"Cristiano, André is a genius. I have very high hopes for him."
A genius? A genius for causing trouble, maybe.
Cristiano genuinely doubted whether something was wrong with his ears. The only person who'd ever called his cousin a genius was Zinedine Zidane when André first arrived at Castilla. After that? No one had considered him a genius. Not remotely.
"Really. You should believe me, Cristiano."
"Alright, Mr. Hierro. I don't know what you see in him, but I'd still like to hear how you plan to handle this." Cristiano was actually quite pleased, beneath his skepticism. He knew exactly what kind of person Hierro was—a Real Madrid legend, a man of principle. For Hierro to take such an interest in his troublemaking cousin meant André possessed something genuinely valuable. And the fact that Hierro had come to discuss it personally showed real sincerity.
"I'll place him in the first team. Obviously, his playing time will be very limited initially. But I'll give him opportunities based on his training performances. Cristiano, I genuinely believe he'll become one of the most formidable strikers on this planet. Truly—André's future achievements won't be inferior to yours."
Cristiano had never expected Hierro to have such monumentally high expectations for his disaster of a cousin.
"I believe you, Mr. Hierro. But you know about his... situation at Castilla. So I have to mention that upfront."
"Hahaha, I'm well aware. I've already spoken with André, and he's promised to be more careful. Cristiano, he's still just a kid."
Damn. A kid? Who has a kid that massive? This is a kid? A giant infant?
Even André, standing awkwardly to the side, was genuinely stunned by Hierro's choice of words.
"André, what do you think? Are you willing to go to Oviedo?" Having been convinced, Cristiano still wanted to hear his cousin's opinion directly.
"Cristiano, I want to stay. I want to give it a proper go."
"Alright, Mr. Hierro. Then I'll leave André in your capable hands. I think Aunt Maria will be delighted when she hears about this. André, make sure you ring her and tell her the news yourself."
"I will."
After leaving Cristiano's villa, Hierro didn't linger in Madrid or even bother saying goodbye to Zidane. He took André directly out of the capital and returned to Oviedo—a historic city in the Asturias region of northern Spain.
Oviedo had once served as the capital of the Kingdom of Asturias and remained the capital of the modern Asturias province.
As one of the city's proudest symbols, Real Oviedo Football Club had once been a genuine powerhouse of Spanish football. Founded in 1926, the club had competed in La Liga for an impressive thirty-eight seasons before slowly declining, eventually dropping as far as the third tier.
Nevertheless, as the representative club of the entire Asturias region, it remained passionately supported by loyal fans throughout the area.
This year held particular significance. After earning promotion back to the Segunda División, club president Banches had announced the hiring of legendary former Real Madrid and Spanish national team defender Fernando Hierro as head coach. Oviedo supporters were absolutely buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming season.
However, those were the fans' expectations. Among people within the club—including professional football commentators and media reporters—Oviedo's season prospects weren't viewed particularly favorably.
The squad's average age was the highest among all twenty-two Segunda División teams, sitting at a rather elderly 30.2 years. Meanwhile, the team's total market value ranked squarely in the lower-middle tier of the division.
According to Segunda División regulations, the twenty-two clubs competed in a double round-robin format—each team playing a grueling forty-two league matches per season. The top two teams earned automatic promotion to La Liga. Third through sixth entered playoffs for one additional promotion spot. The bottom four were directly relegated to Segunda División B.
Beyond the league, Oviedo also had to compete in various cup competitions. The marathon forty-two-match season alone represented a massive challenge for Hierro in his debut campaign as a manager. This was precisely why he'd been so determined to find younger players with potential.
"André, you need to complete a full physical assessment first. Then we'll discuss contract terms."
"Okay, sir."
Hierro led André into Oviedo's training facility. Honestly, while the equipment was quite dated and the paint was peeling in places, seeing such comprehensive infrastructure at a second-tier club made André believe what Hierro had said—this club genuinely possessed a storied history.
"Fernando, you're back! Is this the prodigy you mentioned on the phone? Are you absolutely certain he's only sixteen?"
An older gentleman who appeared to be in his early sixties approached them. He seemed very familiar with Hierro. André had noticed a pattern: the instant anyone learned his actual age, their eyes betrayed doubt. Without fail.
"André, this is Miguel Sánchez—my assistant coach and head of our youth academy."
"Hello, Mr. Miguel. My name is André Cristiano dos Santos Cleto."
"Well! The lad's very polite. That doesn't match your reputation whatsoever."
"Huh?" Christ. Even down here in the Segunda División, my reputation precedes me?
"Relax, son. Just having a laugh. You can call me Uncle Miguel."
"Alright, Uncle Miguel. Pleasure to meet you."
"Fernando, I'm starting to like this kid already."
"I suspect you'll like him even more soon. Miguel, put our prodigy through a comprehensive physical assessment. As detailed as possible, please."
"Consider it done. Come along, lad. Let's get properly acquainted."
Sánchez led André to the adjacent training pitch while Hierro returned to his cramped office to continue analyzing squad composition and tactical approaches for the season ahead.
Roughly an hour later, the violent bang of his office door being forcefully shoved open jolted Hierro from his tactical diagrams.
