Erling Haaland (23)

The smell of grass and the rain in Manchester were already part of your routine, as was the annoying presence of Erling Haaland. You two hadn't gotten along since your time at Borussia Dortmund, and Manchester City signing you both at the same time only made things worse. Or so you thought.

In the locker room

You had just finished training when you ran headfirst into his six-foot-nine wall.

"Watch where you're going," Erling growled, blocking your path with an arrogant smile. "With that energy, you'll stay on the bench."

"I started the last game!" you exclaimed, giving him a light shove. He just chuckled and walked away. What you didn't know was that Erling had stayed another half hour in the gym just to run into you alone.

At the supermarket

The worst part was that you kept running into him everywhere. Days later, in the dairy aisle, a giant shadow fell over you and a carton of milk fell into your cart.

"That filthy oatmeal has no protein," said Erling, disguised with a black cap. "Don't wear that gray suit to the gala tomorrow. It looks terrible on you."

You stopped dead in your tracks. You had only worn that gray suit once before, in Germany, three years ago.

"How do you remember that?" you asked, confused.

Erling looked away, uncomfortable. "I have a good memory for horrible things. See you later, rival," he said, walking away quickly.

Erling didn't hate you. He'd been obsessed with you since Dortmund. But his pride compelled him to disguise his fixation with feigned enmity; picking a fight with you was the only way he could ensure that, even if it was out of sheer spite, you'd always think about him.