Sempre

[Twenty Four]

.:Chapter Twenty Four:.

♚Neymar's POV♚

I watched in horror as Wijnaldum toed the ball past Julio Cesar, who unsuccessfully tried to stop it from going past the goal line. Everyone stood up and cheered. Yeah, everyone; the Brazilians had long since become tired of our lousy performance, and instead opted to root for the opposition, "Ole"-ing their every pass. The Dutch, feeling a renewed sense of confidence surge through them, played exceptionally.

The crowd roared, clapped, whistled. They did everything they could to let the team know that they were right behind them. There was laughter and happiness (bar the last few remaining diehard Brazilians) all around me, but I couldn't hear any of it, oh no.

Because that was the moment my dream had died.

There was no more hope. There was no way that the Selecao could come back with three or more goals in the space of five minutes. It was impossible. And no, it wasn't one of those challenges where I could just say "the word itself says 'I'm possible'" because we weren't a well-built team like Germany or one of the greats. We couldn't score with all that pressure piling on top of us. We were all once poor, uneducated boys who knew nothing but football, and that's what has led us here today. Hard work, determination, and a lot of telling offs by our mothers. But even reminiscing those oddly satisfying moments couldn't help us come back from this. Not today.

"Hey," I felt Lena nudge my side with her elbow. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyebrows creased in worry. "You okay?"

I shrugged. Was I okay? I mean, the score was only 3-1, should I be grateful that it was only that? Or should I be crestfallen that it was only that? Sighing, I continued to watch the shambles that the game had been left in.

"At least you came fourth in the tournament. Be happy about that; you did better than a lot of teams." She continued hopefully, probably trying to convince herself too that this loss wasn't as bad as it seemed.

"But we've also conceded 10 goals in the past two matches. That's more than we've ever let in, in a single World Cup." I frowned.

"It can only get better, right? You'll be able to play in the next match with the team too, so don't worry about it."

I guess she was right. We had a couple friendlies coming up, and after that was the Copa América. Although it was significantly less widespread and famous as the World Cup, the Copa América trophy looked good in any South American team's cabinet, and next year, I planned to get my hands on it.

"Shut up. I'm trying to watch the game." Gil mumbled through a mouthful of nachos.

I leaned over Lena and rewarded him with a swift slap on the back of his head, to which he replied to by flipping me off.

A few minutes later, the final whistle blew and the crowd roared with glee. I sighed and got up, making my way to the changing rooms with the rest of the team. My words of comfort did little to restore happiness, but at least they didn't look as forlorn as they did before.

"We'll come back, guys. I know we will." I encouraged them brightly. It seemed as if I was the only one who was even remotely okay with this, despite having an early exit out of the tournament, but I tried my hardest to get my brightness to rub off on my team mates too.

"No." Hulk shook his head as he wiped his face with a towel, hanging it around his neck whilst he took a seat. "I'm not going to be called back for the team next year." I knew he was disappointed, but Hulk was very good at not letting his emotions shine through when he wanted to, and this was one of those moments.

"What are you talking about? Of course you will." I said without hesitation. Hulk was a great footballer, there was no reason for coach to not bring him back.