Offside

The Golden Boy

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

"Vian! Over here!"

"One more picture!"

"Smile!"

The stadium still roared long after the final whistle.

Barcelona had lifted the Joan Gamper Trophy, and twenty-one-year-old Vian Laurent had stolen the show with two goals and an assist.

He was football's newest obsession.

Children wore his number.

Pundits called him the future of football.

Fans chanted his name long after he disappeared down the tunnel.

"VIAN!"

"VIAN!"

"VIAN!"

He smiled for another camera before slipping an arm around the trophy.

Another flash.

Another headline.

Another perfect moment.

"So..."

A reporter squeezed through the crowd.

"Vian, another Man of the Match performance. How does it feel?"

He smiled effortlessly.

"It feels like we're just getting started."

"Ballon d'Or predictions already have your name in the top ten."

He laughed.

"I'm twenty-one."

"Exactly."

"I've got a long way to go."

The crowd laughed with him.

Another question.

"What kept you grounded through all this success?"

For the first time all evening...

His smile softened.

"My girlfriend."

A chorus of teasing whistles erupted from his teammates.

Pedri shouted from behind,

"Here we go again!"

Vian chuckled.

"She's been with me before any of this."

"You've been together since you were teenagers, right?"

He nodded.

"She's home."

Another reporter smiled.

"What would you say to Valeska if she's watching?"

Vian looked directly into the nearest camera.

"I'll call you as soon as I get out of here."

The internet would replay those seven words for days.

Two hours later...

The celebration had moved to one of Barcelona's most exclusive hotels.

Music echoed through the private lounge.

Champagne flowed.

Players laughed.

Sponsors celebrated.

Models, influencers and celebrities filled the room.

Vian leaned comfortably against the bar, laughing with his teammates while casually scrolling through his phone.

Valeska ❤️

He answered immediately.

"Hey, beautiful."

His voice changed.

Softer.

Warmer.

"I watched every second," she said.

"You were incredible."

"You watched?"

"I always watch."

A smile appeared on his face without him realizing it.

"I miss you."

"I miss you more."

Across the room, a stunning brunette approached him with two glasses of champagne.

Without asking, she sat beside him.

Her fingers absentmindedly slipped into his hair as she smiled.

Vian didn't move away.

He kept talking.

"I'll fly to you after training tomorrow."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

The woman beside him continued playing with his hair.

She had no idea who was on the phone.

Or maybe she didn't care.

"I love you," Valeska whispered.

For a brief second...

Everything around him disappeared.

"I love you too."

He ended the call.

The woman beside him smiled.

"So..."

She twirled another strand of his hair around her finger.

"Who was that?"

Vian took a sip of champagne.

"My girlfriend."

She laughed.

"You answered me while talking to your girlfriend?"

He looked at her.

"Yeah."

She studied him for a moment.

"You really love her?"

His answer came without hesitation.

"More than anything."

Silence.

She frowned.

"Then what are you doing here?"

Vian looked across the room at his teammates celebrating another trophy.

Then back at her.

"Celebrating."

She smiled knowingly.

"I don't think that's all you're celebrating."

He met her gaze, unreadable.

"That's not your concern."

She held his gaze for another second.

"That's not your concern."

There wasn't an ounce of guilt in his voice.

Only certainty.

The woman let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

"Footballers..."

Before Vian could answer, someone clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"There you are!"

Marc Casado grinned, already holding a champagne bottle.

"The buses are leaving."

Pedri pointed toward the exit.

"The night's just getting started."

Lamine laughed.

"And our superstar was about to disappear."

"I'm coming."

Vian slipped his phone back into the pocket of his tailored black trousers.

One last glance at Valeska's contact.

❤️ My Girl

His thumb hovered over the screen for a second.

Then he locked it.

"Let's go."

—

Outside the hotel, a convoy of matte-black SUVs waited beneath flashing blue lights.

Fans crowded behind barricades despite it being well past midnight.

"VIAN!"

"LAURENT!"

"ONE PHOTO!"

Phones rose into the air.

Security struggled to keep people back.

Vian rolled down the window just enough to sign three shirts and hand them back.

A little boy couldn't have been older than eight.

Number 7.

Barcelona jersey.

Eyes full of wonder.

"You're my hero!"

Vian smiled.

"Work hard."

The boy beamed as if he'd been handed the world.

The convoy pulled away.

Inside the SUV, music blasted through the speakers.

Pedri nudged Vian.

"Still talking to Valeska?"

"When am I not?"

The entire car burst into laughter.

"Brother," Gavi smirked, "one day she's going to get tired of you choosing football over her."

"I don't choose football over her."

"No?"

Pedri raised an eyebrow.

"When was your last proper vacation together?"

Silence.

"Exactly," Pedri muttered.

Vian looked out of the window.

