World football system-Chapter 75: Timeskipp Foundations of a New Legacy

TIMESKIPPPP

The London morning air was crisp, the sky a deep silver-blue brushed with light wisps of cloud. Tobi stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse apartment in Kensington, sipping on a protein shake while his other hand gently rested on Emilia’s small, growing baby bump. The city bustled below, cars humming softly, but inside their world... time was slowing down.

"Tobi," Emilia murmured sleepily from behind, her arms wrapping around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder, "stop thinking so much."

He smiled faintly. "How did you know?"

"Because I know you," she said, eyes still closed. "And because you’ve been watching the sunrise like it’s going to give you the answer to life."

Tobi chuckled, but his heart was heavy with thoughts—thoughts of everything they had won, and everything still uncertain. They were champions of Europe and England now. Two years at Arsenal, and he had delivered everything the club could ask for: dominance, glory, legacy.

But this new Chapter wasn’t about trophies.

It was about fatherhood.

It was about becoming a man beyond the pitch.

"You ever think..." he said, his voice soft, "we weren’t meant to have it all?"

Emilia didn’t answer immediately. She just held him tighter.

"I think," she said slowly, "you fought for this. And you earned it. Now you just need to learn how to live with it."

Later that day, the training ground at London Colney buzzed with activity. The press had been kept away for now, but whispers had already started leaking—Emilia’s pregnancy, Tobi’s future, potential bids from clubs like Real Madrid and PSG.

"Tobi!" Mikel Arteta’s voice called across the pitch. The manager jogged over, clipboard in hand.

Tobi tucked the ball under his arm and met him halfway. Arteta’s eyes were calm, but probing.

"You’ve had a hell of a year. No one’s doubting your commitment, but... are you ready for what’s next?"

Tobi didn’t flinch. "I am. But I need to make sure my family’s ready too."

Arteta nodded. "Then take your time. You’ve earned it. But remember—this team still needs you."

As training resumed, his teammates—Saka, Martinelli, Ødegaard—welcomed him with smiles and light banter. But there was a subtle shift in their energy now. He was no longer just the rising star.

He was the standard.

The champion.

The man they all looked up to.

After practice, Tobi sat with Leonor on a bench outside the facility, watching the sun begin its slow descent. His younger sister, had blossomed into a prodigy herself—dominating the women’s league in Spain. She had flown in to visit, her eyes lighting up every time Emilia walked in the room.

"You ever think about quitting?" she asked him suddenly, swinging her legs.

Tobi raised an eyebrow. "You?"

"No, you. Like... just walking away now that you’ve won it all."

He took a long breath, then looked up at the orange sky.

"I think about legacy. Not quitting."

Leonor nodded. "Then what’s next?"

Tobi turned to her, smiling faintly.

"I build something bigger."

That evening, Emilia sat with her feet propped up on the couch, flipping through baby name books. Tobi walked in after a long shower, towel around his neck, and kissed her forehead.

"Any luck?" he asked.

She sighed dramatically. "If I see another ’Top 100 Baby Names for 2025’ I’m going to cry."

Tobi grinned, settling beside her.

"What about Leonor?" he teased.

Emilia laughed. "She already claimed naming rights if it’s a girl."

He leaned his head against hers. "Boy or girl... it’s not about the name. It’s about the life we give them."

And for the first time since winning everything... Tobi felt like he was finally starting something that truly mattered.

The London sky was overcast, a typical soft gray for early summer, but the energy in Tobi Oliveira’s life was anything but muted. The Emirates Stadium still pulsed with the echo of triumph from last month’s Champions League final, and across England, chants of "Tobi! Tobi! Tobi!" had become synonymous with invincibility. Arsenal had not only reclaimed Premier League glory but rewritten a legacy. And at the center of it all stood a 21-year-old who had already lived two lives.

But beneath the glittering surface of success, a different kind of storm was brewing.

Tobi stared at the ultrasound photo on the kitchen counter, his thumb brushing the glossy paper like it might tear from his touch. Emilia had been radiant the day she told him — eyes wide with shock, joy trembling in her voice.

"Tobi... we’re going to have a baby."

That memory was only three weeks old, yet it felt like an entirely new Chapter. Now, every training session, every interview, every match came with a new weight — not pressure, but responsibility. He was going to be a father.

Across the breakfast table, Emilia was pouring orange juice into a glass, her motions slow, graceful, almost calculated. Her figure was still slender, but there was a softness to her movements now. Protective. Tobi watched her in silence, feeling his chest swell with something stronger than pride. Love. Purpose.

"You’re staring again," she said, breaking the silence with a small smirk.

