The camera cut to his face.
He booted up the game. The menus were clunky. The licensing was a mess— “Piemonte Calcio” ? Really? He almost quit. Then he started his first match.
For the first time, Ronaldo didn’t feel like a generic athlete with a number. He felt like a character with a soul. Marco played an entire season not for trophies, but just to watch Ronaldo’s face in replays: the snarl after a missed header, the almost serene calm as he stepped up for a penalty, the rare, genuine grin after an assist.
Marco whispered, “That’s… actually him.”
Marco froze.