Barcelona's streets glowed beneath the summer lights.

He changed the subject.

"What club are we going to?"

Marc grinned.

"The usual."

The entire SUV erupted.

"Oh, tonight is going to be dangerous."

—

Twenty minutes later...

Barcelona's most exclusive nightclub stood behind towering black gates.

No signs.

No cameras allowed inside.

Only invitations.

As soon as the players stepped out, the doors opened.

The bass hit first.

Then the lights.

Champagne fountains shimmered beneath crystal chandeliers.

International DJs controlled the room from a suspended stage.

Footballers.

Actors.

Formula One drivers.

Models.

Influencers.

Billionaires.

It wasn't a party.

It was a different universe.

The moment Vian walked in, heads turned.

"Laurent's here."

"The Golden Boy."

"That's Vian."

People wanted photos.

Drinks were already being placed into his hands before he asked.

The DJ shouted into the microphone.

"Make some noise for Barcelona!"

The room exploded.

Pedri leaned close enough for only Vian to hear.

"You know what I love about nights like this?"

"What?"

"No tactics."

"No pressure."

"No cameras."

"No consequences."

Vian looked around the room.

Women smiled at him from every direction.

One winked.

Another lifted her champagne glass.

A third walked past slowly enough to make sure he noticed.

He noticed.

He always noticed.

He just never admitted it.

Somewhere across Europe...

Valeska Romanova had already fallen asleep with her phone in her hand.

The last message she'd sent him still sat unread.

I'm so proud of you. I love you. ❤️

Vian's phone vibrated inside his pocket.

He didn't feel it.

Or perhaps...

He chose not to.

The hostess appeared beside their table with a practiced smile.

"Welcome back, Mr. Laurent."

She didn't ask for a reservation.

She never did.

"The penthouse lounge is ready."

"Your usual bottle has already been opened."

Vian gave a polite nod.

"Thank you."

Marc laughed under his breath.

"They know your schedule better than the manager."

"They've had enough practice," Pedri replied.

The hostess smiled, pretending not to hear.

"Oh..."

She hesitated.

"...and we've already asked the ladies to give you some space tonight."

Lamine burst out laughing.

"As if that's ever worked."

"It never does," she admitted.

Before they even reached the private lounge...

"Vian."

He turned.

A blonde in a silver dress wrapped her arms around his neck as though they'd known each other for years.

"I thought you weren't coming."

"I wasn't."

"So what changed?"

"My teammates."

She smiled.

"You still owe me breakfast."

"I probably do."

"You never called."

"I know."

"No..."

She poked his chest with a grin.

"You forgot."

Vian smiled without denying it.

"Maybe."

She kissed his cheek before disappearing back into the crowd.

Pedri watched her leave.

"...Who was that?"

Vian shrugged.

"I honestly don't remember."

Marc nearly spilled his drink laughing.

"That's terrible."

"It's honest."

Another woman approached.

Then another.

One congratulated him on the trophy.

One asked for a picture.

Another slipped a folded piece of paper into the pocket of his blazer before disappearing into the crowd.

Vian didn't even look at it.

He kept walking.

As if this happened every weekend.

Because...

It did.

Across the room, two businessmen watched the scene unfold.

"The kid's twenty-one."

"The fame's arrived faster than he has."

His companion nodded toward Vian.

"Talent like that changes people."

"No."

The older man swirled the ice in his whiskey.

"Fame does."

Near the bar, two models whispered quietly.

"That's Vian Laurent."

"The one with the girlfriend?"

"The same girlfriend he's had forever."

"So why's everyone flirting with him?"

The brunette laughed.

"Because half of Barcelona thinks they're the exception."

The bartender was already pouring his drink before he reached the counter.

"Congratulations on another trophy."

"Thank you."

"The usual?"

"You know me too well."

"I've been serving you since your first-team debut."

Vian smiled.

"That long?"

The bartender slid the glass across the marble.

"I've also learned something."

"Oh?"

"Every time you win a trophy..."

He nodded toward the crowd of women watching Vian.

"...my busiest customers aren't footballers."

His phone lit up again.

Valeska ❤️

Goodnight, my love. Call me when you're home.

For a moment...

The noise disappeared.

He stared at her name.

A small smile found his lips.

Without hesitation, he typed back.

Always. Sleep well. ❤️

He hit send.

Locked the screen.

Slipped the phone into his pocket.

A familiar voice interrupted him.

"You text your girlfriend while standing in the middle of a nightclub?"

He looked up.

The brunette from earlier stood beside him, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah."

She smiled.

"You really do love her."

"I do."

"So why are you here?"

Vian lifted his glass.

"Because loving someone..."

He glanced around the room.

"...has never stopped footballers from making bad decisions."

She studied him for a long moment.

Then gave a quiet, almost sympathetic smile.

"No..."

She said softly.

"It never has."