The Man in the Black Car

The morning was unusually still.Even the roosters seemed hesitant to crow, as if something unfamiliar had slipped into the village air. Cristiano was sitting on the stone fence outside his house, juggling a crushed soda can with his bare feet. He was up early—he always was—but today he felt restless. Like something was about to happen.Down the dusty road, a trail of rising dust caught his eye.A car. But not just any car.It was long, black, and shining like it didn't belong in a place where people patched tires with glue and rope. The windows were tinted, the body polished to a mirror. It moved slowly, carefully, like it didn't trust the road—or the people on it.Cristiano stood up, narrowing his eyes. He'd only seen cars like that on TV. Footballers sometimes arrived in them. Or rich men in suits. Never in their village.He turned and ran inside."Mãe! Mãe! There's a car coming. A fancy one!"Maria Dolores wiped her hands on her apron and came to the door. She saw it too, and something tightened in her chest. She called for José.By the time the car stopped in front of their gate, half the village had noticed. A few neighbors peered from windows. One man crossed himself. Another lit a cigarette and whispered, "Oil money."The driver stepped out first. Young, bearded, dressed in black with mirrored sunglasses. He opened the rear door with a quiet formality.The man who stepped out was tall, dressed in a beige suit, with a small golden pin on his chest shaped like a crescent moon. His skin was olive, his posture straight. But his smile—his smile was the most calculated thing Cristiano had ever seen."Good morning," the man said in perfect Portuguese, with a foreign rhythm. "My name is Yusef Al-Khatani. I've come on behalf of Al Nassr Football Club."Cristiano looked up at him, wide-eyed.Yusef lowered himself to the boy's level, smiling."You must be Cristiano."Cristiano nodded slowly. "How do you know my name?"The man chuckled. "Because, young man, I believe you have a gift. And gifts... deserve to be seen."Maria Dolores stepped forward, protective. "Please, come inside."Yusef rose, gave a small bow. "Thank you, senhora. I only need a few minutes of your time. I bring... opportunity."As they entered the house, Cristiano stayed at the door a moment longer, watching the black car glint under the morning sun.Something about it shimmered too perfectly.Something about the man's eyes felt too practiced.And somewhere inside his chest, his heart whispered a warning he didn't yet understand.Even the roosters crowed late, as if something foreign had drifted into the village air. Cristiano sat on the low stone wall outside his house, barefoot, juggling a crushed soda can with his feet. He was always up early, but today he felt different—like the air carried a whisper only he could hear.Down the winding dirt road, a cloud of dust rose.A car was approaching.But not just any car.It was long, black, and polished like a gem. Sleek as a shark, moving slowly as if it didn't trust the road—or the people watching it. Its windows were tinted dark, hiding whoever sat inside. No one in their rural town owned anything close to that.Cristiano stood and squinted.He'd seen cars like that only on television. Wealthy men arrived in them. Footballers. Politicians. Never here.He turned and sprinted inside."Mãe! Mãe! There's a fancy car coming down the road!"Maria Dolores wiped flour off her hands and walked quickly to the door. She caught a glimpse through the window—and her chest tightened."José!" she called. "Come. Now."By the time the car pulled up to their gate, neighbors had peeked out from behind curtains. A few stood frozen, uncertain. One man whispered, "Must be oil money."The driver, young and bearded, dressed all in black, stepped out and opened the back door with sharp precision.Out stepped a tall man in a beige suit, with olive skin and a small golden crescent pin on his chest. His posture was perfect. His eyes were sharp. His smile—calculated."Good morning," he said in fluent Portuguese, though his accent hinted at a faraway desert. "My name is Yusef Al-Khatani. I've come on behalf of Al Nassr Football Club."Cristiano's jaw dropped.The man turned and looked at him, crouching slightly to meet his gaze."You must be Cristiano."Cristiano nodded slowly. "How do you know my name?"The man gave a small chuckle. "Because, young man, I believe you have a gift. And gifts... deserve to be seen."Maria Dolores stepped forward, tense. "Please... come in."Yusef rose and gave a courteous nod. "Thank you, senhora. I only need a few minutes of your time. I bring... opportunity."As they stepped inside, Cristiano hesitated at the door. The black car gleamed under the morning sun, still as a sleeping predator.Something about it shimmered too perfectly.And something about the man's eyes left a cold feeling in his chest.He didn't know why—but part of him wanted to run.