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Chapter 6: Volume 1, - 6: The Fight

Chapter 6: Volume 1, Chapter 6: The Fight

The blue light from the smartphone screen reflected in Vasco’s sneering eyes. He stood in the second-floor corridor, surrounded by a tight cluster of students between lessons, holding the device high enough for everyone nearby to see the shared Sporting academy clip.

"Look, pause it right at the end," Vasco laughed, his voice bouncing off the metal lockers. "You can see the exact moment Rayan tries a circus trick and nearly kicks his own shin guard. Hey, Rayan! Did Belenenses pay you a bonus for helping them clear the ball?"

Rayan continued walking with his head lowered and his shoulders hunched so tightly that they ached. He kept his gaze fixed on his worn trainers, his fingers digging into the straps of his backpack until his knuckles turned white.

"Leave it, Rayan. He only wants a reaction," Idris muttered, keeping pace beside him with a heavy stack of textbooks pressed against his chest.

"I’m only saying," Vasco called more loudly, allowing his voice to follow them along the corridor, "Duarte Faria scores the goals, and Rayan provides the cardio. Maybe Sporting keeps him around to clean Duarte’s boots. Every superstar needs a servant, right?"

A wave of laughter followed them into the history classroom. Rayan lowered himself into his seat, his breathing heavy and the air suddenly thin inside his lungs. He did not look at Joca, who was quietly slipping his phone into his pocket, or at Inês, who watched him from across the aisle with a worried intensity. The anonymous comment beneath Sporting’s post, ’Why does the club keep weaker players? Rayan looks as though he belongs in a schoolyard’ had already leaked into the school’s social ecosystem, and Vasco was determined to keep it alive.

By lunchtime, the winter drizzle had cleared, leaving the concrete courtyard damp and grey. Rayan sat at their usual corner table, staring into the plastic container of cold pasta his mother had packed. He had not taken a single bite.

"The history presentation is finished," Inês said, attempting to force some normality into the group as her pen tapped against her notebook. "Idris completed the layout, I finished the text, and Joca has promised not to add phonk music to the slide transitions."

"It would have improved the grade, Inês. Visual storytelling," Joca defended himself, although his usual restless energy was noticeably subdued. He kept glancing toward Rayan. "You want half my sandwich? It actually has flavour."

"I’m not hungry," Rayan replied quietly.

A shadow fell across the end of the concrete table. Vasco stood there with his hands buried inside his jacket pockets, flanked by two boys from the school football team. Restless satisfaction radiated from him, fuelled by the nearby students who had already turned to watch.

"Hey, Reserve," Vasco said, nudging the edge of Rayan’s kit bag with the toe of his shoe. "I was thinking about your father. The one who appears after matches in that ridiculous bright jacket, waving his arms as though he represents Real Madrid."

Rayan’s fork stopped halfway toward his plate. The knot inside his stomach turned instantly cold. "Walk away, Vasco."

"Rayan, don’t," Rafa said, rising smoothly from the bench. His voice remained calm and authoritative, carrying the steady confidence he usually displayed at the academy. He positioned himself between them and fixed Vasco with a hard stare. "Go and eat somewhere else. You’re embarrassing yourself."

"I’m only asking a question," Vasco sneered, stepping sideways around Rafa while keeping his eyes on Rayan. "Everyone knows the story. Your father only appears when he thinks a camera or scout might notice him. The rest of the time, he’s chasing imaginary deals in Amadora while your mother pays for everything. My mother knows the administrator at Leonor’s tutoring centre. Your family asked for more time because your father’s payment never arrived."

"Vasco, shut up!" Idris shouted, his face flushing as he stood so quickly that his glasses slipped from his face and landed on the table.

But the words had already struck their target. They did not merely hurt. They cut through Rayan’s defences because they carried the sharp, undeniable edge of truth. He saw his mother’s cracked cuticles. He remembered the overdue bank notification. He remembered Leonor standing in the hallway, looking small and defeated.

