February rolled in like a fresh breeze.
After the emotional whirlwind of January — Tez's death, his explosive debut at Sporting, the chaos around his name — Kai Alexander finally felt like he could breathe again.
The pain was still there, tucked deep behind his smile.
But life… it moved on.
And Kai?
He was ready to move with it.
Good news came early.
Madison — Mads — had landed the lead role in a new Netflix series.
A teen drama with an edge, something in the vein of Riverdale, Outer Banks, that whole vibe.
Kai had called her the moment he found out.
"You're gonna be huge," he said, beaming.
Madison laughed. "Not bigger than you, superstar."
They spent an hour talking about everything and nothing.
About LA. About Lisbon.
About chasing dreams from two sides of the ocean.
They promised to meet up in March, when the USMNT camp would pull Kai back stateside — if only for a little while.
For now, though, they lived through voice notes, calls, and the occasional blurry FaceTime at stupid hours.
Back in Portugal, the focus sharpened.
Sporting were locked in a brutal title race with Benfica and Porto.
Every weekend mattered.
Every slip could cost them.
But something even bigger loomed over the club now — the return of the Champions League.
The real Champions League.
The Round of 16.
No more group stages.
No more second chances.
Do or die.
Because Sporting had finished inside the top eight in the fall, they avoided the preliminary knockout round.
Instead, they were drawn straight into the last sixteen.
Their opponent?
AC Milan.
One of the grand old houses of European football.
The name alone carried weight.
Seven-time European champions.
Legends walking the same corridors.
The build-up to the match gripped Lisbon like a fever.
Newspapers ran double-page spreads about Sporting's youth revolution — led now, unmistakably, by their new American phenom.
Posters of Kai dribbling past defenders started appearing around the city.
The fans chanted his name in training.
The club store ran out of his number 17 shirts in three days.
The world was watching.
And Kai?
Kai felt ready.
Sporting boarded their plane to Milan. The flight wasn't anything special but the 'class clowns' made it interesting. Eventually they touched down in Milan and a press conference was set up.
The pre-match press conference was packed.
Cameras flashing.
Reporters from Italy, England, Spain — all crammed into the media room at Milan's training complex.
Kai sat next to his manager, Rui Borges.
His fresh curls framed his sharp face, and even though he tried to look calm, his knee bounced slightly under the table.
Adrenaline.
Excitement.
Dreams coming true.
The questions came thick and fast.
A Portuguese reporter opened the floor:
"Kai, you're 17 years old, already playing Champions League knockout football. What drives you?"
Kai smiled softly.
"My family," he said, voice steady.
"My mom. My brother and sister. Everything I do, I do for them."
A few reporters scribbled that down eagerly.
They loved a good story.
Another hand shot up — an English journalist.
"Kai, who is your football idol? They way you carry yourself has prompted almost everyone to liken you to certain legends of the game."
Everyone leaned forward, maybe expecting the usual names — Ronaldo, Messi, Neymar.
Kai smiled wider.
"Mo Salah," he said without hesitation.
A small ripple of surprise went through the room.
"Since I was little, when I was introduced to football." Kai added.
"The way he plays, the way he carries himself off the pitch — humble, hardworking. That's who I want to be like… and more."
Another murmur ran through the crowd.
Different.
Honest.
They liked that.
Next question — an Italian journalist.
"What do you think about AC Milan's threat? Leão, Pulisic, Jovic — they have dangerous players."
Kai leaned into the microphone.
"I respect Milan a lot," he said, nodding. "Great team, great history. But I trust my team. We're here because we earned it."
The manager, Rui Borges, gave him a quick approving glance.
Good answer, kid.
Final question.
"If you could face anyone in the final… who would it be?"
Kai chuckled.
"Liverpool really, come on guys I've given you enough hints at me being a Liverpool fan." he said chuckling and earning a few laughs from the journalists.
"Playing against Salah — that would be something."
The room laughed lightly, charmed by the honesty.
Press conference over, Kai walked out into the chilly Milan afternoon feeling lighter.
The words had been easy.
Because they were true.
Family.
Work.
Dreams.
Simple things.
The only things that mattered.
The next few days blurred together.
Tactical meetings.
Extra training sessions.
Studying Milan's patterns, their press, their defensive weaknesses.
Kai trained like a man possessed.
Every sprint.
Every shot.
Every touch — sharper, faster, cleaner.
Inácio, the captain, kept throwing him little nods of approval.
"You're ready, irmão," he told Kai two nights before their showdown at the San Siro.
"Just play your game."
The build-up in the media was relentless.
Portuguese newspapers hyped it up:
"Kai leads Sporting into battle against European giants."
"The American Prodigy: Can he shine under San Siro lights?"
English papers rued his absence from the Premier League again:
"Sporting's Wonderkid: Another Star We Let Slip."
Even French media stayed buzzing, PSG fans begging online for him to come home after the loan.
None of that mattered now.
Only Milan.
Only the match.
The day before the game, the team boarded a sleek private Bus to tour the city.
Everyone dressed sharp — suits, ties, polished shoes.
Kai wore a thin chain around his neck, tucked under his shirt.
It carried a small pendant.
Tez's initials. K.P (Kenan Parker)
Milan was different from Lisbon's salt-and-warmth.
Sharper.
Heavier.
History lingered in the air here.
This was a city where football wasn't just sport.
It was blood.
It was life.
The bus ride to museums was quiet.
Some players listened to music.
Some stared out the window, lost in thought.
Kai just watched the city blur by.
Old streets.
New towers.
Banners of AC Milan and Inter colors hanging from balconies.
The enemy's territory.
He loved it.
They returned to their hotel and got changed waiting for evening.
That evening, Sporting went for a light walk around the city to stretch their legs.
Tourists stared at them, whispering.
"That's Sporting," someone said in English.
"That's the American kid," another murmured, pointing at Kai.
He tucked his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and kept walking.
Tomorrow, they'd know his name for real.
The following day, as the sun dipped and Milan's golden lights flickered alive, the bus pulled up outside the San Siro.
The players filed off, one by one.
Kai stepped down and looked up.
The San Siro towered above him.
All concrete and history.
Massive and mythic.
He felt a shiver run through him.
Not fear.
Excitement.
This was why he left Atlanta.
This was why he fought through the chaos, the abuse, the noise.
For this.
Inside, the stadium was being prepped.
Cameramen.
UEFA banners.
Fresh chalk on the pristine grass.
Kai walked slowly around the edge of the pitch, head tilted back, drinking it in.
Tonight, this cathedral would be full. Some fans were already making their way in.
Tonight, he would step into the fire.
And he would not be afraid.
He thought of his mom, in Paris now, probably praying.
He thought of the twins, no doubt bragging about their big brother at school.
He thought of Madison, waiting for her first big table read.
And he thought of Tez.
Always Tez.
Watch over me, big bro.
Tonight, the world would see.
Tonight, he would show them.