Looking up, he saw Sánchez standing in the doorway, face flushed, breathing heavily.
"Miguel, this is my office, yeah?"
"Fernando, that's completely irrelevant right now. The critical question is—where in God's name did you find this kid? I'm telling you, André is an absolute phenomenon. No—'phenomenon' doesn't capture it. He's beyond categorization. A genuine freak of nature. Fernando, I'm half-convinced I'm hallucinating. Seriously, I—"
"Miguel. Miguel! Breathe, mate. Is the assessment complete? Just hand me the bloody report, alright?"
Seeing his assistant coach becoming progressively more incoherent, Hierro interrupted and extended his hand for the document Sánchez clutched like a holy relic.
Hierro opened the assessment report and began reading. His eyes widened almost immediately.
PHYSICAL ASSESSMENT - ANDRÉ CRISTIANO DOS SANTOS CLETO
Age: 16 years
Height: 190 cm (6'3")
Weight: 91 kg (201 lbs)
Body Fat Percentage: 8.0%
SPEED & POWER:
100m Sprint: 10.9 seconds
30m Acceleration: 3.8 seconds
Vertical Jump: 78 cm
Standing Long Jump: 3.2 meters
Bench Press (1RM): 140 kg
Back Squat (1RM): 180 kg
AGILITY & COORDINATION:
T-Drill: Elite classification
Pro Agility (5-10-5): Exceptional
Change of Direction: Superior
Balance & Stability: Outstanding
TECHNICAL ASSESSMENT:
Ball Control:ABSOLUTE BALL SENSE CONFIRMED
First Touch: Intuitive, natural
Close Control: Exceptional for physical profile
Dribbling: Raw but demonstrates elite potential
Passing: Requires significant development
Shooting: Powerful but inconsistent accuracy
Heading: Natural advantage from height/leap
TACTICAL & MENTAL:
Football IQ: Underdeveloped, requires coaching
Positional Awareness: Poor
Decision Making: Impulsive
Work Rate: High
Coachability:UNKNOWN - TEMPERAMENT CONCERNS
DISCIPLINARY HISTORY:
Red Cards (12 matches): 10
Violent Conduct Incidents: Multiple
Assessment:MAJOR BEHAVIORAL CONCERN
OVERALL EVALUATION:
Subject displays once-in-a-generation physical attributes combined with confirmed absolute ball sense—a combination observed in fewer than ten active professionals worldwide. Raw technical ability far exceeds expectations given limited training. However, severe disciplinary issues represent critical risk factor.
RECOMMENDATION: High-risk, potentially transformational signing. Requires intensive behavioral management and technical development. Upside: World-class potential. Downside: Possible squad disruption.
Assessor: M. Sánchez
Date: [Redacted]
Hierro set the report down slowly, his expression transitioning from shock to something resembling predatory satisfaction.
"Miguel... this can't possibly be accurate."
"I triple-checked everything, Fernando. Quadruple-checked the ball sense assessment because I couldn't bloody believe it myself. The lad's a physical specimen unlike anything I've encountered in forty years around football. Sixteen years old and built like a professional heavyweight boxer. But what truly shocked me—genuinely left me speechless—was watching him work with the ball..."
Sánchez trailed off, shaking his head as if still processing what he'd witnessed.
"He moved like water, Fernando. Like bloody water. A kid that size—that powerful—shouldn't possess that kind of touch. It violates every principle of biomechanics. His first touch is instinctive. Natural. When I had him dribble through cones, he didn't think about it. He just... knew where the ball needed to be. It's the same quality I saw in Zidane. In Iniesta. In Ronaldinho."
Hierro leaned back in his worn leather chair, a slow smile spreading across his weathered features.
"We've found ourselves a treasure, Miguel."
"More than a treasure, boss. We've unearthed a bloody uncut diamond. Raw. Flawed. But potentially priceless." Sánchez paused, his expression sobering. "Question is—can we polish him before he punches someone? Because that disciplinary record..."
"I'm aware of the risks," Hierro acknowledged. "But Miguel, how many times in a career do you encounter absolute ball sense? Combined with that physique?"
"Never," Sánchez admitted. "I've never seen it. Not once."
"Exactly." Hierro stood, walking to the window overlooking the training pitch where André was now juggling a ball, seemingly oblivious to the impact his assessment had created. "We manage the behavioral issues. We drill discipline into him. We channel that aggression into his play. And we see what emerges."
"And if we can't control him?"
Hierro turned back to his assistant, expression hardening with determination.
"Then we'll have tried. But I didn't leave Real Madrid's history books to play it safe in the Segunda División, Miguel. This is exactly the kind of calculated risk that builds something special."
Sánchez studied his boss for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
"Alright, Fernando. Let's see if we can tame the beast."
"Not tame," Hierro corrected, picking up the assessment report again and studying the physical metrics that seemed to defy human possibility. "We don't want to tame him. We want to aim him."
Outside, André continued juggling, unaware that his entire future had just been decided in a cramped office overlooking a rain-soaked training pitch in northern Spain.
His first professional contract—and his second chance at life—was about to begin.
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