The rain came down soft and steady that morning—just enough to slick the pitch and paint the city grey.
Thiago stood under the shelter outside the academy dorms, lacing his boots with care. He pulled the knot tight, then gave each boot a quick tap against the concrete wall—left, then right—like a ritual.
The air smelled like cut grass and damp clay. Far across the field, cones were already being laid down in sharp, geometric patterns.
Today's training was being run by someone else.
Moreira was away on academy business. In his place stood a man they hadn't seen before—a tall, lean figure in a navy tracksuit, pacing the touchline with one hand behind his back and the other gripping a whistle.
"Coach Silveira," someone whispered nearby. "From the main squad."
Thiago looked up.
Silveira moved like he didn't need to explain himself. No shouting. No wasted words. His presence commanded attention before he even opened his mouth.
"Today," Silveira said calmly, once they were all gathered at midfield, "we shift gears."
He looked around slowly, eyes resting on each player like he was flipping through files in his mind.
"You've been drilled well. Clean systems. Tactical spacing. Efficient transitions."
He paused.
"But football isn't just a system. It's improvisation."
A murmur spread through the group. That wasn't something they heard often.
Silveira smiled faintly, like he already knew how much that statement rattled them.
"We're doing a reactive flow drill. Small-sided. 5v5. One-touch restriction lifted. You're allowed—no, expected—to take risks."
Heads turned. Even João looked confused.
Silveira pointed at the far end of the field. "The game lives out there. Not in your diagrams."
Thiago felt something twitch in his chest.
He didn't say a word.
But inside, something stirred.
Thiago's team was called up first. Five on five. Slippery grass. Narrow cones. Silveira stood nearby, arms crossed.
No offside line. No wingbacks. Just five players reacting, pressing, resetting.
Thiago stayed deep early, watching the play unfold like a chessboard. The first few exchanges were clean. João cut across and poked a pass to the middle. The ball bounced awkwardly, and Thiago stepped up.
He took the ball with the outside of his boot and let it roll across his body.
A defender rushed in—Thiago froze the touch for a fraction too long, then flicked the ball behind his standing leg with a quick toe-feint.
The defender slid, missed. Thiago spun.
A voice inside him whispered: Now.
He didn't even think.
He pulled the ball across with his instep, bounced it once forward, and launched a cutback that sent the next defender sliding on soaked grass.
He heard the gasp before he saw it.
Behind him, one of the players actually stopped moving.
Thiago didn't.
He shifted his weight, turned, and picked out the forward near the edge of the mini box. He slid the ball between two defenders.
Goal.
The players turned, stunned.
Silveira just nodded.
"That's what I meant."
System Notification:
Trigger Condition Met – Freeform Reaction Play
New Micro Passive Unlocked: Rhythm Recognition I+5% short-term boost to decision-making speed when facing multiple converging defenders
EXP Gained: +6
Skill Point Earned
For the first time in weeks, Thiago felt like he could breathe.
He stayed locked in for the rest of the drill. Quick triangles, second touches, sudden overlaps. No one told him when to press or drop—he read the game and acted.
One moment, he'd trail the play and cut out a passing lane. The next, he'd flash forward and push into space, receiving a return pass with the sole of his boot and snapping a diagonal through the chaos.
It wasn't perfect. He slipped once. Lost the ball another time trying to scoop-flick past two defenders.
But it was real football. Alive football.
Not measured in drills and diagrams—but in rhythm, timing, instinct.
After the session, Silveira approached him as he sipped water by the fence.
"You've got something," he said, casually.
Thiago wiped his face with his sleeve. "I've been adjusting."
"I saw that. Most would lose their edge trying to fit into a role. You've learned it—but haven't let it bury you."
Thiago didn't answer.
Silveira raised an eyebrow. "You like being a fullback?"
"No," Thiago said, too quickly.
Silveira smirked. "Good. But keep doing it. The right way."
He walked off.
Thiago stood still for a moment, then pulled up the System mentally.
Level: 4
EXP: 71 / 150
Skill Points: 2
Attributes:
Dribbling – 64
Passing – 60
Shooting – 55
Pace – 67
Physicality – 61
Mentality – 52
Sub-Attributes:
Ball Control – 66
Trick Execution – 57
Tactical Vision – 53
Composure – 52
Focus – 54
There was still a long way to go.
But today… felt like a step forward in the right direction.
That night, the locker room buzzed with energy.
A few kids joked about nutmegs. One argued about who had the cleanest assist. Guilherme, quiet as ever, sat off to the side, unlacing his boots without speaking to anyone.
Thiago passed him on the way out.
"No hard feelings," he said.
Guilherme looked up, jaw tight.
"You think flair gets you out of here?"
"No," Thiago said. "I think it's what they remember when they're deciding who moves up."
Guilherme didn't reply.
He didn't have to.
The next morning, Moreira was back.
The players snapped back into sharper order the moment he stepped onto the field. His eyes scanned the group like he'd never been gone.
He clapped once.
"Warm up. Scrimmage today."
Thiago blinked.
No drills. No tactical rotation?
Just a match?
João leaned over as they stretched. "Guess he wants to see if anything Silveira said stuck."
The match was full-field. Eleven vs eleven. Coaches watching. Notes being scribbled.
Thiago was put at fullback again, but this time, he didn't fight it.
From the first whistle, he moved cleanly—supporting wide play, pushing forward only when space demanded it. He didn't force dribbles. He picked passes. He held structure.
But he also… played.
He let the flair out in pieces.
A shoulder feint near the sideline that made the opposing winger stumble. A no-look pass to the overlapping midfielder. One sharp drag-back that opened a diagonal lane he threaded to the striker with precision.
The match stayed 0–0 for most of the game.
Until the 74th minute.
Thiago intercepted a lazy switch pass and burst forward—this time, not wide, but cutting inside.
He felt the defense shift, heard the footsteps closing in. One behind. One right. One closing from the left.
He didn't slow.
Inside his mind, the System clicked.
Passive Triggered: Rhythm Recognition I – Active+5% decision speed
He stepped through the pressure like threading a needle. One touch. A fake. A half-spin. Ball still glued to his foot.
Space opened.
He slid it forward.
Another goal.
The third assist in two games.
After the match, Moreira stopped him before he could leave the pitch.
"That was… different."
Thiago didn't speak.
"You held structure. But you read the game. Made plays."
He tilted his head.
"Did Silveira say something to you?"
Thiago shrugged. "He reminded me I can play and still belong."
Moreira's mouth twitched, just barely.
"Good. Then keep doing both."