The next few minutes were a blur of laughter, teasing, and carefully executed evasion tactics.
Alex had managed to dodge most of the wild rides so far under the flimsy excuse of "keeping watch." It was a line no one bought, but no one challenged either. Maybe out of respect. Maybe out of pity. Maybe because they were waiting for the perfect mont to ambush him.
That mont ca courtesy of Isabella.
She turned toward him, the sun catching in her hair, eyes glinting like she had just found a secret weapon. Her smirk was criminal. The kind of expression that made you brace yourself and check your health insurance.
"Ti to face your fears, Coach," she said, hands on hips like a villainess in a soap opera.
Alex blinked behind his sunglasses, suspicion blooming instantly. "What fears? I’ve played in derbies with knives practically taped to my ankles."
"Exactly," she replied, reaching for his wrist and tugging him forward. "So a bit of gravity shouldn’t scare you."
The ride lood ahead like a monunt to regret.
It was called Il Vortice di Morte.
Even the na felt like a personal threat. The Vortex of Death. Great. Just great. The kind of rollercoaster that looked like it had a vendetta against spinal cords. The kind of ride UEFA would probably ban on principle alone.
The stairs up to the platform felt like a slow, deliberate walk to the gallows. The tallic clanking beneath their feet, the screeching of the coaster cars returning to the station, and the distant chorus of screams from riders still trapped mid-loop, all of it combined into one long, dreadful symphony of anxiety.
Alex glanced back at the rest of the team below. Banda spotted him and started slow clapping like he was about to deliver a motivational speech.
"You sure about this?" Alex muttered as they reached the boarding area.
Isabella just bead at him, already handing her bag to the ride operator. "Absolutely. You’ll love it."
Alex gave her a sideways glare. "Why are we in the front?"
"Because life’s too short to be a coward."
"That’s not a real philosophy. That’s sothing adrenaline junkies say before they get airlifted."
But before he could escape, the attendant locked the safety harness in place with a loud, decisive click that sounded far too permanent. Alex closed his eyes and sighed deeply, as if repenting for all his past sins.
"Karma," he muttered, "and press officers."
The coaster jerked forward.
"Oh God."
The slow climb up the first hill was, by far, the worst part. Each tick of the chain lift was like a countdown to regret. Alex clutched the safety bar like it was the last-minute winner in a Champions League final. His knuckles were white.
Isabella, on the other hand, looked infuriatingly serene. Like she was ditating.
"This isn’t too bad, right?" she teased over the grinding ascent.
Alex turned to her, face pale, voice shaky. "You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? Mine’s just showing clips of Krstovic missing sitters."
She laughed so hard it echoed across the park.
And then, they reached the top.
The pause at the peak lasted just long enough for Alex to start praying.
Then gravity punched him in the chest and yanked them straight down.
The next minute was a fever dream of screams, twists, inverted loops, and turns so sharp Alex was certain he left a part of his soul back on the third corkscrew. He didn’t scream so much as gasp repeatedly, like a man falling down the stairs in slow motion. At one point, he was upside down and possibly in another dinsion.
When they finally screeched back into the station, Alex just sat there.
Frozen.
Drenched in sweat.
Hair sticking up at wild angles.
The ride attendant unlatched their harnesses and moved on without a word. Isabella nudged him gently.
"You alive?"
His shirt was damp, his neck was tense, and his dignity had been left sowhere around the first drop.
"I hate you," he said without emotion.
She giggled like she hadn’t just casually dragged a grown man through a controlled near-death experience. "You’ll thank later."
They stumbled off the platform and nearly collided with Dorgu, Gallo, and Banda, who were holding churros and grinning like they had just won the lottery.
"Gaffer!" Gallo called out, pointing. "Heard you scread louder than the kids!"
"Fake news," Alex replied, attempting to stand tall. It would’ve been more convincing if he hadn’t looked like a freshly drowned puppy.
