Thiago didn't know the article had gone live until he walked into the training building and someone whistled behind him.
A sharp, mocking whistle.
"Oi! Look who made the front page!"
He turned.
Nando, one of the U23 wingers still training with the first team, held up his phone with a grin.
"'From Concrete to Palmeiras: The Quiet Flame of Thiago da Silva'. You like that title?"
Thiago blinked. "Didn't choose it."
"Could've fooled me." Nando tossed the phone onto a bench and smirked. "Gotta teach me how to get a full-page spread without playing a real match."
"Try passing more than once a game," said Rafael, walking by.
Laughter.
Nando rolled his eyes and threw on his bib. "This generation loves sympathy stories."
Thiago didn't respond.
But he read between the words.
Nando wasn't joking.
Not entirely.
In the locker room, someone had printed the article out and taped it to the inside of Thiago's locker.
It wasn't malicious.
Just… loud.
João called right after drills.
"You famous now or what?" he said before Thiago could speak.
"You saw it?"
"I translated it for my mom."
Thiago sat on the stairs by the equipment shed.
"She picked the quotes," he muttered.
"What? The rooftop line? Bro, that was fire."
Thiago didn't say anything.
"Hey," João added, "don't get cold now. You didn't ask for the attention. But you earned the ink."
There was a pause.
Then João lowered his voice.
"You've got heat now. Don't let them decide how you burn."
Later that day, during sprints, Coach Eneas walked beside Thiago while the others jogged through cooldown laps.
"You held yourself well," he said without looking at him.
Thiago kept pace.
"I didn't do much."
"You didn't run your mouth. That's enough."
Another pause.
"Next match, you'll be on the list. Bench spot. Paulista opener. Corinthians next week."
Thiago's heart jumped.
He didn't show it.
"Got it."
Coach smirked.
"You better. That match is war."
The buzz didn't stop there.
By evening, a few local sites had reposted Lucia's article. A youth football YouTube channel clipped one of Thiago's crosses from the friendly and cut it to trap music. Even the Palmeiras official account reposted the article with a caption:
"One of our own.#PalmeirasFuture"
It was nothing major.
Not yet.
But it felt like the beginning of something he couldn't fully control.
He texted Camila later that night.
Thiago:"Saw the article?"
No reply.
He waited a while.
Then tossed the phone aside and went to sleep.
Next morning, while pulling on his training top, Nando passed by and dropped a comment without looking.
"Hope your crosses are as sharp as your quotes."
Thiago didn't respond.
Rafael, across the room, caught his eye.
"Don't let him bait you," he said, tying his laces. "He's been trying to break in for two years."
"I'm not trying to steal his spot."
"You don't have to," Rafael said with a shrug. "You're just playing better."
During full-pitch transitions, Thiago got matched with Nando's unit.
At minute nine of the drill, Nando shoulder-checked him hard after a turn.
Legal.
But personal.
Thiago said nothing.
Next rotation, he returned the favor—clean tackle, full slide, ball poked out of bounds, both players skidding to the edge of the cones.
Nando stood first, offered a hand.
Thiago took it.
But Nando leaned in.
"Keep playing street ball, and they'll bench you by March."
Thiago didn't blink.
"They benched you already."
Nando's smile twitched.
Then he walked off.
System Notification:
Internal Squad Rivalry Logged – [Nando Vieira]
Performance Heat: +2% XP from Training
Interactions
Psychological Resilience: +1
Thiago closed it without a word.
That evening, Lucia texted for the first time since the interview.
Lucia:"Saw the reposts. Hope it didn't make things harder."
Thiago:"Not your fault."
Lucia:"Still. If you want to talk again—off record—I'm around."
He stared at the screen.
Didn't type anything for thirty seconds.
Then finally sent:
Thiago:"Maybe after the match."
No reply came.
But this time, he didn't mind waiting.
Later that night, he lay in bed and opened the System again—not to look at stats, but to think.
He wasn't a starter.
Not yet.
He hadn't scored in a real match.
But people were watching now.
And some of them were waiting for him to fail.
He didn't need to prove them wrong.
He just needed to play the next ball right