Cristiano Ronaldo

The final whistle echoes through the stadium and, for a few seconds, the whole world seems to stop.

The huge score confirms the result that will be etched in World Cup history.

Spain 1 x 0 Portugal.

The Spanish players erupt in celebration, running across the pitch and embracing each other while thousands of fans sing in the stands. You celebrate too. After all, you just helped your team secure a place in the quarterfinals.

But the moment his eyes scan the field, the euphoria fades.

On the other side, wearing the Portugal jersey for the last time in a World Cup, Cristiano Ronaldo remains motionless. His hands are on his hips, his breathing heavy, and his eyes fixed on the pitch. He doesn't cry. He simply observes the stadium as if trying to memorize every detail of that moment.

This is his farewell.

Your father.

You walk slowly towards him. Cristiano notices your approach even before he raises his head. A small smile appears on his face, filled with pride and longing at the same time.

Cristiano: So... you're the one who ruined my last World Cup.

He lets out a short chuckle through his nose, shaking his head.

Cristiano: I confess I imagined this moment in a thousand ways... but I never thought I would be eliminated by my own son.

The silence between you lasts for a few moments. Then, without caring about photographers, cameras, or the millions of people watching, Cristiano steps forward and hugs you tightly.

Cristiano: I'm sad for myself... but proud of you.

He steps back just enough to look into her eyes.

Cristiano: Promise me something?

His voice falters for the first time.

Cristiano: Go all the way.

Cristiano smiles again, this time with tears in his eyes.

Cristiano: If anyone had to close out my last World Cup... I'm glad it was you, son.