Striker of The Gods

The 2032 Ballon d’Or Night: The queen of Spain

The official after-party had ended hours ago, but Paris refused to sleep as reality comes to see the dark of those who refuse to love. Something was not good at all. In that sense, we could not remain together. In doing so, this bacame sorrow for Caos. From his private suite overlooking the Seine, Caos stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, golden Ballon d’Or orb resting on the grand piano like an indifferent sun. The city lights blurred into violet streaks through the glass.

Another trophy. Another record. Another hollow victory. Another city destroyed. Another heart broken. He still wore the black suit, jacket discarded, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked at himself in the mirror, admiring everything around him. In that sense, he could be better than anything that he could imagine. That is to say that nothing could shake him. Just a coffee. Just the rain. Between heaven and earth. The three maids had retired to their adjoining rooms after making sure he ate something. Even they knew tonight was heavier than most. A soft knock echoed through the suite and growth.

Not the sharp, professional knock of hotel staff. Not the old age of destruction. Not the shaped snow that we can see. Not the familiar rhythm of Zeraphina, Keyla, or Michaela. This knock was hesitant. Almost afraid. Almost happy. Almost joyful. Almost complete. Yet determined. YET sure. Caos didn’t move at first. He was like hell destroying any hope or changee that they could try opposing. He knew that sound the way he knew the curve of every ball he had ever struck. He finally crossed the room and opened the door. Leonor stood in the dimly lit corridor, still in the deep emerald gown from the gala, a long black coat thrown over her shoulders. No guards. No entourage. No shade. No hellhound. Just her eyes red-rimmed, crown jewels still in her hair, looking every inch the future queen and every inch the woman who had broken both their hearts on live television. She looked as beautiful as diamonds in the winter.

Leonor (voice barely above a whisper): May I come in? I wanna talk to you, Daniel. Caos stepped aside without a word. She entered, the door clicking shut behind her like the final whistle of a match neither of them had wanted to end in the most desperate way possible. For a long moment they simply stood there in the middle of the luxurious suite that could change the greatest amount of hope in the world, the golden orb on the piano glowing between them like an accusation.

Leonor (eyes tracing his face, then dropping to the floor): I watched you accept it tonight and I… I couldn’t breathe and see clearly. Another Ballon d’Or. Another impossible season. Another unexpected reality. 430 goals. The World Cup. That chilena from thirty-nine feet… the whole world is still screaming your name and all I could think was how I should have been standing beside you when they called it. (voice cracking) But I chose the throne. In front of everyone… WHAT SHOULD I HAVE DONE?I said the words. And now I can’t take them back.

Caos remained silent, violet eyes steady, the singular storm inside him coiled tight. Leonor (stepping closer, tears finally spilling): I came here tonight without permission. Without telling anyone, as I should. My father thinks I went straight back to the residence. Sofía… Sofía probably already knows, as she hates me deeply. She always knows. (voice breaking further) I don’t know what I’m doing here, Caos. I chose duty. I chose Spain. I chose my family. I CHOSE.. I CHOSE…But every time I close my eyes I see you on that pitch. I see you looking straight at me when you celebrated that last goal. And it feels like I’m the one who scored an own goal in front of the entire world.

She reached out, fingers trembling as they brushed his chest, right over the place where his heart beat steady and furious. Leonor: Tell me I made the right choice. Tell me the crown is worth losing this. Tell me that one day I’ll wake up as Queen and not feel like half of me is still on that pitch with you. (whispers, almost begging) Or… tell me I’m a fool. Tell me I should have chosen the storm. Because right now, standing here in this dress that feels like chains, I don’t know which truth hurts more. His gaze softened, a mixture of admiration and sorrow flickering in his eyes. ”You’re no fool,” he THOUGHT gently, cupping her face with his hand, ”but it’s the choices we make that define us. Just remember, no crown can truly shine if it means sacrificing the essence of who you are. That is not just a line.

Caos finally moved. His hand rose slowly, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear with a gentleness that contradicted every violent goal he had ever scored. The violet in his eyes flared brighter for a heartbeat.

Caos (voice low, raw, carrying the weight of 1,617 goals and one broken heart): You chose the throne, Leonor. I watched you do it. I respected it. I even understood it. But do not ask me to tell you it was the right choice. Because every record I break now feels like compensation for the one thing I couldn’t conquer you. He leaned his forehead against hers, breath mingling. Caos: I will keep scoring. I will keep breaking everything that dares stand above me. NO ONE CAN STOP OR EVER WILL. But the only record that still matters is the one where you walked away. (quiet, almost smiling through the pain) So if you came here looking for absolution… I can’t give it. If you came here looking for me… then stay. Just for tonight. That is to say that there is nothing we can do. YOU have destroyed EVERYTHING!

Let the crowns and the sisters and the parliaments wait outside that door. Leonor’s breath hitched. Her hands fisted in his shirt as if afraid he would vanish like smoke. For the first time since her public declaration, the future queen allowed herself to be simply Leonor the woman who had once danced with chaos and found it felt like home. Outside the suite, Paris kept glittering. Inside, two hearts that had chosen different thrones tried, for one stolen night, to remember what it felt like when there was nothing between them but skin, breath, and the singular storm that had once made the world tremble.

To be continued…