Dorgu pointed at the nearby screen displaying ride photos. And there it was.
Alex, in the front row, eyes bulging like he had seen the apocalypse. Next to him, Isabella, beaming like she was on a holiday postcard.
"We are buying that," Banda announced, already walking toward the souvenir counter.
"I don’t even own a physical photo fra," Alex grumbled.
"Then we’ll put it on a mug," Dorgu offered. "Or a calendar."
The rest of the afternoon only descended further into chaos.
Krstovic and Pongračić managed to lure Alex onto the bumper cars, which turned into an unspoken assassination mission.
Alex had barely started driving when Krstovic slamd into him like he was settling an old score.
"I see how it is!" Alex shouted, jerking sideways.
"This is for the 15 laps threat!" Krstovic howled, reversing and ramming into him again.
"It was a joke!"
"So is this!"
Even the staff managing the ride looked mildly concerned. Alex spent most of the ride boxed in, helpless, being spun around like a top by grinning footballers with revenge in their eyes.
Then ca the water gun booth.
Gallo challenged Alex to a duel. What followed was not a duel. It was a public humiliation.
Alex sohow managed to spray water directly into his own face while Gallo calmly hit every target like a trained sniper.
"I used to be a world-class midfielder!" Alex shouted, blinking through the mist.
"Yeah?" Gallo said, tossing a wink. "What happened?"
"Gravity," Alex muttered.
Sowhere around the fifth snack stop, Banda managed to trade two tickets for a pink cowboy hat, which he insisted the gaffer wear for the next team photo. Alex refused. Then relented. Then regretted everything.
A group photo was taken in front of a spinning ride, all players making the most ridiculous faces they could muster.
"Okay, on three!" Banda shouted. "One, two—"
"Wait," Alex interrupted. "What are we shouting?"
"Alex’s a twat!"
Too late. The cara flash went off just as Alex buried his face in his hand, groaning in defeat.
Lunch was more of a battlefield than a al. They sward the food court like it was a tactical mission. Fries, hot dogs, absurd milkshakes in oversized cups, ice cream in colors that did not occur in nature, nothing was safe. Banda attempted to combine pizza and cotton candy into sothing he called "flavor synergy." It ended in regret.
Alex tried to confiscate a candy stick from Dorgu, only for the defender to theatrically threaten to cry.
By late afternoon, the sun had dipped just enough to throw a golden hue over the amusent park. Shadows stretched long across the pavent. The noise llowed. Laughter lingered in the air like heat rising off asphalt.
The team gathered near the exit gate, full, sun-tired, and just short of collapsing.
Alex clapped his hands once, loud enough to grab their attention. "Alright. Back to the hotel. Let’s get packed. We’re flying in two hours."
"Can we do this again?" Gallo asked, licking ice cream off his thumb like a child on sumr break.
Alex smirked. "Only if we win the Champions League."
"So... weekly, then?" Gallo replied with a grin.
Alex shook his head in mock despair, but the grin never left his face.
Beside him, Isabella stood with her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, her face half-hidden by her sunhat. She leaned slightly toward him, her voice quiet.
"You’re good with them," she said.
Alex glanced at her, then looked back at the squad. Banda was trying to steal soone’s churro. Pongračić was giving Krstovic a piggyback ride. Gallo was convincing Dorgu to take the last group photo again because his hair had been "unfairly winded."
Alex shrugged, eyes soft. "I used to be one of them. Still am, kind of. Just with more grey hairs."
"You’re like their dad."
"Please don’t say that. I’m still in my thirties."
"Barely."
He turned to her slowly, a wounded look in his eyes.
She smiled innocently.
And together, as the sun dipped low and the bright colors of the amusent park blurred into the background, they followed the team toward the exit.
The day had been ridiculous. Silly. Embarrassing, even.
But for the first ti in ages, Alex felt weightless.
And not because of a rollercoaster.
Because of sothing far rarer.
Joy.
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