A violent white heat erupted inside Rayan’s chest, burning through every tactical lesson about composure, every warning from Coach Tavares and every promise he had made to his mother.

He did not think. He did not consider the consequences.

Rayan spun from the bench, driving through his legs with an explosiveness he had rarely produced on the pitch. He lunged across the narrow space and swung his right arm in a wild, desperate arc.

His fist struck Vasco on the side of the jaw with a dull, hollow smack.

Vasco staggered backward, his shoes sliding across the damp concrete and his eyes widening in shock. But this was not a film, and one punch did not end the confrontation. Vasco recovered his balance, rage twisting his expression, and threw his entire weight forward. His fist caught Rayan across the cheekbone, sending a blinding spike of pain through his eye socket.

"Rayan! Stop!" Inês screamed.

The two boys collided like clumsy animals, crashing over the edge of the concrete bench before tumbling onto the wet ground. Rayan scrambled to climb on top, his fingers twisting into Vasco’s collar while breath tore from his lungs in ragged bursts. He swung again, but his knuckles glanced from Vasco’s forehead and struck the rough concrete instead, tearing the skin from his fingers. Vasco drove an elbow upward into Rayan’s throat, forcing out a broken choking sound.

There was nothing impressive or heroic about the fight. It was frantic, ugly and completely without control. They rolled through the dirt, kicking and clawing while their uniforms tore against the stone border of a planter.

Around them, more than a dozen smartphones rose into the air, their cameras following every movement with perfect digital clarity. Some students cheered. Others shouted for them to stop. Rayan saw the glowing red circle of a recording screen inches from his face as he attempted to pin Vasco’s arms against the ground.

"Separate them! Now!"

A crushing grip locked around Rayan’s shoulders and dragged him backward with enough force to tear the seam of his shirt. Senhor Silva, the history teacher, had forced his way into the circle and wrapped both arms around Rayan’s chest. Two other teachers restrained Vasco against the brick wall, blood from his nose spotting the front of his white shirt.

"Let go of me!" Rayan thrashed, his legs still kicking as the adrenaline began draining from his body, leaving behind a cold and nauseating wave of terror.

He looked across the courtyard. More than thirty students were staring at him. Joca stood beside the table with his phone lowered, his face pale and unreadable. Rafa watched with quiet disappointment, an expression that made Rayan want to disappear into the concrete. Above everything remained the raised phones, each one preserving the exact moment Rayan Duarte El Mansouri might have destroyed his own career.

---

The principal’s office smelled of old paper and stale coffee, its air suffocatingly warm compared with the cold courtyard outside.

Rayan sat in a low leather chair with his left eye already swelling into a heavy purple bruise. His scraped knuckles throbbed in time with his heartbeat. A folded piece of damp paper towel rested against his cheek, slowly turning pink as it absorbed blood from a shallow cut near his temple.

The heavy wooden door opened with a sharp click.

Sofia entered without changing out of her light-blue clinic scrubs. Her winter coat had been fastened crookedly across her chest, suggesting she had dressed while rushing from work. Her face was pale, her mouth compressed into a thin line of controlled humiliation. She did not look at the principal first. Her eyes went directly to Rayan’s swollen face and held him beneath a stare sharper than any accusation.

"Senhora Duarte, please sit," the principal said, adjusting the thick folder on his desk.

"I cannot remain long. The clinic gave me a brief emergency release," Sofia replied, her voice dangerously calm as she sat beside Rayan without touching him or offering comfort. She turned toward the principal. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"Rayan initiated a physical altercation in the courtyard during lunch," the principal said, opening the incident report. "He struck another student, Vasco Silva, causing bruising to the jaw and a minor nasal bleed. The school has a strict policy regarding violence. Rayan will be suspended from classes and all school activities for five days, effective immediately."

Sofia closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled slowly through her nose. "And the other student?"

"Vasco will also face disciplinary action for harassment, disclosure of private family information and his participation in the fight," the principal explained. He paused before looking directly at Rayan. "However, the available recordings clearly show that your son threw the first punch. Furthermore, under the school’s athlete-support agreement with Sporting Clube de Portugal, serious behavioural suspensions must be reported to the academy liaison. Sporting was notified approximately twenty minutes ago."

