Later that afternoon, the club's media team arranged a press conference. Mateo, along with Klopp and Kehl, sat at a long table in front of a room packed with journalists from around the world. The cameras flashed, the microphones were thrust forward, and the questions came fast and furious.

"Mateo, how does it feel to be called the best signing of the season?"

"Mateo, do you feel vindicated after being released by Barcelona?"

"Mateo, what do you say to the people who doubted you?"

Sarah, who was translating for him, relayed the questions, and Mateo answered them with a calm, measured grace that belied his sixteen years.

He thanked the club, the fans, and his teammates. He praised Klopp for believing in him. He talked about the importance of hard work and perseverance. He was humble, gracious, and sincere.

But inside, he was screaming.

He wanted to tell them that he wasn't the "best signing of the season." He was a human being. He wanted to tell them that he didn't feel vindicated. He felt tired. He wanted to tell them that the people who doubted him had left scars that would never fully heal.

But he didn't. He smiled, he signed, he played the role of the grateful, humble champion. Because that was what they wanted. That was what they expected. And he was too exhausted, too overwhelmed, to fight it.

After the press conference, Klopp pulled him aside. The coach, ever perceptive, could see the strain on the boy's face. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low and concerned.

Mateo hesitated, then signed, "It's a lot."

"I know," Klopp said, nodding. "The media can be brutal. They build you up, they tear you down, they treat you like a commodity instead of a person. But you have to remember: they don't know you. They don't know your story, your struggles, your heart. They only know what they see on the pitch. And what they see is a champion. Don't let them take that away from you."

He paused, his eyes locking with Mateo's. "You are not a headline. You are not a hashtag. You are Mateo Alvarez. And you are so much more than they will ever understand."

That evening, back in his room, Mateo sat by the window, watching the sun set over the city. His phone was on silent, face down on the desk. He had had enough of the media circus, the recycled headlines, the endless noise. He needed quiet. He needed space. He needed to remember who he was.

He thought about his mother, about the woman who had loved him unconditionally, who had believed in him when no one else did. He thought about Don Carlos, about the old man who had taught him that true strength came from within. He thought about Isabella, about the woman who loved him not for what he had achieved, but for who he was.

And he thought about the kids at Casa de los Niños, about their innocent, adoring faces, about the way they looked at him not as a superstar, but as a friend.

Those were the people who mattered. Those were the people who knew his story, who understood his heart, who saw him as more than just a headline.

The media could say what they wanted. The world could reduce him to a narrative, a fairy tale, a cautionary tale about the one that got away. But he knew the truth. He knew the cost. He knew the journey.

And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

He was Mateo Alvarez. He was a champion. And he was so much more than they would ever understand.

Later that night, unable to sleep, Mateo found himself scrolling through social media again, despite Lukas's warning. This time, however, he ventured into the deeper corners of the internet, the forums and fan pages where the real discussions happened, where the hot takes were hotter and the opinions were more raw.

He found a Reddit thread titled: "Mateo Alvarez: Generational Talent or Just a Robotic Player?" The debate was fierce, with hundreds of comments arguing back and forth. Some praised his vision, his technique, his football IQ. Others claimed that he was only successful because of Klopp's system, because of the quality of his teammates, because of the space afforded by the Bundesliga's attacking style.

One comment in particular caught his eye: "Let's see how he does next season when teams have figured him out. One good season doesn't make you a legend. Let's not forget that Barcelona, one of the best academies in the world, released him for a reason."

The words stung more than they should have. Because deep down, in a place he didn't like to acknowledge, he had the same doubts. Was he really that good? Or had he just gotten lucky? Would he be able to replicate his success next season? Or would he be exposed as a fraud, a one-season wonder, a flash in the pan?

He closed the app and put the phone down, his heart heavy. The praise was intoxicating, but the doubt was paralyzing. It was a strange, uncomfortable dichotomy, this life of fame and scrutiny. He had achieved his dream, but the dream had come with a price.

There was a soft knock on the door. It was Isabella, her face concerned. "I saw the light under your door," she said. "Couldn't sleep?"

He shook his head, signing, "Too much noise in my head."

She came in and sat beside him on the bed, taking his hand in hers. "You read more comments, didn't you?"

He nodded sheepishly.

"Mateo," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You have to stop torturing yourself. These people don't know you. They don't know what you've been through. They're just... noise. Background static. You can't let them define your worth."

"But what if they're right?" he signed, his hands trembling slightly. "What if I was just lucky? What if next season, I'm not good enough?"

"Then you'll work harder," she said simply. "You'll adapt. You'll grow. That's what you've always done. You've faced rejection, injury, heartbreak, and you've overcome it all. Why would next season be any different?"

She paused, her eyes searching his. "You know what I think? I think you're scared. Not of failing. But of succeeding. Because if you succeed, if you become everything they say you can be, then the expectations will be even higher. The pressure will be even greater. And the fall, if it comes, will be even harder."

Her words hit him like a thunderbolt. She was right. He was scared. Terrified, even. The success had been overwhelming, but it had also been a burden. Because now, he had something to lose. He had a reputation to uphold, expectations to meet, a legacy to build. And the weight of it all was crushing.

"But here's the thing," Isabella continued, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to carry that weight alone. You have Klopp. You have your teammates. You have Don Carlos. You have me. And most importantly, you have yourself. The same boy who survived Barcelona's rejection. The same boy who scored the winning goal in a title decider. The same boy who has overcome every obstacle life has thrown at him."

She leaned in and kissed him softly. "You are enough, Mateo. You have always been enough. And no headline, no comment, no hot take can change that."

He held her close, his heart full of gratitude and love. She was his anchor, his compass, his light in the darkness. And with her by his side, he knew that he could face whatever came next.

The media circus would continue. The headlines would keep coming. The hot takes would never stop. But he would not let them define him. He would not let them reduce him to a narrative, a hashtag, a cautionary tale.

He was Mateo Alvarez. He was a champion. And his story was far from over.

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