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"Uncle André, are you going to score again today?"
In Cristiano's luxury villa in Turin, André sat with Santos Junior perched on his knee. The uncle and nephew were deep in conversation.
"Why do you ask?"
"If you score, can you write my name on your shirt? Like last time?"
"Of course. Absolutely."
Smack.
Cristiano appeared behind them and delivered a playful swat to his son's backside.
"Let me tell you something, Santos—your Uncle André definitely won't score tonight. He's going to lose and cry like a baby. I, on the other hand, will definitely score. Want me to write your name instead?"
"Dad, I believe in Uncle André! He's amazing. He even taught me how to box." Santos Junior crossed his arms defiantly. "He won't cry."
The second leg between Juventus and Atlético Madrid had arrived.
After finishing the twenty-seventh round of La Liga—a 1-0 home victory over Leganés, courtesy of a Correa goal—Atlético had travelled to Italy. Both André and Griezmann had been rested for the league match, preserved for the European showdown.
Upon arriving in Turin, Simeone had given André a day off to visit family. Hence the scene at Cristiano's villa.
It was clear where Santos Junior's loyalties lay. In his eyes, Uncle André was invincible.
André felt optimistic about his first Champions League knockout campaign. With a two-goal cushion from the first leg, he wasn't alone—most of the Atlético squad shared his confidence. Some Spanish media outlets were already suggesting Simeone should start preparing for the quarter-finals.
But football has a way of delivering unexpected results when you least expect them. In a competition like the Champions League, once the knockout rounds begin, there are no guaranteed victories. No weak opponents.
Real Madrid's collapse against Ajax was still fresh in everyone's minds.
Now it was Atlético's turn to learn what a total implosion looked like.
From the first whistle, Juventus made the visitors feel the full cruelty of knockout football.
Cristiano's joke to his son suddenly didn't seem like a joke anymore.
He was a man possessed.
Twenty-seventh minute: Cristiano broke through Atlético's defence and fired past Oblak.
1-0.
Start of the second half: another goal. Same ruthless efficiency.
2-0.
The aggregate was now level. Juventus had all the momentum.
In the closing stages, Atlético's discipline cracked. A penalty was awarded. Cristiano stepped up and converted for his hat-trick.
3-0.
Final aggregate: 3-2 to Juventus.
Atlético Madrid were out of the Champions League. Both Madrid clubs had fallen in the Round of 16—brothers in misery.
Throughout the match, André had been rendered invisible.
The veteran pairing of Chiellini and Bonucci had repeatedly caught him offside, their positioning immaculate. Whenever he dropped deep to receive, Juventus' experienced midfielders swarmed him, denying any opportunity to turn and face goal.
For the first time in his professional career, André felt genuinely powerless on a football pitch.
This match taught him something important: he still had a long way to go.
After the final whistle, Cristiano found him.
The Juventus star pulled André into a consoling embrace. His performance tonight had sent a clear message: Little brother is still little brother. Big brother will always be big brother.
"Not crying, are you?"
André felt like punching that smug face.
"Watch the match recording carefully when you get home." Cristiano's voice dropped to a murmur, serious now. "Things have been going too smoothly for you lately. That's why you and your teammates lost today. Always maintain respect for your opponents. Always."
The words hit André like cold water.
Cristiano was right. Ever since joining Oviedo, then Atlético, almost everything had gone his way. Beating Real Madrid. Beating Juventus in the first leg. The success had bred complacency—in him and in the squad.
"I understand." André exhaled slowly. "Congratulations, Cristiano."
"See you at national team camp. You haven't been back to Portugal in a while—good time to visit home."
After this match, André would return to Spain for one more league fixture before joining the Portugal squad for European Championship qualifier preparations.
At the post-match press conference, Simeone shouldered full responsibility.
"Football is unpredictable. You never know what will happen next. The responsibility for this defeat lies entirely with me. I'm the head coach. I arranged the tactics and the formation. The loss is on me."
An Italian journalist raised his hand. "Mr. Simeone, we noticed that André had almost no impact against the Juventus defence today. Does a seventeen-year-old really have what it takes to start such an important match?"
Simeone's eyes hardened.
"I don't understand your question. I just said the loss was entirely my responsibility." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "By your logic, since Cristiano Ronaldo didn't score when we beat Juventus 2-0 in the first leg, does that mean he wasn't fit to start?"
The journalist had no response.
The Atlético squad returned to Madrid under a cloud of disappointment.
But elimination wasn't entirely without silver lining. With the Champions League behind them, they could focus all their energy on the remaining La Liga matches.
The league title was still within reach.
And the Atlético faithful craved it just as desperately as any European trophy.
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