The word Sporting turned the wet paper towel against Rayan’s face into ice. He looked toward his mother as pressure tightened around his chest. "Mum, he was saying things about—"

"Not now, Rayan," Sofia said. Her voice cracked slightly, allowing raw humiliation to break through her composure. She stood, her keys clattering inside her palm. "We are leaving."

"We also attempted to contact Karim El Mansouri, who is listed as Rayan’s secondary emergency contact," the principal added, glancing down at the file. "He did not answer."

"He rarely does when responsibility calls first," Sofia replied, turning toward the door without looking back. "Come, Rayan."

---

The journey home in Sofia’s Renault Clio became a nightmare of silence. The ageing engine rattled as she changed gears with short, forceful movements that revealed how much anger she was suppressing. Rayan held the paper towel against his eye and stared through the window at the industrial buildings passing through Olivais while his mind raced through increasingly terrifying possibilities.

’What will Tavares do? Will they remove me before the evaluation meeting even begins?’

The silence broke the moment they entered the apartment.

Leonor sat at the kitchen counter with her history books spread open before her, but she was not reading. Her eyes were red and her face marked by tears. She held her phone tightly, its screen displaying a low-quality recording already circulating through school group chats. The exact moment Rayan threw the first punch.

"Is it true?" Leonor asked, her voice trembling as she looked up at him. "What Vasco said in the courtyard about the tutoring money? About Dad?"

Rayan dropped his backpack beside the door, his throat tightening as defensive panic widened his uninjured eye. "Leonor, he was talking rubbish. I had to defend us. I had to defend Dad. Was I supposed to stand there while he called our family poor and laughed about our father?"

He turned toward Sofia, searching for the smallest sign that she understood the pressure he had been under. "Mum, you know what Vasco is like. He’s been targeting me for weeks because of the academy footage. Then he dragged Dad into it. I had to show him he couldn’t speak about my family like that."

Sofia turned slowly from the kitchen counter. She still had not removed her coat. The exhaustion on her face was so complete that Rayan instinctively stepped back toward the wall.

"Defend your father?" Sofia whispered, her voice rising into a sharp and dangerous crescendo. "Do you believe punching a boy in a courtyard changes the reality of this family, Rayan? Loving your father does not give you permission to attack anyone who recognises his failures."

"He was lying!" Rayan shouted, his voice cracking beneath the desperation of his fifteen years.

"He was cruel, but he was not lying!" Sofia screamed, slamming one hand onto the Formica table hard enough to make Leonor’s books jump. "The tutoring payment failed twice. Your academy transport is overdue because I covered the money Karim promised. Vasco is a vicious, small-minded boy who had no right to expose Leonor’s private situation, but he did not invent our financial problems. Your father lives through beautiful promises, and you are beginning to behave exactly like him. You think one dramatic action and a grand display of emotion can solve something that requires patience and responsibility."

"Mum, I did it for the family!" Rayan insisted as tears finally spilled down his swollen cheek.

"No, Rayan. You did it for your pride," Sofia replied, lowering her voice until it became a cold, steady blade. "You did it because punching someone was easier than accepting that his words hurt you. It was easier than facing the possibility that you are falling behind at Sporting. Now you are suspended from school, the academy has been told you are a disciplinary risk, and you have handed João Tavares another reason to remove your name from his squad."

Before Rayan could respond, the lock on the front door clicked.

Karim entered wearing his bright leather jacket, his phone still gripped in one hand. His hair had been disordered by the wind, and frantic protective energy filled his expression. He had clearly rushed over after finally seeing the missed calls.

"Where is he? Where is my champion?" Karim demanded as he strode into the room and saw Rayan’s swollen face. A low sound of anger escaped him before he wrapped both arms around his son’s shoulders. "Look what they did to you! I saw the video on the train. One of my cousins sent it. That Silva boy had no right to speak about our family. You showed him that an El Mansouri does not accept humiliation."

