Darwin Nunez sat in the quiet of his room scrolling through his phone. The season was over but football never really stopped. Even though Liverpool’s campaign had ended just a little over a week ago, the rumours and stories and questions followed him like a shadow he couldn’t shake off. He liked social media even though sometimes it felt like a trap. It was how he stayed connected to fans, to friends, to other players. But it was also where he read things he didn’t want to read. Things about his future. About his place at Liverpool. About whether he even had one.
His name was in the headlines again. Not for a goal or an assist or a brilliant piece of movement but for whispers. Transfer talk. Exit talk. “Darwin Nunez future in doubt,” one article said. “Liverpool plan big summer changes,” another teased. It never ended.
He tried to ignore it most days. He went to training. He laughed with teammates. He worked on his finishing. But late at night when the city was asleep and he was alone with his thoughts, it all came back. He’d been at Liverpool for two seasons now. A wild, emotional ride. Sometimes it felt like the club loved him. Other times it felt like they were ready to move on. He wasn’t blind. He saw the frustration in some fans’ eyes when he missed a chance. He heard the anger on the radio call-ins.
And now, even with a new manager arriving and the promise of a fresh start, there was talk he might not even be there to see it.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Erling Haaland was posting pictures. Training pictures. Nothing too fancy. Just him on the pitch, Norway’s flag behind him. Another day, another workout. But it got everyone talking anyway. Because Haaland was Haaland. The robot. The machine. The goal-scoring phenomenon who barely seemed human when he was charging at defenders.
He too had suffered injuries late in the season. A few scares that worried City fans. They needed him for the title race. For Europe. For everything. And yet City ended the season with no trophies. An unbelievable outcome for a team built to win everything.
Haaland still delivered. Thirty-one goals in all competitions. Twenty-two in the Premier League alone. It was ridiculous. Even on an off-year for City, he was a monster in front of goal. That was his life. That was his curse and his blessing.
So when he posted those training photos getting ready for Norway’s World Cup qualifiers, it made waves. He was focused. Ready to lead his country. They were going to face Italy on June 6th. A big match. The kind of match that could define a generation for Norwegian football.
Norway hadn’t been to a World Cup since 1998. A lifetime ago. Before Haaland was even born. Before many of his teammates were born. Now they had the best striker in the world, or one of them anyway. Martin Odegaard in midfield, pulling strings. Oscar Bobb showing promise. There was hope in Norway like there hadn’t been in decades.
When Haaland posted the training pics, the reactions poured in. Fans. Friends. Teammates. Among them, Darwin Nunez. He couldn’t help himself. He liked the post. Left a comment. A simple gesture, nothing special. But the internet noticed. Screenshots appeared on Twitter. Articles sprouted up. “Darwin Nunez reacts to Erling Haaland’s update amid exit rumours,” one headline blared.
That was the world they lived in. Every click, every like, every comment was analysed and turned into a story.
Darwin probably laughed when he saw the headlines. Or maybe he sighed. Who knows.
Because while Haaland was preparing for Italy, Nunez was facing his own battle. He was waiting to find out what Liverpool wanted from him. The club was changing. Jurgen Klopp was gone, a giant of a man who had built Liverpool into something special. A new manager was coming in. A new era. And with it, new ideas.
Everyone knew Liverpool wanted to buy. Everyone knew they’d have to sell. Nothing is free in football. You want a new striker? You sell one. You want new midfielders? You make space. Nunez’s name was on every list. Maybe he would stay. Maybe he’d be sold to Spain or Italy. Maybe he’d go back to Portugal.
Players smiling in photos, posting vacation pics, but deep down wondering if they’ll have to move their family to another country next month. Wondering if they’ll be booed or cheered the next time they set foot in their home stadium. For Haaland, there were no exit rumours. Not really. City fans loved him. The club loved him. But even he knew what failure felt like now. No trophies. For City, that was a disaster. Pep Guardiola felt the heat. So did everyone else. Haaland had limped off injured a couple of times at the end of the season. Everyone panicked. Guardiola said they’d have to protect him. But by the last few games he was back, scoring, pushing them over the line for Champions League qualification.
It wasn’t enough to win the fans’ hearts this time. Not completely. City fans had gotten used to parades, not top-four scrambles. So when he posted those training photos, it was part of his answer. He was saying: I’m here. I’m ready. For City. For Norway. For anyone who doubted him. And Nunez saw that. He respected it. They’re rivals on the pitch but there’s a code among strikers. A respect. You know how hard it is. You know what it’s like to miss a sitter and see the crowd groan. To hear your name sung in triumph one week and cursed the next.
Haaland is the superstar. The golden child. The one every club in the world wants. The one who can score from any angle with either foot or his head, running at defenders like a bull. Nunez is the chaos merchant. The raw energy. The endless runner who terrifies defenders but frustrates his own fans with inconsistency. A player who can score a worldie and miss an open goal in the same match. They’re both young. Both hungry. But only one is really secure right now. So while Haaland’s photos were about training for Norway’s big moment, for Nunez it was something else. It was a reminder. A reminder of what he wanted to be. He wanted that certainty. That status. That fear he put into defenders’ eyes.
Every kid in Norway wore his shirt. Every dad told their son stories of seeing Haaland score hat-tricks in the Premier League. Every coach told young strikers to watch how he moved, how he finished, how he thought. He carried all of that on his shoulders. And he didn’t seem to mind. He posed for photos. He smiled with teammates. He joked with Odegaard. He trained with Oscar Bobb. And when he posted it all online, he knew exactly what he was doing. He was saying: I’m ready. Bring on Italy. Bring on the World Cup. It was different for Nunez.
He wasn’t preparing for a national team game. He wasn’t the face of Uruguay in the same way, even though he had his moments. He was stuck in limbo. Waiting for a phone call. Waiting for an answer from Liverpool. It’s a strange thing, football. Fans see these men as superheroes. Millionaires. Celebrities. But they’re also employees waiting to find out if they still have a job. If their boss still believes in them. Nunez wasn’t crying about it. He wasn’t posting moody messages or unfollowing the club. He was just there, in the comments on Haaland’s post, showing respect. It meant something. Even if the media twisted it. Because despite all the talk of transfers and contracts and millions, football is still about competition. About respect. About watching your rival grind through pain to get ready for a big game and tipping your hat to them.
