#neymarjunior

With some free time on your hands, you decided to take a tour of the property and see if you could find anything that could help in building your piece. The grounds themselves were breathtaking, surrounded by mountains and lush grass as far as the eye could see.

You wandered around, aimlessly walking down random hallways, exploring the different buildings. You came across a display showcasing all the different awards and medals Brazil had won in its history.

"Who the hell are you?"

You looked up startled at the sound of another voice as you came face to face with a tan boy who looked around you age glaring at you, a phone pressed against his hand, clearly already agitated from the phone call.

"I'm sorry?"

"No media allowed here, you need to leave."

You put your hand up in mock surrender playfully, "Oops sorry didn't realize that."

The boy shook his head, before speaking rapidly in what you could only assume was Portuguese, ending the call. He came over to you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him,

"Clearly. Fucking media never respects anyone."

You were surprised at his rudeness and how you knew you were media before you realized you were wearing a badge literally labeled 'Media Team'.

"Hey! Not all of us are bad, and besides I wasn't even snooping."

He rolled his eyes, still pulling you along towards the exit, "That's what they all say. Now get off the property."

Now it was your turn to be angry, "Excuse me? First of all I'm a human being so treat me like one, second I'm literally just here to do my job."

This just agitated the boy more, "Well then go on and do it instead of just standing around."

You huffed pulling your hand from his grasp.

What an asshole, who the hell did he think he was?

He waited expectedly for you to leave, you bit your tongue not wanting to say anything else to make the argument escalate, "Fine."

"Fine." he replied, and with that, you turned around walking out the door and heading back towards the main buildings where the interviews were being held.

Never had you met someone who was ruder right off the bat, sure you were somewhere you weren't supposed to be, but no one had told you it was off limits, and you weren't even doing anything, just admiring the display.

You came back into the main building finding that things were much more chaotic then when you left.

"What's going on?" you asked as you approached one of your team members, Miles.

"Neymar, the star player, is apparently nowhere to be found. He was supposed to be in the first round of interviews but he stormed off a while ago."

"Why is everyone on this team so tight-strung." you said referring to the mishap you had just minutes prior.

He shrugged, "No idea, anyways, he'll probably end up in your section if they ever find him."

You groaned not looking forward to having to deal with two assholes in one day.

You had never been a big football fan to start with, but by the way your day was going you were sure that by the end of your project you weren't going to end up being one either.

After waiting around for another hour it was your turn to interview, and as you stepped into the media room you found a group of 5 players waiting for you along with the head and assistant coach.

You walked up to them introducing yourself, "Hello everyone my name is Y/N I'm going to be finishing up the interviews for today."

You heard someone let out an excited groan, "Thank god, I'm so hungry."

You let out a smile looking at the player reading his name card, Dani Alves. "I'll try to make it as quick as possible."

You launched into the interview, asking questions about the team strengths and weaknesses, different tactics they used in practices, and how they felt about their chances for this World Cup.

Before you know it, the interview had wrapped, and you were left to gather your things after the players had left whispering to each other about their lunch plans.

You were just about to leave the room when one of the assistant coaches came back into the room.

"Excuse me, sorry Y/N would you mind just staying another 10 minutes? Neymar is ready to give his interview."

You mentally groaned, you were so close to being done and going back to the hotel to rot away, but you couldn't say no.

"Yes, no problem at all. I'll just wait here."

He gave you an appreciative look before telling you he would be right back.

You sat back down on the interview chair, reopening your notes, you hadn't prepared for questioning him as he wasn't assigned to you, and your other team members had already left since their interviews wrapped before yours.

You didn't know really anything about the players, only the gameplay itself so you chose to focus your questions surrounding that.

Soon 10 minutes turned to 15 and then 20, and now almost 30 minutes after he was promised to be here, he was still nowhere to be seen.

You grew annoyed waiting, the room was boring and gray, and you had run out of things to entertain yourself with as you waited. There were only so many times you could read through your notes. Deciding to go see what was taking so long yourself, you walked over to the door, intent on finding someone.

Before you could open the door for yourself, however, it swung open, hitting you square in the face.

You staggered back, holding your now bleeding nose.

"Ow ow, oh my god I'm bleeding."

You looked up trying to find the person responsible before your eyes settled on the same tan boy from before standing in front of you an unreadable expression on his face.

"You."

You shut your eyes, not believing your luck, "Me."

"You two know each other?" A new voice perked up, the assistant coach walking in.

His smile dropped however when he saw your state and Neymar still glaring at you, "What happened? Are you okay?"

You glared back at the boy you came to learn as Neymar, tearing eye contact before looking over to the coach, "I'm fine, do you know where the restroom is?"

He nodded, pointing out the way as you turned to follow his directions, "I'll be right back."

Once you got to the bathroom you analyzed the state of your nose, cringing as you saw the blood smeared around your face. It didn't hurt as bad anymore, but the blood wouldn't stop rushing out.

You grabbed a handful of tissues trying to stop the bleeding, fuming as you thought about Neymar. He hadn't even apologized. Or even done anything to help, just stood there like a stupid statue.

You had never disliked another person so fast in your life.

Had the fame gotten to his head?

That must be it you thought as you finally got the bleeding under control. He was just a spoiled brat who was used to people adhering to his every demand. Well, you weren't going to be one of them, you were going to make sure that he was treated the same way he treated others.

And so the rivalry began.

The interview went just as smoothly as you had expected, meaning it was a complete waste of time. He answered your questions without any snide remarks, although he kept his answers as short as possible.

You were sure he was only being civil towards you because the coaching team was sitting next to him, but even then he purposely found ways to avoid answering your questions, and diverted the subject to something else entirely.

You huffed sick of going around in circles, "So you think that Brazil has the best shot of winning this year?"

