Chapter 73: A breath of winter
Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way
Oh, what fun it is to ride
In a one-horse open sleigh, hey!
Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way
Oh what fun it is to ride
In a one-horse open sleigh
...
Now the ground is white
Go it while you’re young
Take the girls tonight
Sling this sleighing song...
It was that time of the year again.
For the first time in months, there was no training to rush to, no whistle echoing across floodlit pitches, and no physio shouting "stretch deeper!" The season paused, and Christmas was around the corner.
With it, footballers scattered like migrating birds.
Mbappé flew to Paris, draped in fur coats, cameras chasing him through Charles de Gaulle, while Vinícius jetted to Rio, samba drums and fireworks waiting.
Pedri returned to Tenerife, surfboard already packed for an enjoyable winter holiday. Even Raphinha, usually restless, carried his daughter through El Prat with a smile wider than any he’d worn on the pitch.
The air in football softened, and the headlines cooled. Social media traded goals for family pictures as the world took a breath.
And so did Sam; Kayla insisted.
"You’ve pushed your body to the edge for three straight months. Today, you belong to me."
Even if she didn’t insist, Sam would have agreed. He was all in with mamba mentality and all, but he also knew when to rest, and enjoy it.
So Sam followed her into a private spa in Kyoto, Japan.
Snow dusted the city’s wooden rooftops, lanterns glowing in the winter dusk. The moment they stepped into the warm interior, the world melted away.
It was an heaven on earth type of experience.
It started with a full-body massage first. Sam lay face down, eyes closed, as expert hands kneaded months of battle out of his shoulders. Knots loosened, muscles unclenched. He groaned softly, half in pain, and half in release.
It was just so relaxing.
"See?" Kayla whispered, watching him melt. "All you needed was me and a masseuse," she grinned.
He chuckled weakly. "And maybe new legs."
Next was a skin treatment for Kayla, laughter bubbling as Sam teased her. After which they shared a hot stone therapy session, heat seeping into their bones, as fatigue was replaced with peace.
These moments when he could stop and the world would pause so he could spend time with his beloved, Sam cherished it.
For once, Sam didn’t think of matches, opponents, Mbappé, Vinicius or even Hansi Flick’s tactical drills. For once, he just thought of his wife, Kayla, giggling as she stole cucumber slices off his face.
After the spa, they traveled deeper into Japan.
They visited a small mountain inn and tucked among cedar trees, overlooking steaming hot springs. Snow fell gently. The air was crisp and pure.
Sam stepped into the water, hissed at the heat, then sighed as it swallowed him whole. Kayla slipped in beside him, hair tied up, cheeks pink from the cold air and hot water.
"This," she whispered, leaning against him, "is what heaven feels like".
Sam smiled. He tilted his head back, staring at the rising steam against the starry sky. His muscles melted, his mind cleared. For the first time in months, silence, relief, and pleasure filled him.
No chants, no cameras, and no whistles. Just water, snow, and Kayla’s heartbeat pressed against his side.
"Maybe I should just retire now," he joked.
"Maybe you should," Kayla elbowed him playfully. "But don’t you dare. What happened to football legacy and all that? Besides, you’re not dragging me back to Nigeria to settle this early," she snorted.
They laughed, the sound echoing against the mountains.
The next day, they walked Kyoto’s quiet streets.
Lanterns swung over narrow lanes, the smell of ramen and mochi drifting from tiny shops. Sam wore a thick coat, the scarf wrapped around his face, his Ballon d’Or glow hidden behind anonymity.
For once, no one mobbed him as his disguise worked and they couldn’t recognize him. No kids screamed his name either, and no paparazzi lenses peeked.
Just him and Kayla, walking hand-in-hand, sipping hot tea from paper cups.
"I almost forgot what normal feels like," Sam murmured. "Ah, I wish this moment could last forever".
Kayla smiled and squeezed his hand. "Normal is overrated. But sometimes, it’s just perfect".
After a few days of this, Sam finally remembered home.
December 24th...
The next day, their plane touched down in Nigeria.
And heat rushed to greet them, so different from Europe’s chill or Japan’s snow. Abuja shimmered in gold and green, festive lights draped across roads, with vendors hawking Christmas garlands.
A sleek black car ferried them to Maitama. As the gates of the family mansion swung open, Sam exhaled deeply.
Home, sweet home.
The mansion glowed with Christmas lights, his mother’s touch evident in every detail. She didn’t hold back at all.
On the front porch stood his family; his father, stern but proud; his mother, arms wide and scolding already; Sophia, his younger sister, jumping up and down, waving her phone; and Ian, his best friend, grinning like the fool he always was.
Yeah, Ian still came back for Christmas every year.
Kayla clutched his arm as they stepped out.
"Welcome home, Sam," Ian called, grinning.
His mother rushed forward, smacking his arm even as she hugged him. "Ehn, Samuel! Do you want to kill yourself with all this running? You don’t know how to rest? See your face, you’re now even getting thinner!"
She turned to Kayla. "Kayla, are you not feeding him?"
Kayla quickly raised her hands in surrender, laughing. "Mommy, it’s not me oh!"
"I believe you," Mrs. Moses said and hugged her.
Sam laughed, hugging her tightly after Kayla. "Mommy, you always stress so much, I’m resting now."
His father shook his hand firmly. "Big boy," he smiled. "You’ve done us proud, what a performance against Brazil!" He grinned.
Sophia screeched, shoving her phone in his face. "Selfie first before you enter!"
Sam groaned, laughing. In the end, he posed anyway, Kayla giggling beside him, and Sophia got more content for her social media handle.
As the sun set on Christmas Eve, the house filled with laughter, food, and family noise. For the first time in a long time, Samuel Moses wasn’t the Ballon d’Or winner, or FIFA’s Best, or Barça’s savior.
He was just Sam, son, brother, friend, and husband.
And it felt perfect.