World football system

The early morning light bled through the cream-colored curtains in the master bedroom of Tobi Oliveira's London home, casting a golden haze on the polished oak floor. A muffled cry pierced the sleepy silence.

Tobi stirred first, his instincts as a father honed by weeks of broken sleep. With a groan that melted into a smile, he rolled out of bed, brushing a hand across Emilia's shoulder as she remained curled under the covers, her hair spilling like caramel over the pillow.

"I've got it," he whispered.

Padding quietly into the nursery, he was greeted by a symphony of need—Ava's soft sobs, Luna's tiny fists waving in the air, Thiago cooing curiously, and Liam already standing in his crib as if ready for a match.

Tobi scooped Ava into his arms, cradling her close. She had Emilia's nose and his eyes—bright and fierce, even when crying. "Easy now, princesa," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

He moved fluidly between the cribs like a seasoned professional, shuffling warm bottles he'd prepped the night before and changing diapers with practiced ease. The twins had different cries now; he could tell Liam's urgent whine from Thiago's whimpery grumble.

By the time the room quieted, a strange and welcome silence descended.

Tobi leaned against the crib, letting out a breath, arms crossed. He watched his four miracles slowly drift off again, soft breaths syncing with one another like a lullaby. In moments like this, football didn't exist. Fame was forgotten. All that mattered was this room, this peace, and this family.

But that peace was short-lived.

"Daddy! He spit on me!" came a shriek from the hallway.

Tobi turned, blinking. Leonor, now sixteen and a permanent resident in their home during summer breaks, stood scowling, her hair pulled into a tight bun and her Valencia Youth training kit already on.

In her arms, baby Liam giggled, a trail of milk dribbling from his lip onto her shirt.

"You gave him the bottle upside down, didn't you?" Tobi asked, smirking as he approached.

"He looked like he wanted it that way!" she said, exasperated.

"Yeah, and I look like I want to play for Real Madrid. Doesn't mean it's happening," Tobi teased.

Leonor rolled her eyes and gently handed Liam back. "You and your stupid Arsenal obsession."

"I won Arsenal a Champions League," he replied. "Twice."

She stuck out her tongue before darting out of the nursery. Tobi chuckled and followed her into the kitchen, where Emilia was already up, hair messy, one of his hoodies wrapped around her petite frame.

She handed him a mug of steaming coffee and kissed his cheek. "I heard all four of them crying again. You're a superhero."

"Not really. Just a striker who changed diapers."

"I beg to differ," she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder.

They sat at the breakfast bar in silence for a moment, sipping coffee, basking in the calm before chaos resumed. Tobi glanced at his phone and noticed an unread message from Arsenal's assistant coach:

> [Coach Steve]: "Preseason begins in ten days. Fitness check-in next Monday. Hope you're staying sharp. 😉"

His stomach twisted with anticipation. His break was nearly over. The field was calling.

But he wasn't the same man who joined Arsenal a year ago. He was now a father of four. A husband. A double Champions League winner. Everything had changed, and yet, the fire inside him still burned—only now, it had purpose beyond glory.

Emilia must've read his face. "You're not ready to go back, are you?"

Tobi set the phone down. "I am. But I'll miss this. I'll miss you."

She reached across the table, clasping his hand. "We'll be right here waiting. And this time, you're not going to war alone. You have a whole army behind you."

Their fingers tightened together.

Later that afternoon, Tobi spent hours in their backyard with Leonor, working through light drills. The twins were napping, and Emilia rested indoors. The sky was overcast, but warm, perfect for light movement.

Tobi dribbled between cones, passed with precision, and did short sprints while Leonor timed him.

"You've still got it," she muttered, arms crossed. "Not bad for a 19-year-old dad."

"Exactly—old."

They both laughed, and for a second, everything felt simple again.

When the sun began to set, Tobi sat in the grass, sweat glistening on his skin, watching the nursery window where he could see Emilia rocking Thiago, her silhouette painted gold by the twilight.

This was his life now—blissful chaos. Balancing two worlds.

