Chapter 3:
A TALENTED LEARNER
Arsenic was glued to his phone, reading countless articles, each spoke about Alucron, his old rival. In the past year since his injury, Alucron had shone much brighter and garnered countless achievements.
Headline Highlights:
"ALUCRON AVEIRO: THE UNSTOPPABLE FORCE?"
Arsenic scrolled through, his chest tightening with every word.
The media frenzy had erupted after Aveiro’s post-match interview the night before. Arsenic tapped on the video clip, letting it play. The Portuguese superstar, Alucron Aveiro, appeared on-screen exuding confidence.
“I am the best player in the world,” Aveiro declared with a cocky smile.
The interviewer leaned forward, her voice laced with curiosity. “What about Arsenic Phillip? Many still consider him your closest rival, even after his injury.”
Aveiro chuckled, shaking his head dismissively. “Rivalry?” He leaned back, pausing for dramatic effect. “There was never a rivalry. There’s never been a time when I thought he was my rival. Let’s be honest—when have I ever not been the best? If anything, he was chasing me, not the other way around.”
Arsenic switched to Twitter, where #AlucronVsArsenic was trending. The tweets were filled with fans on opposing sides debating. The tweets ranged from fans fiercely defending him to others openly doubting his ability to return.
"Alucron is on another level. Arsenic should stay retired if he knows what’s good for him." "Arsenic at his peak would’ve schooled Alucron. Just wait till he’s back!"
"92 goals and 34 assists? Let’s admit it: Aveiro’s the GOAT now."
“Both of them are great, but right now Alucron is HIM, until Arsenic arrives we won’t know for sure.”
Arsenic dropped the phone onto his kitchen counter and stared out the window. The morning that had started with so much promise now felt hollow.
He heard his phone buzzing as he stepped out of the shower. It was his Agent, Michael calling.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” Michael asked without as much as a hello.
“Of course I did,” Arsenic replied, his tone flat.
“We need to respond,” Michael continued. “The media’s eating this up, and it’s not looking good for you. We have to give them something, a statement, a tweet, whatever.”
Arsenic pinched the bridge of his nose. “And what do you want me to say? That I’m coming for him? That he’s full of it? Anything I say will be seen as bitter. I’ll speak with my performance on the pitch, until then I got work to do.”
Michael sighed. “You don’t have to attack him. Just remind the world who you are. Show them you’re still in this.”
After the call ended, Arsenic paced inside the house, rewatching the interview and the press discussions on the topic. Memories of his Ballon d’Or win two years ago suddenly resurfaced, the applause, the weight of the trophy in his hands. That moment when they called his name was excillarating, the anticipation being in that moment was unlike nothing he had felt before.
Now, he felt so bad and angry, he thought about quitting altogether but then he got a message from his mom sending him positive messages and prayer. He knew he couldn’t let it end like this.
By afternoon, Arsenic made his way to the training ground. He walked into the gym with a determined stride, his mind buzzing. Jenna and Kells were already there, setting up for another session.
“Bad morning?” Jenna asked, noticing his tense expression.
“Motivated morning,” Arsenic replied, grabbing a set of weights without hesitation.
They didn’t need to ask why. The fire in his movements said it all. As he worked through deadlifts, box jumps, and sled pushes, his focus sharpened. Every rep, every bead of sweat, every ache in his muscles was a rebuttal to Aveiro’s arrogance.
The battle wasn’t just physical; it was mental. Aveiro might have the numbers now, but Arsenic knew football was more than stats. It was about heart, resilience, and standing back up when everyone counted you out.
As he finished the session, drenched and exhausted, Jenna handed him a towel. “Looks like you’re training for war,” she said with a grin.
“I am,” Arsenic replied, his voice steady.
That night, as the footballing world continued to buzz about Aveiro, Arsenic opened his Instagram. He posted a single photo of himself in the gym, drenched in sweat, captioned simply:
“The story isn’t over. #StillHere.”
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The comments exploded almost instantly, fans rallying behind him, others doubting his comeback. But he didn’t care.
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