The match was forgettable.
Paliras won 2–0. Comfortable. Controlled. Thiago ca on in the 74th, played clean minutes, and touched the ball maybe six tis.
One combination on the left led to a near assist. He recovered well defensively. No mistakes. No heroics.
When the whistle blew, it didn’t feel like anything.
He walked off, unsatisfied.
In the locker room, the mood was light.
Players laughed, joked, tossed towels across the room. The striker who scored got a pat from Eneas. Rafael handed Thiago a water bottle and muttered, "You were open. Should’ve shouted louder."
"I did," Thiago said.
"Not loud enough."
Rafael gave him a nod before walking off to debrief with the assistant coach.
Thiago sat on the bench, peeling off his boots.
Across the room, Nando was already half-changed. He hadn’t passed to Thiago once during his minutes on the pitch.
Not once.
Their eyes t for a half-second.
Then Nando looked away.
That night, Thiago lay on his bed, his phone lighting the ceiling in soft pulses.
A ssage from João sat at the top of the notifications.
João: Saw the touch in the 81st. Sharp angle. Nando ignored it, yeah?
Thiago: Yeah.
João: He’s feeling it. You’re ahead now, and he knows it.
Thiago didn’t respond right away.
Thiago: You think it’s personal?
João: It’s always personal when minutes get taken.
Another pause.
João: Don’t let it turn into a fight. Just outplay him again.
Around ten that night, Thiago stared at his contact list.
His thumb hovered.
Then tapped.
"Mãe."
The phone rang twice.
She picked up.
"Thiago?"
"Yeah. It’s ."
She was quiet for a second. "It’s late. You okay?"
"I’m fine. Just wanted to hear your voice."
He could hear the television in the background, muffled. Clara’s voice sowhere, laughing at sothing.
His mother exhaled into the line, half-surprised, half-relieved.
"You sound tired."
"I am. Match today."
"I watched. On a stream."
"You did?"
"Of course. You looked serious."
"I always do."
"I know. But this ti... I could see it in your shoulders. You’re carrying sothing."
He paused.
Then said, "Nando’s not talking to ."
"Teammate?"
"Yeah. He’s cold."
"Why?"
"I think he hates that I’m playing his minutes."
There was a long silence on the other end.
Then she said, "He doesn’t hate you. He hates that things are changing."
Thiago stared at the ceiling.
"I didn’t ask for anything."
"You don’t have to. Talent makes noise on its own."
Clara’s voice called from the background, "Is that him?"
"Yeah," his mother called back, then softer into the phone, "She drew you again. The boots are too big, but the legs look fast."
Thiago smiled.
"Tell her I’ll visit soon."
"You better."
"I an it."
"Good."
Another pause.
"You okay, mãe?"
"I’m... proud. Always."
They didn’t say goodbye. She just said, "Call again next week."
And he promised he would.
System Notification:
Match Logged – 2:0 Win
Minutes Played: 16
Key Passes: 1
Pass Completion: 92%
No direct involvent
Rating: 6.5
EXP: 12
No stat changes.
No quests.
Coach Impression: Stable
Skill Points: 10
He blinked the system closed.
The silence after the call lingered.
But it didn’t feel empty.
Just still.
Next morning, Caio ssaged.
Caio: I’m emailing soone next week. You’re not famous yet, but people will want to move early.
Thiago: Hold off a bit. I’m still figuring things out.
Caio: You don’t need a deal. You need a buffer. That’s different.
Thiago: I’ll let you know when I’m ready.
Caio sent a thumbs-up emoji.
And for once, didn’t press.
Training that week was high-tempo. Scrimmage drills. Triangles. Position switches.
Thiago started wide, but halfway through, Eneas had him rotate central for a set of transitions.
He found himself face to face with Nando on a midfield turnover.
They both moved toward the sa ball.
Neither slowed.
Cleats clashed.
Nando won the touch, but the rebound rolled to Thiago, who returned it one-touch to Rafael.
Nando didn’t say anything.
Neither did Thiago.
But the tension was thicker than sweat.
Rafael noticed.
After the session, he pulled Thiago aside.
"You and Nando need to talk. Before soone gets benched out of spite."
"He’s the one ignoring ."
"Then break it. You’re teammates. Not enemies."
Thiago didn’t answer.
But the words stuck.
That evening, Camila sent a ssage.
Camila: Saw your photo in a fan blog. You looked annoyed.
Thiago: That’s just my face.
Camila: People are saying you’re the calm one. "The quiet kid who keeps showing up."
Thiago: I’ll take it.
She sent a photo next — Clara, holding up a drawing. Stick figures. A green jersey. Big smile.
"Tio Thiago scored again."
Thiago laughed softly.
And for the first ti that week, the tension faded.
Even if just for a second.
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