"Karim, close your mouth," Sofia said, her voice dangerously quiet.

Karim turned toward her, his chest expanding beneath the leather jacket. "Sofia, the boy was defending his father. He was defending the family name. A man cannot remain silent while someone insults his blood."

"Family honour?" Sofia stepped forward, her eyes flashing with enough fury to make Karim hesitate. "Honour is paying Leonor’s tutoring fees when you promise to pay them. Honour is maintaining the car before telling your son you will drive him to an important academy session. Honour is standing in a clinic for twelve hours because your children still need food after another one of your deals collapses."

She pointed a trembling finger toward Rayan’s swollen eye.

"You are teaching him that violence can replace responsibility," she continued, disgust vibrating through her voice. "You tell him he is a diamond. You tell him he has magic. Then you disappear and leave me to clear away the damage when your promises collide with reality. Look at him. He is fifteen, suspended from school and one disciplinary hearing away from losing the academy place he claims matters more than everything else. All because he listened to comforting speeches instead of learning how to control himself."

Karim opened his mouth, preparing another sweeping defence about the Amadora distributor, the future and the inability of ordinary people to understand greatness. But his gaze moved from Sofia’s tear-streaked face to Leonor quietly crying against her folded arms, and the words died before leaving him. His bright jacket suddenly appeared garish and oversized inside the cramped kitchen.

Rayan looked between his parents while his heart beat in a slow, painful rhythm. The protective shield Karim had built around him no longer felt warm. It felt like a gold-plated cage pressing against his chest. For the first time, Rayan found himself completely trapped between the beautiful lie that made failure bearable and the brutal truth attempting to keep their family alive.

A sharp electronic chime cut through the suffocating tension.

Rayan’s phone vibrated inside his pocket. He withdrew it with shaking fingers, wincing as his scraped knuckles brushed against the fabric. An official email notification from Sporting’s youth academy portal filled the screen.

He unlocked the device and read with his one fully open eye.

To: Rayan Duarte El Mansouri

Subject: Notice of Internal Disciplinary Review

Sporting Clube de Portugal’s Youth Technical Department has been formally notified that you have received a school suspension following an incident involving physical violence.

Under Section 4.2 of the Academy Player Code of Conduct, you are suspended from team training and non-medical access to academy facilities with immediate effect. You are required to attend an internal disciplinary hearing on Monday, 23 January, at 09:00 in the Academy Director’s office in Alcochete.

Technical Staff Note: Football performance cannot be separated from personal discipline. This incident has been added to your mid-season evaluation file and will be considered during the upcoming registration review.

Attendance with a parent or legal guardian is mandatory.

Rayan stared at the message as the phone shifted inside his trembling grip. The mid-season review was no longer a conversation about his first touch, weak foot or tactical awareness. It had become a hearing about whether he deserved to wear Sporting’s colours at all. He closed his eyes while pain pulsed through his swollen cheek, completely alone inside a silence that no inspirational speech could break.

---

Author’s Note

Enjoying Rayan’s journey from football’s worst prospect to a rising monster?

Then you may also enjoy my other system novel:

I Was ¥1.8 Million In Debt When the Legacy System Chose Me

It follows Ren Kisaragi, a twenty-five-year-old drowning in debt, working night shifts and hiding the truth of his situation from his family.

After a violent incident leaves him at rock bottom, Ren awakens the Legacy Qualification System.

But the system does not hand him instant wealth.

To inherit the opportunities left behind by his late grandfather, Ren must rebuild his life through honesty, business, discipline and difficult decisions. The story includes grounded wealth progression, romance, family life, business growth, luxury, loyal friends and Ren’s gradual rise from a struggling convenience-store worker to a man capable of building an empire.

So, while Rayan is fighting to conquer the football world, Ren is fighting to conquer the business world.

Search for:

I Was ¥1.8 Million In Debt When the Legacy System Chose Me

Thank you for supporting both stories!