"I never said that."

"You said that you think Brazil is at the best it's been in a long time, and you believe you can

lead the team forward."

"Yes."

"So, how do you believe the team will do in terms of winning the World Cup?"

"Unsure."

You gripped your pen tighter in your hand, fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you had asked all the players in your section the same question and they gave you concrete answers, either about how they hoped to do well or believed in the team. However, Neymar was giving you short of nothing.

"Ok, how do you think you will perform this year?" You asked, switching the question slightly.

"Depends."

"On?"

"How well I play."

This time you couldn't stop the urge to roll your eyes as you angled your face to the side, hoping the coaches wouldn't see, however, Neymar had and he made sure of pointing it out.

"Is something wrong?" he asked a smug smile on his face.

You grit your teeth, annoyed that you had just wasted the last hour of your life and gained nothing valuable to include in your piece. "I think we'll go ahead and end the interview here."

He got up before you could even finish your sentence.

"Perfect, thanks everyone."

You watched him leave the room silently cursing him out in every language you knew, which to be fair, was only 2.

The coaches stood up after his exit, beginning to make their way out as well.

The head coach, Scolari, came over to talk to you.

"I hope you got everything you need."

"Yes. Thank you." You said trying your hardest to not seem intimidated. Coach Scolari was a man who radiated authority and looked extremely tough, so he was definitely not someone you wanted to get on the wrong side of.

He nodded before turning around and walking away with the other coaches.

You grabbed your stuff, exiting the compound to go back to your makeshift home. You hoped that this was a one-time thing and that you wouldn't have any more run in's with the Brazilian team till the World Cup.

You were wrong. So very wrong.

After reading through your team notes, your professor was more adamant than ever that the best story would come from evaluating the Brazilian National Team in their home environment. This meant that for the next two weeks while the team was preparing for the World Cup you and your team would be lingering on the sidelines observing.

Your project which had once just focused on the Brazilian team during the World Cup had switched towards a narrative based on emphasizing who the Brazilian team was at its core, how that was presented in their play, and ultimately how that would lead them to victory. The project was a full-on immersion into the work lives of the entire football staff at Granja Comary.

You felt way in over your head. Essentially now instead of one piece, your professor was requesting a collection of pieces that would be shared in a portfolio, one due before the start of the World Cup, and one at the end.

You knew that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you had already traveled all the way to Brazil from the United States to be a part of this team, but you couldn't help but wish that you knew the circumstances before coming.

"So does everyone understand the new objective?" You all nodded, listening as your professor explained the change in the assignment.

"Ok good, and remember, we are trying to introduce football to America. We want to write in a way that's persuading, honest, and informative. I'll see you all bright and early Monday morning, we'll meet at the hotel entrance and go as a group." He dismissed your team as you all left the conference room, heading back to your hotel rooms.

Isa, one of the other members of your team walked alongside you, "I can't believe we get to work with the Brazil team. I'm so excited!"

You nodded your head, "Yah they're such a joy to work with."

She frowned at your lack of enthusiasm, "Did something happen?"

"Just some player being rude."

She sighed sympathetically, "Ugh, sorry that's the worst. Don't worry you can probably pass him off to someone else."

You smiled at her words, she made him sound like a dirty rag that could be easily discarded,

which for some reason lightened your mood.

"Yeah probably."

She spoke again changing the topic, "So what are you doing tonight? First Friday in Brazil!"

You shrugged, to be honest you weren't that good friends with anyone on your team, and hadn't really planned on coming to Brazil to have fun.

"Oh c'mon you have to go out. We're only here for two months don't waste your time. The team and I are going out tonight, Miles found some club that he swears is life-changing, you should come with."

"Ok fine, but I can't promise I won't fall asleep, I'm still super jet lagged."

She smiled clapping her hands excitedly, "No problem. Now go get ready we leave in an hour."

The club which ended up being much more extravagant than you had expected was extremely packed with bodies everywhere, and Portuguese dance music blaring through the speakers. There was DJ situated at the front of the room, about 10 feet higher than the rest of the crowd which was dancing along to the music. Lights hung from every corner of the ceiling, wrapping around the bar, switching colors rapidly.

You grasped onto Isa's hand tighter,

"Where are we going?" You complained as she pulled you along with her, maneuvering through the crowd.

"Miles said they're at the bar." She shouted back letting go of your hand as you reached the bar.

The original plan had been to leave as a group from the hotel, but after Isa had seen your outfit, which had consisted of ripped jeans and a cute tie top, she had taken it upon herself to dress you, complaining that American bar attire would not cut it here. This resulted in you both leaving after the boys and having to meet them there.

"Hi guys! Ooh, what are you drinking?" Isa asked as we walked over to them.

Josh who was the final member of your journalism team responded, "Signature cocktails. Shit's crazy they lit it on fire before you got here."

Isa nodded, "Look's yummy. What are you getting?" she asked turning to look at you.

"Hmmm maybe a vodka cranberry?"

She groaned again, "Y/N this not America, c'mon get something new."

You laughed, "Ok, ok, maybe I'll get the Brazilian Dream?" You spoke reading over the several

different drink names listed on the counter.

She cheered beside you, "Fuck yes. Brazilian Dream love it."

After you ordered the group of you decided to head back into the crowd and attempt to dance.

Keyword being attempt. You soon found out that neither Miles nor Josh had any rhythm as they jutted their hips awkwardly to the music looking like they were always one step behind the beat.

You and Isa couldn't help but giggle over them, they couldn't dance for the life of them but seemed to be enjoying themselves nonetheless.

Josh held up his drink, the liquid dangerously close to spilling out, "To Brazil!" he screamed over the music.

You all laughed, raising your glasses to clink with his, the liquid from your drink now spilling over all your dancing bodies,