São Paulo, Brazil.
Inside a small villa, a teenage boy excitedly shouted:
"I'm going to Milan!"
The boy stood about 175 cm tall, with a youthful face and short, slightly curly hair. He wore an oversized knockoff AC Milan jersey.
His name was Alexandre Pato.
He was the top talent from Sport Club Internacional, and after helping them win the Club World Cup last season, he became a breakout star.
At the end of the season, offers came in from Real Madrid, Barcelona, Ajax, and AC Milan.
In the end, he decisively chose AC Milan, even though Ajax offered better terms.
But this was AC Milan!
Back-to-back Champions League champions.The strongest team of the 21st century.With legends like Maldini, Nesta, Šuker, Kaká, Pirlo, Gattuso…
For 17-year-old Pato, Milan was pure worship.
He vividly remembered that "Athens Massacre Night" — watching Šuker score again and again against Liverpool, helping Milan take revenge.
When Šuker stood on that pitch, carrying the roars of tens of thousands of Milan fans, Pato imagined himself in that same moment.
Yes!
He idolized Milan.He was obsessed with Milan.And now, he was finally going to Milan.
"Baby, you're amazing!"
A young girl rushed into his arms. The two hugged tightly.
"Oh my God! I can't believe it. You're really going to Serie A, and you're going to be teammates with Šuker!"
"Hahaha, I'm a genius! Geniuses always shine. Milan recognized my talent," Pato said proudly.
"That's awesome. We can finally make big money. They'll pay you a lot, right?"
Pato blinked:
"Not really. They offered the least."
The girl looked confused:
"Then why did you choose Milan?"
"Today's salary doesn't determine the future. Šuker and Kaká didn't earn much at first either — now Šuker has the top salary in Serie A. I believe in myself!"
"Haha!" the girl smiled."You're the best. I believe in you. I'm so curious about Milan. I want to see the cathedral, the fashion shows… I'll become a top model too, right?"
She looked at him hopefully:
"So, when do we go to Milan?"
Pato:
"We? No, no… it's me going. Alone."
The girl froze.
"You're going first? Ohh… right, you'll get settled and then bring me over. You're so thoughtful!"
She reached for another hug.
But Pato stepped back, avoiding it.
Looking straight at her, he said:
"You misunderstood. It's not we — it's me. I'm going alone. What would you do there?"
The girl suddenly had a bad feeling.
"What do you mean?"
Pato pointed to the suitcase by the door.
"I'm going to Milan. I'm going to make big money. I'm going to be famous. And I'll do all of it by myself. Why would I bring you — you country bumpkin!"
"C-Country bumpkin?"
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
Pato sneered:
"Christmas Eve. Where did you go? Don't think I don't know — you went to see Aison. You dirty cheater. Why would I take you? I'm going to Milan to live in a mansion — alone. We're done! Slut!"
He grabbed his suitcase and bolted.
As the door slammed shut, something hit it hard from the other side.
Then came a scream:
"BASTARD PATO!!!—"
But Pato never looked back.
Out on the street, he flagged down a taxi, full of pride.
"To Milan!"
The driver turned around and said dryly:
"Can't go that far."
Pato awkwardly responded:
"To the airport then."
The cab sped off toward the airport, and Pato looked out the window, filled with excitement and joy.
A new life had begun.
He was leaving Brazil.Heading for Europe.
Big money!Beautiful women!Pato felt like the good life was waving him forward.
He rolled down the window and shouted into the wind:
"I'm going to Milan to make big money!!I'm the Brazilian genius — Alexandre Pato!!——"(Street won't forget)
One day later. Milan.
In Ancelotti's office.
The coach stared at the boy standing in front of him — suitcase in hand, wearing a yellow collared polo shirt, brown cargo shorts, brand-new sneakers, and sunglasses.
"Didn't I tell you to come in mid-July?" Ancelotti asked.
Pato:
"I had nothing else to do, so I came early."
Ancelotti blinked — this feeling was familiar.
He rubbed his forehead, pointed at the boy, and said:
"When you talk to the coach, take off your sunglasses."
"Oh! Sorry!" Pato quickly took them off.
Wanting to blend into Milan's fashion capital, he had gone out of his way to buy new clothes — including pricey sunglasses and a second-hand Rolex.
Ancelotti gave him a once-over.
That second-hand Rolex was hanging crooked on his wrist, obviously not bought properly — maybe not even his.
And his outfit?
Trash.
When Šuker first arrived, he wasn't exactly fashionable either — but at least he wore a clean tracksuit and didn't look this irritating.
Looking at this grinning goofball, Ancelotti didn't even know what to say.
"Take him to get settled," Ancelotti said with a wave of his hand, already frustrated.
He still had a pile of tactical work to finish.
Pato raised his arm to wave — the Rolex nearly flew off.
Ancelotti's eyebrow twitched.
"Take off that watch." he said in a low voice.
Pato looked at the watch and grinned proudly:
"Rolex!"
"Take it off!" Ancelotti barked."NOW. IMMEDIATELY."
Pato froze in shock.
He didn't expect Ancelotti to be so scary.
"I've been in a bad mood lately," the coach said, rubbing his temples."Don't push me, okay?"
Pato nodded like a pecking chick.
Creaaak—
The door opened, and a familiar voice came through.
"Boss, today's promotional event is done!"
As Šuker stepped in, Ancelotti's expression immediately changed — from grumpy to radiant, like a blooming flower.
Pato turned to look.
Šuker walked past him — wearing a crisp white T-shirt, black dress pants, polished boots, and holding a grey linen blazer. His hair was neatly styled.
On his wrist — a real Rolex, clearly expensive and perfectly fitted.
His fingers bore rings whose names Pato didn't even know — but they clearly weren't cheap.
"Damn, he's so cool…" Pato's eyes sparkled.
This was a true superstar.
Šuker noticed Pato — but didn't speak.
"Thanks for today. There's another promo event tomorrow," Ancelotti said warmly.
Pato stood there awkwardly — this coach didn't act anything like he had before.
Šuker chuckled:
"Boss, I just gave up two vacation days to do free promotions for Milan. Next season, you'd better give me more tactical resources."
Ancelotti stiffened, clearly awkward:
"Of course… don't worry!"
Šuker nodded, satisfied.
Then turned to Pato:
"Who's this goofy kid?"
Before Ancelotti could respond, Pato shouted:
"I'm Alexandre Pato! I'm your future teammate!"
Šuker had heard about Pato's bubbly personality — a real "internet clown."
His eyes drifted downward and spotted that worn-out Rolex.
His lips curled into a sly smile.
Pato, though clueless, still had some pride.
He instinctively hid the watch behind his back, eyes dodging.
So lame.
Šuker chuckled, took off his real Rolex, and handed it over.
"Try it on."
Pato froze.
"For me?"
Šuker didn't answer, just waved the watch to hurry him.
Pato rushed over, removed his own second-hand watch, and slipped on Šuker's Rolex.
Silver and gold, diamond-studded face — clearly worth a fortune.
"Remember: A man's watch is his second face. Don't wear junk from a flea market," Šuker said with boss-like swagger.
Pato nodded frantically, eyes glowing with love.
"You like it?" Šuker asked with a grin.
"Yes!" Pato beamed at the Rolex.
"Does it fit?"
Pato looked up sharply — was he really going to gift it?
That's how a top player acts!
"It fits!" Pato was overjoyed.
"Good. Then buy one like it in the future — don't get scammed. Now give it back."
Pato: "…"