"I can’t help it," Tobi replied, rising from his chair to wrap his arms around her from behind, pressing his lips to her shoulder. "It still feels unreal."

Emilia leaned into him, smiling. "It’s very real, Mr. Superstar. And soon, diapers and sleepless nights will be your new training regime."

He chuckled. "I’ve survived the Bernabéu. I think I can handle a few diapers."

She turned in his arms, eyes bright. "You’re not alone in this, Tobi. We’ll figure it out together."

He nodded, but his gaze drifted out the window. Together. That word meant everything. But in his world, ’together’ wasn’t always promised.

Later that afternoon, Tobi arrived at London Colney for Arsenal’s pre-season media session. The vibe was relaxed, players joking as they posed in the new kits, but Arteta’s sharp eye never missed a beat. Even in victory, he demanded focus. And for Tobi, the whispers had already begun — rumors of Real Madrid knocking, Bayern seeking a massive buyout, PSG prepared to offer something "historic."

"Tobi," Arteta pulled him aside after the shoot. "Come walk with me."

They paced the training pitch in silence at first, the lush grass freshly cut, the sun briefly cutting through the clouds.

"You’ve done everything we hoped for — and more," Arteta finally said, folding his arms. "But you know what’s next?"

Tobi tilted his head. "More?"

The Spaniard nodded. "Defending the crown. Not just as a team... but you, individually. Every club in Europe is watching you. You’re the benchmark now. You’re not chasing anymore — you’re being chased."

Tobi exhaled slowly. "I know. I feel it."

Arteta gave him a sideways glance. "How’s Emilia?" freewёbnoνel-com

Tobi smiled. "She’s... everything. And she’s pregnant."

The manager’s eyes widened in surprise before softening. "Congratulations, my boy. That’s huge. You’re stepping into a new kind of pressure."

"I’m ready."

Arteta clapped him on the back. "Good. Because this next season won’t just test your football. It’ll test your balance, your choices. Your heart."

That night, as Tobi drove back through London’s glowing streets, his phone buzzed — an incoming call from someone unexpected: Cristiano Ronaldo.

He blinked in surprise. They’d met before, during a training session with Portugal’s national team, but hadn’t spoken since.

"Tobi," came the deep voice over the line. "I saw the final. You’re ready for the next level. But I need to tell you something."

Tobi’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. "What’s that?"

"There’s no ceiling. But there’s also no mercy. You think you’re flying now? Wait until the world wants to tear your wings off."

Tobi was silent.

"Stay focused," Ronaldo continued. "Family grounds you. Football elevates you. But fame? Fame destroys the weak. Be stronger."

The call ended without ceremony.

Tobi stared at the road, the weight of those words pressing against his ribs. It was true. Fame was a beast. And now, with Emilia and a child on the way, he couldn’t afford weakness.

The next day, Arsenal’s pre-season training kicked off in full swing. But for Tobi, something felt different. He was sluggish, his body aching more than usual. At first, he chalked it up to mental exhaustion. But by the third sprint drill, he collapsed to one knee, gasping.

Declan Rice rushed over. "Tobi?! You alright?"

Tobi waved him off, but Arteta wasn’t convinced.

"Medical check. Now."

The scan revealed mild muscular overuse — nothing serious, but enough to warrant a week off. Emilia insisted he rest, and for once, he obeyed. They spent the days walking through Hyde Park, watching movies, and reading baby name books aloud — laughing at the ridiculous ones. It felt almost normal.

Until the crash.

A paparazzi drone, flying illegally low, startled a cyclist on the path as Tobi and Emilia crossed the street near their flat. The man lost control, slamming directly into Tobi’s knee. The pain was immediate and blinding. Tobi crumpled to the pavement, clutching his leg as Emilia screamed for help.

An MRI revealed a partial MCL tear — six weeks out.

The news hit like a hammer. The season hadn’t even started yet.

Lying in bed with a brace on his leg, Tobi stared at the ceiling.

"First injury in years," he muttered.

Emilia curled beside him. "It’s temporary. You’ll heal."

Tobi shook his head. "They’ll say I’m fragile. That I can’t defend my crown."

She took his hand. "Then show them what a king does when he’s wounded."

Outside, the headlines exploded. "Arsenal Star Injured in Freak Incident", "Will Oliveira Miss Opening Fixtures?", "Transfer Rumors Heat Up Amid Injury Concern."

But Tobi didn’t respond. He waited. He trained. He planned.

And in that silence, something new was born — a fire deeper than ambition, greater than vengeance. He wasn’t just playing for trophies anymore.

He was playing for legacy.

And for the family he was building — step by step, heartbeat by heartbeat.