Rise of a Football God-Chapter 469: A final embrace in Abuja

The sun rose slow and golden over Jabi Lake, painting the surface of the water in soft amber hues. Mist rolled gently along the quiet shoreline, and birds called lazily from distant palms.

The villa, a private luxury escape nestled in the hills of Maitama, felt far from the noise and fanfare of the night before.

Inside the villa, everything whispered serenity. The air was still, heavy with the scent of fresh hibiscus, while light jazz played softly from a speaker tucked into the corner of the airy living room.

White curtains billowed lazily in the morning breeze.

Sam and Kayla had spent the entire night wrapped in a cocoon of laughter, whispering memories, and playful kisses.

And now, barefoot, dressed in just a simple robe, Sam stood at the balcony, gazing into the sprawling horizon; Abuja's skyline rising like a memory in motion.

Kayla emerged behind him, wearing one of his oversized shirts, her hair still tousled from sleep. She slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back.

"I never want this to end," she murmured.

Sam turned, pulling her gently into his arms.

"Neither do I," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "But duty calls".

They spent the morning in blissful silence. Breakfast was served on the terrace; akamu and akara, with chilled zobo in carved calabashes. Kayla was getting increasingly better at Nigerian dishes, she directed the chefs on what to cook.

At this moment though, the staff knew to give them space, slipping in and out like ghosts.

After breakfast, they lay in the villa's infinity pool, floating side by side, watching the clouds drift lazily overhead. Kayla reached out and held his hand under the water, her fingers tracing circles on his palm.

"This place feels like a dream," she said softly.

He looked at her, memorizing the light in her eyes. "You're the dream".

She chuckled, blushing.

They returned inside, changed, and curled up together on the massive cream-colored couch. Kayla's head rested on Sam's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Then, a knock.

Their manager entered gently, holding the travel case and the green and white Nigeria jersey with Sam's name boldly across the back and the No. 10.

The moment shattered like glass.

Kayla sat up slowly. Sam took the jersey in silence.

"It's time?" She asked, though she already knew the answer.

He nodded. "The World Cup won't wait".

Today was 5th June already, and the 2026 FIFA World Cup was scheduled to start just a few days from now on June 11th.

Players were released by their clubs as soon as the season came to an end. The only reason why Sam didn't join the Nigerian national football team yet was because of his wedding and marriage commitments.

And now, it was time.

It was time to go and represent his country once again in the biggest stage of all, a stage even bigger than the AFCON, the FIFA World Cup stage.

The 2026 FIFA World Cup, this edition of the tournament will be the first to include 48 teams, expanded from the previous 32.

The United 2026 bid beat a rival bid by Morocco during a final vote at the 68th FIFA Congress in Moscow. It will be the first World Cup since 2002 to be hosted by more than one nation.

With its past hosting of the 1970 and 1986 tournaments, Mexico will become the first country to host or co-host the men's World Cup three times.

The United States last hosted the men's World Cup in 1994, whereas it will be Canada's first time hosting or co-hosting the men's tournament.

The event will also return to its traditional northern summer schedule after the 2022 World Cup in Qatar was held in November and December.

Kayla wanted her husband to stay with her and not leave, she wanted to enjoy her honeymoon, and yet she understood.

She understood just how ambitious of a man she married.

She knew just how driven he could be, almost making him seem like a mad man at times.

She managed a smile, though he eyes shimmered. "Go win it for us".

Sam cupped her cheek in turn. "For Nigeria. For you. For everything we are".

Their final kiss wasn't rushed. It was slow, intentional. A promise forged between lips. A seal that even time couldn't dissolve.

Then he turned, suitcase in one hand, jersey slung over his shoulder, and walked toward the waiting car. Kayla stood at the villa steps, watching him go, arms folded over her chest, the wind tugging at her curls.

The car pulled away.

She didn't cry, not yet. Because she knew the world would be watching him now. And soon, the name Sam wouldn't just echo in Barcelona or Fulham or Lagos or Abuja.

Rather, it would thunder across the world.

But for now, in the stillness of that Abuja morning, she whispered to herself.

"My champion".

…

Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja…

The departures terminal buzzed with a quiet but unmistakable electricity. Cameras clicked, media crews loitered behind security barricades, and a modest crowd of fans clad in green, waving miniature flags, gathered to catch one last glimpse of their heroes before they soared toward destiny.

Sam arrived in a dark-green tracksuit, his travel duffel slung casually over one shoulder. The familiar glint of the Nigerian Football Federation emblem gleamed on his chest.

The moment he stepped out of the black SUV, cheers rippled through the waiting fans.

"SAMMMM!"

"Naija starboy!" Someone shouted.

He smiled and waved, offering a few autographs as security gently ushered him toward the VIP section of the terminal.

Already waiting inside were several of his Super Eagles teammates; some lounging in branded tracksuits, others thumbing through phones, earbuds in, laughter echoing between jokes in Yoruba, Hausa, and pidgin English.

He bumped fists with Victor Osimhen, exchanged a side-hug with Wilfred Ndidi, and clapped Ademola Lookman on the back.

"Starboy don land," Osimhen grinned, adjusting his cap as he said in pidgin. "You don kiss wife finish?"

Sam chuckled. "Make una no jealous abeg".

The camaraderie was infectious; gritty, brotherly, a bond forged through years of international football, setbacks, and rising hopes.

If anything, Sam was the new face among them but nobody dared underestimate him. Nobody dared underestimate Sam the Great, King of FC Barcelona, Lord of the Spotify Camp Nou.

He already led this team to win the AFCON already. If that alone was not enough to garner their respect, what he did with Barca this season was enough.

The flight attendants from Air Peace, their chartered carrier lined up respectfully. The boarding call came over the PA system, and a murmur went through the room.

They walked out onto the tarmac like kings heading to war, step by step under the hot Abuja sun, their green and white travel jackets catching the light, national pride stitched into every thread.

The plane was decorated with a bold –[Naija to the World]- emblem, flanked by soaring eagles. As the players boarded, the engines hummed to life.

Through the small terminal window, fans pressed their hands against the glass, singing.

"All we are saying… Give us the cup!"

Inside the plane, the mood shifted to focus. Beats played low from a Bluetooth speaker. Some players closed their eyes, some tapped tactics on their tablets, others stared out the windows, watching Abuja shrink beneath them as the plane ascended into the clouds.

Sam looked out too.

One last glance at the homeland.

Next stop, the United States of America.

Next mission impossible, bring the World Cup home.