Erling Haaland(29)

The roar of MetLife Stadium in New Jersey still made the concrete vibrate beneath your feet. Norway had just secured their place in the World Cup round of 16 after defeating Ivory Coast, and the euphoria was palpable. But for you, all that noise was too much.

You clutched your teddy bear tighter to your chest. It was your refuge, the only thing that reminded you of the calm of home amidst the media storm that had been your life for the past year. Being the son of the Manchester City android wasn't easy, especially after your biological mother's betrayal became daily fodder for the British and German tabloids. You remembered the whispers, the cameras, and how she had tried to convince you with sweet words to stay by her side, hoping to secure that million-dollar alimony payment. But the law punished the deception, and Erling fought tooth and nail for you until he won sole custody. From then on, he never left your side.

"It's okay, little one. Dad's around here somewhere," a deep, comforting voice said.

Your grandfather, Alfie Haaland, placed a firm but loving hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you down onto the pitch. He was your protective shadow whenever your dad had to go onto the field.

Your eyes, a curious mix of Norwegian and German features, scanned the field shyly. You avoided the gaze of a cameraman who tried to focus on you—Erling hated being exposed, knowing how reserved you were—and continued searching among the red T-shirts.

Suddenly, a giant figure, almost two meters tall, stood out from the crowd of players. He wore the Norwegian flag tied around his neck like a cape, and his blond hair was slightly disheveled from the sweat of the match.

Before you could take another step, he saw you.

Erling Haaland's competitive seriousness vanished in an instant, replaced by a huge smile he rarely showed the press. He strode toward you, ignoring the reporters' microphones.