The plane touched down in Manchester
The clouds hung low
The sky looked like steel
Cristiano stepped out in a thin jacket
The wind slapped him like it was personal
He didn't flinch
Just zipped it up higher
A black car waited
Inside was another man in a suit
Club rep
Quiet type
He handed Cristiano a packet
Schedule
Rules
Map
One sentence stood out
Nothing is given here
You earn everything
Cristiano stared at it
Then folded the paper into his back pocket
Old Trafford loomed like a monument
The first time he stepped into the empty stadium he stood still
It was quiet
Massive
Sacred
He whispered to himself
One day they'll chant my name here
The training grounds were brutal
Colder than Portugal
Rougher than academy ball
The senior players laughed at his style
Too many stepovers
Too flashy
One of them called him a show pony
Another called him soft
Cristiano didn't respond
He trained longer
Ran harder
Shot until his calves screamed
Sir Alex watched from a distance
Didn't speak to him for days
Then one morning he finally walked over
You think you're good?
Cristiano looked up
I know I'm not finished
Sir Alex stared
Then nodded once
Good
Then let's begin
That day he joined the main squad for drills
Passes flew
Tackles snapped
Voices barked in thick English accents
Cristiano barely understood half of what they said
But he understood the game
He danced past defenders
Got fouled twice
Scored once
Sir Alex didn't smile
But he watched every second
Back in his room that night
Cristiano opened his Bible
Inside was the photo his mom sent
The boy on the hill
Still barefoot
He touched the edge of the picture
I'm still him
Just colder now