomás stared.
He looked at Rashford again.
Seeing the shock on Tomás’s face, Rashford chuckled to himself.
How stupid could he be.
Only just now realizing Moyes had used him too.
What a fool.
So this whole competition had just been rigged from the start, a fixed contest with the winner already picked.
This had been Moyes testing him, grooming him, this whole time.
Moyes was actually considering starting him in this massive next match!
Was a coach like that really a bad person?
The man was basically his own mentor.
Tomás felt his Lion Heart trait kick in.
Adrenaline rushed through him.