And yet, the storm that brewed in him for the new season wasn't quiet anymore. It was rising steadily, fed by love, by fire, by legacy.

Preseason was near.

And Tobi Oliveira wasn't just returning.

He was coming back as a father, a champion, a leader—and a storm ready to reign again.

The sound of tiny feet pattering against the wooden floors echoed faintly from the hallway. It was early—barely past 6 AM—but Tobi was already up. Not because of training. Not because of football. But because one of the babies had let out a soft, whimpering cry. The kind that pierced straight through his dreams and tugged on his soul.

He yawned, ran a tired hand through his now slightly longer curls, and glanced toward the crib near the foot of their king-sized bed. Liam's sleepy eyes blinked up at him, fists rubbing against his chubby cheeks.

Tobi tiptoed over, scooped him up gently, and rocked him against his chest. "Shh… it's okay, little guy. Daddy's got you," he whispered, his voice thick with warmth.

From behind, Emilia stirred under the covers. "He's up again?" she murmured, eyes fluttering open.

"Yeah, but I've got him. You sleep a little more, babe. You need it."

Emilia smiled, half-asleep. "You're too good to me."

"No. You gave me these four beautiful humans. This is the least I can do."

He kissed Liam's forehead and slowly walked toward the baby's room. The soft blue and white walls of the nursery greeted him—a cozy space filled with custom cribs, alphabet decals, star-shaped lights, and the faint scent of lavender. Ava and Luna were still asleep in their cribs, one thumb-sucking, the other snoring delicately. Thiago's blanket had slipped to the side, and Tobi adjusted it gently.

Once Liam was settled again, he stood in the middle of the nursery for a moment. Just watching. Breathing it in. This was his peace. His sanctuary. The stadiums might roar, the press might swarm, but here, in this quiet room, he was just Tobi—the man, the father, the husband-to-be.

Downstairs, the kettle began to whistle. Time to shift from Dad mode to athlete mode.

His Arsenal training gear lay neatly folded on the couch. Gabriel had texted earlier in the group chat:

> "Preseason grind begins! Let's see who comes back fittest 🔥👊🏽 #NoMercy"

Tobi grinned. He texted back:

> "Bet I still outrun you with diapers in my back pocket. Let's go."

He made himself a protein smoothie, laced up his cleats, and was about to head out when Emilia appeared in the doorway, robe tied loosely around her waist, hair tousled but beautiful.

"You sure you're good for training? You were up like five times last night," she said, rubbing her eyes.

Tobi smiled. "It's preseason. I'll manage. Besides, it's not like Arteta's going to go easy on me."

She walked over and looped her arms around his neck. "Well… maybe he should. You're a dad of four now."

He kissed her, slow and deep. "Don't remind me. It still feels unreal."

As he walked out into the London morning, stepping into his car, the thought lingered. Unreal. Magical. Heavy. Beautiful.

—

London Colney training ground buzzed with energy as Arsenal's squad returned from their summer breaks. Laughter, banter, and shouts filled the air. Players hugged, fist-bumped, and caught up like a family reunited.

Declan Rice was the first to spot Tobi pulling into the parking lot. "Oi! Look who finally escaped the nursery!"

Tobi stepped out, grinning. "I didn't escape. I was granted a day pass."

The squad burst into laughter.

"You bring baby food to fuel your sprints, bro?" Bukayo teased, elbowing him.

Tobi gave him a mock glare. "Don't make me humble you again. I'm still the king of the beep test."

"Not after four kids you're not."

They were bantering like they'd never left.

But Arteta's whistle cut through the air moments later. "Enough hugs and jokes, gentlemen! The league doesn't care how many kids you have. Fitness tests in ten. Let's move!"

As Tobi jogged out with the squad, he felt the adrenaline awaken in his limbs. It wasn't just about being a father or a partner. He was still an athlete. Still the heart of Arsenal's attack. Still a champion with something to prove.

And with every stride, he could hear the echoes of those tiny cries at home, pushing him forward.

This was the balance. And he was ready to master it.

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