Thiago knew something was different the moment he walked onto the pitch.
The grass underfoot felt familiar now, almost comfortable. The drills no longer twisted his mind into knots. His body reacted before commands came. His anticipation had sharpened.
But it wasn't just the pitch that had changed.
It was how people looked at him.
Not with awe. Not yet.
But with recognition.
His teammates started passing to him more. Not just out of obligation, but out of trust. They called for overlaps, asked for switches, even looked to him during set-piece drills like he might know the right decision.
He was no longer the street kid from Rocinha.
He was one of them.
Almost.
In the cafeteria, the noise always echoed too loud off the walls.
Trays clacked, sneakers squeaked on tile, and conversation bounced between cliques.
Thiago sat with João and Leo like usual. Guilherme was at the next table, surrounded by his usual group—the academy brats who'd known each other from state teams and private tournaments. They talked like scouts already owed them contracts.
Guilherme glanced over mid-laugh, met Thiago's eyes, then turned away.
João leaned in. "He's been weird since that last scrimmage. You embarrassed him."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to."
Thiago stirred his rice. "I passed to the striker. That's it."
João smiled. "Yeah. But you passed it after burning three guys from his age group. He saw the coach nod. That's all it takes."
Training that afternoon was defensive circuits again.
Mark your zone. Push the line. Stay compact.
Thiago executed them cleanly, finishing each round ahead of the others. His timing was tighter now. The System wasn't throwing up alerts anymore—just small ticks of EXP, little nods of approval.
System Notification:Tactical Drill Completed – 91% Efficiency+0.5 Tactical VisionEXP Gained: +4
He didn't even look at the status window afterward.
He just knew it was working.
After dinner, Moreira called him aside for the first time.
"Walk with me."
Thiago followed without a word, heartbeat heavy but measured.
They walked the perimeter of the training ground in silence for nearly a minute before Moreira spoke.
"You're adjusting well."
"Thank you, coach."
"You're still out of position."
Thiago flinched, but said nothing.
"I know you want to be a winger. I see it every time you touch the ball. But you're learning. And that matters more than talent. Understand?"
"Yes, coach."
"I've seen a lot of players like you. Tricks, flair, spark. Most of them burn out before they ever leave the academy."
"I won't," Thiago said.
Moreira stopped walking. "You sure?"
Thiago turned toward him.
"Adaptation doesn't mean surrender," he said. "It just means waiting for the right time to show who you really are."
Moreira stared at him, unreadable. Then he nodded once.
"Keep waiting smart."
By week five, Thiago's System progression slowed—but not in a bad way. It had simply moved into deeper waters.
No more daily stat boosts for simple drills. No more micro quests for one clean tackle. Now the bar had shifted. Growth demanded intensity. Match stakes. Pressure.
He accepted it.
He welcomed it.
But the one thing he didn't expect—couldn't prepare for—was the silence from Lúcia.
Her texts had come less frequently since he left.
At first, he thought it was just time zones, school, life.
But now?
It had been nearly two weeks since she replied to his last message. A photo of the empty pitch after training. A short caption.
"Made the starting eleven."
No response.
He checked again that night, sitting alone near the vending machines. The screen stayed dark.
João passed by behind him.
"You okay?"
Thiago put the phone away. "Yeah. Just… missing home, maybe."
"You'll get used to that."
Thiago nodded, but didn't believe it.
The next friendly was set against a traveling U17 squad from Bahia. The match didn't count for rankings, but the coaches were treating it seriously. Players were told their performance would impact rotation for the next quarter.
Thiago started again at fullback.
Guilherme was placed ahead of him on the left wing.
Thiago raised an eyebrow during the lineup briefing, but said nothing.
Moreira's eyes met his just briefly.
"This'll be a good test."
Test of what?
Trust?
Control?
Thiago didn't ask.
He just tightened his laces and walked out onto the pitch.
The first half was tight.
Bahia pressed aggressively. They swarmed the middle and tried to isolate fullbacks in wide 1v1s.
Thiago handled himself well. He forced one attacker out wide, intercepted two crosses, and won a shoulder challenge near the sideline.
But something was off.
Every time he overlapped, Guilherme ignored him.
Even when Thiago burst into space, hand raised, ready to cross—nothing.
Guilherme either took the shot himself or cycled the ball inside.
At first, Thiago gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe he didn't see him.
Maybe he was locked in.
But by the third time, it wasn't a maybe anymore.
It was intentional.
At halftime, Thiago didn't speak. He didn't even look at Guilherme.
Moreira didn't mention it either—just walked through a list of tactical notes and told them to keep shape.
"You'll get chances if you're patient," he said.
Thiago nodded silently.
Inside, the fire was back.
Not frustration. Not arrogance.
Conviction.
Second half. Minute 55.
Bahia sent in a looping corner. The keeper punched it clear. Thiago tracked it to midfield and made the intercept.
He trapped the ball, looked up, and saw the winger out of position.
This was it.
He charged forward.
One touch, two. The sideline flew past in a blur. His instincts kicked in—street rhythm, raw flair he hadn't used in weeks.
The first man tried to block—Thiago flicked the ball inside, then exploded past him with a tight feint.
The crowd gasped.
A second defender approached—he dropped his shoulder and slid the ball between his legs. Nutmeg.
Cheers now. Whistles. A spark in the air.
He was thirty yards out. The winger had cut inside again.
So Thiago did what Guilherme hadn't.
He squared the ball clean, across the box, perfectly timed.
Goal.
1–0.
The team swarmed the striker, but not before patting Thiago's back, ruffling his hair, clapping his shoulder.
Even Moreira gave a small nod.
Only Guilherme didn't say a word.
The match ended 2–0. Thiago played all 90 minutes.
After the final whistle, as they walked toward the tunnel, Guilherme finally spoke.
"You think you're better than everyone?"
Thiago blinked. "No."
"You think this is some storybook? You show up, you pass one ball, and suddenly you're the golden boy?"
"I think," Thiago said, "I play the game the way it's meant to be played."
Guilherme scoffed. "You'll burn out. They always do."
Thiago didn't answer.
He walked into the locker room and pulled up the System in his head.
System Notification:Quest Unlocked – Inner EdgeObjective: Deliver 3 Key Passes Over 3 MatchesReward: +1 Passing, +1 Vision, Passive: Cold Focus IPenalty: NoneSkill Point EarnedEXP: 65 / 150
Stat Growth Unlocked:Tactical Vision: 52 → 53Composure: 51 → 52
He closed the interface and sat back on the bench.
He didn't care about the noise anymore.
The only voice that mattered was the one inside him.