The weather flipped again by midweek.
Dry heat returned like it owned the place, baking the pitch in a slow simmer. The synthetic turf radiated warmth through Thiago's boots, and even at 8 a.m., the lines drawn on the field shimmered like they'd been painted with sunlight.
Thiago stood at the edge of the training ground, balancing on one leg, stretching his hamstring. Around him, voices buzzed—players swapping jokes, coaches barking warm-up orders, cleats tapping against grass and turf.
He barely heard any of it.
Because today, the staff posted two squad lists.
Match A: U17 vs U16, full match simulation.
Match B: Academy U16 vs Trialists – rotation match.
His name was on both.
Winger in Match A.Fullback in Match B.
Two matches. Two roles. Same day.
He barely had time to think before they were called into a huddle.
"Match A players, gear up. We want intensity from the first whistle," Moreira said, eyes scanning them all. "You're not playing for a coach's favor. You're playing to test your identity."
Thiago locked eyes with him for half a second.
No smile. No nod.
Just understanding.
He started on the left wing.
The whistle blew, and the match snapped to life.
The U17s didn't ease up. No friendly pressure. They pressed early, tackled hard, and closed passing lanes like wolves hunting together.
Thiago didn't try to dazzle.
He dropped back into space, rotated into the half-space near midfield, and stayed wide until the defenders forgot he was even part of the shape.
Then he struck.
In the 9th minute, João flicked a blind ball to the left touchline. Thiago took it on the bounce, let it roll, and pulled off a sharp stepover to bait the right-back forward.
The defender lunged.
Too soon.
Thiago chopped left, exploded down the line, and bent a low cross into the box with his laces.
One touch finish. Goal.
No celebration. Just a few nods. Silent recognition.
He ran back to position, sweat already streaking down his temple.
System Notification:Action Logged – Goal ContributionEXP Gained: +5Stat Progress: Pace 67.1 → 67.3Composure 53 → 53.5
He ignored the numbers. Let the adrenaline do the talking.
By halftime, it was 2–1. Thiago had one assist, one successful clearance tracking back, and a near goal that pinged off the far post.
Moreira pulled him aside before the restart.
"You're starting Match B as well."
Thiago nodded. "Fullback?"
"Yes. But same opponents. Same tempo. I want to see if you can read from both ends."
The transition hit harder than he expected.
He changed jerseys on the sideline, chugged water, splashed cold over his neck.
The second match began fifteen minutes later.
The U16 trialists weren't as refined, but they were hungry. Wild, desperate. Some of them had come from favelas worse than his. Others from private academies that didn't pan out. Everyone had something to prove.
Thiago took his place at left back.
The first ten minutes were chaos.
Long balls. Mistimed challenges. Strikers chasing shadows. Midfielders out of sync.
Thiago had to recalibrate.
No more rhythm. No clean possession flow. Just survival.
A winger sprinted past him in the 18th minute, and Thiago backpedaled fast, adjusting for the sharp angle. As the attacker dropped his shoulder to cut inside, Thiago twisted low, body square, and knocked the ball clean with the outside of his foot.
One motion. No panic.
System Notification:Defensive Action Logged+0.3 Awareness+0.4 Tactical Vision
But the real moment came in the second half.
A trialist winger—quick, tall, lean—had been baiting Thiago into duels all match.
Stepovers, heel flicks, heavy touches.
Most of it was flashy noise.
But in the 60th minute, it worked.
The winger caught him wrong-footed on a delayed cut and surged past. The cross that followed nearly turned into a goal.
Moreira shouted across the pitch.
"Stay calm. Don't bite."
Thiago wiped sweat from his brow. His breathing had thickened. Legs heavy now.
But his mind stayed sharp.
The next time the winger came, Thiago slowed him down—didn't commit. He mirrored the feet. Cut off the inside. Waited.
Then struck.
A clean dispossession. A switch pass to midfield.
The sequence earned a slow clap from the assistant coach.
After the match, Thiago collapsed into the grass near the benches, chest heaving, eyes half-closed.
João tossed him a bottle. "You just played 130 minutes."
"Felt like 300."
João grinned. "You're insane."
Thiago didn't answer. He was too busy pulling the System forward in his mind.
System Notification:Back-to-Back Match Analysis – Dual Role Performance LoggedHybrid Path Progress: +6%EXP Gained: +18Level: 4 → 5Skill Point EarnedStat Update:Pace: 67.3 → 68Awareness: 49 → 50Tactical Vision: 53.5 → 54New Passive Unlocked: Positional Drift IMinor bonus to off-ball movement when shifting between defensive and offensive phases
He let the notification fade.
His body was screaming. But somewhere beneath the fatigue, something else stirred.
Control.
Growth.
Balance.
The next day, the whispers started.
"Thiago's on both squads now?""They can't figure out where to use him.""He's not a real winger.""Not a real defender either."
Some of it came from trialists.
Some came from older players.
Guilherme didn't say anything. But he watched Thiago more closely now—tight jaw, always quiet.
Jealousy, maybe.
Or fear.
Moreira called him into the office later that week.
The room was plain. Desk. Chair. Whiteboard half-covered in tactical notes. A single Palmeiras crest sticker peeling slightly at the corner.
Thiago sat without being told.
"You've played more minutes than anyone else this month," Moreira said, flipping through a folder. "In two positions."
Thiago stayed quiet.
"Hybrid players don't exist in youth systems. Not really. Coaches don't know what to do with them. Scouts get confused. Roles matter at this level."
"I understand."
"But you've handled it."
Thiago finally looked up. "And?"
Moreira set the folder down.
"You'll stay on both squads. For now. Rotated weekly. You'll play until you crack—or make us stop questioning."
"Okay."
"I want to see something in two weeks. We're scheduling a full-match internal showcase. Mixed squads. Senior academy staff will be watching."
"I'm in?"
"You're starting. But not in one role."
Thiago raised an eyebrow.
"You'll switch at halftime."
He nodded.
"I'll be ready."
That night, alone in his bunk, Thiago stared at the ceiling, sweat cooling on his chest.
His thoughts weren't loud anymore.
They were focused.
This wasn't about proving he could be a winger.
Or a fullback.
It was about proving he could be both—without becoming less.