There was a strange silence after training.
No music from someone's speaker,
no loud jokes bouncing off the locker room walls,
No arguments about who scored the best goal.
Just the low hum of engines starting one by one as players slipped into their cars and drove off.
Usually, the parking lot felt alive — teammates lingering, laughing, teasing each other about missed chances.
Today, no one even said goodbye. Doors shut. Windows rolled up. Cars pulled away.
No goodbyes. No "see you tomorrow." Just grab your keys, get in your car, and leave.
You could see it on their faces—the tight jaws, the furrowed brows.
Abel had pushed them hard.
Harder than they expected.
They had just come back from a break and assumed it would be light work:
Some fitness drills, maybe a bit of ball work to loosen up, save the heavy running for the next day. They were wrong.
Near the entrance, Gabriel lingered behind.
A small boy stood in front of him, holding out a shirt that was far too big for him.
It hung past his knees, the sleeves almost swallowing his hands.
It looked old—faded green, slightly worn at the collar. The name on the back read Rivaldo.
Gabriel paused when he saw it.
He stared at the name for a second longer than usual.
Rivaldo.
That wasn't just a name—it was history.
If that shirt was still being worn today, even passed down from father to son, it meant something. It meant greatness had left a mark.
He remembered the framed photos in the Palmeiras dressing room.
The stories the older players told. Gómez once pointed at one of the pictures and talked about "the three R's"—Ronaldo, Rivaldo, and Ronaldinho.
The 2002 World Cup. Five goals in five games. Brazil is lifting its fifth title.
The 1999 Ballon d'Or. Rivaldo's quiet brilliance.
Gabriel gently signed the shirt, careful not to smudge the ink.
It wasn't an original, but that didn't matter. The name deserved respect.
He handed it back, and the boy's face lit up as if he had just been given the world.
Before Gabriel could step away, more kids—seven, maybe eight of them—came running toward him from across the parking area.
He sighed softly.
He was exhausted. His legs were heavy, his head pounding slightly from the session.
All he wanted was to get home, shower, lie down, and sleep for an hour.
He leaned toward his driver. "Let's go, quickly."
The car began to roll forward, trying to reach the main road before the group grew larger.
But when Gabriel lifted his head, he saw them—more kids, teenagers, even adults gathering near the exit. Phones out. Shirts in hand. Banners raised.
There was no escaping now.
He tapped on the window. The car stopped.
With a small, tired smile, he rolled the glass down and leaned halfway out.
One by one, he signed everything that reached him—boots, scarves, notebooks, banners.
Someone even pushed forward a Palmeiras flag, slightly dirty at the edges.
Despite his exhaustion, he didn't rush. He made eye contact. Said thank you. Nodded.
You could see what it meant to them.
They weren't getting a signature from Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo. Not from Neymar either.
But to them, Gabriel was theirs. Their wonderkid. Their hope.
They believed in him. They believed that one day he would carry Palmeiras to titles, maybe even wear Brazil's number 10 in a World Cup.
Most of them were wearing his jersey. Green and white, his name stretched across their backs.
On one banner, written in bold Portuguese capital letters, it read:
NOVA TEMPORADA, NOVA ESTRELA, NOVA ESPERANÇA.
New season. New star. New hope.
As the car finally pulled away, Gabriel leaned back into his seat. He closed his eyes for a moment.
The training had exhausted him.
But the fans—that was different.
That gave him energy.
He got back home, the sun already high and unforgiving in the late-morning sky.
He dropped his training bag by the couch, exhaled deeply, and stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around him.
Training had been long —physically exhausting and mentally overwhelming.
His first official match with the team was only a week away, and every training session now felt heavier than the last.
He headed straight to the bathroom, splashed cool water on his face, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
His eyes looked tired, with faint shadows beneath them betraying the sleepless nights he had been having.
But beneath the fatigue, there was something else—determination.
He dried his face, changed into something comfortable, and went to the kitchen.
The simple meal he had prepared earlier waited for him.
He warmed it up and ate quietly at the small dining table, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone.
When he finally lay down on his bed, the mattress felt softer than usual.
He picked up his phone properly this time and noticed several missed calls.
His mother had called twice. His grandmother had called once.
There were also dozens of unread messages across his social media accounts—notifications from old teammates at FC Coritiba, childhood friends from his neighborhood, and even a few unknown accounts congratulating him on his recent transfer.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"So many people," he muttered softly.
He stared at the missed calls from his family.
A small pang of guilt tugged at him.
He had been so focused on training and settling into his new routine that he hadn't called home as often as he used to.
I should call them, he thought. Especially Grandma. I've missed her a lot.
For a brief second, he hesitated.
Should he call his mother first? Or his grandmother?
He knew his mother would talk for at least an hour, asking about everything—what he ate, how he slept, whether he was drinking enough water.
And she would likely hand the phone around to everyone in the house.
His thumb hovered over the screen, uncertain.
Then, almost without thinking, his finger tapped on his grandmother's name.
The video call rang once.
Twice.
It connected immediately.
His grandmother appeared on the screen as if she had been waiting with the phone in her hand.
The soft yellow light in her living room illuminated her face, every line and wrinkle telling stories of years gone by.
But her smile—her smile was bright and warm, filling the entire screen.
"How are you, my boy?" she asked, her voice gentle yet lively.
Gabriel felt his chest loosen. "I'm doing well, Grandma," he replied, adjusting the phone so she could see him clearly.
"How are you too?"
She chuckled softly. "As you can see me smiling, I am good. Very good, my boy."
He leaned back against his pillow, studying her face. Her gray hair was neatly wrapped in her usual scarf.
Behind her, he could see the familiar living room—the old brown sofa, the family photos on the wall, the clock that ticked loudly during quiet evenings.
"I miss you," he said quietly.
His voice was slower than usual, softer.
The exhaustion in it was noticeable, but so was the confidence beneath it.
She tilted her head slightly. "I miss you more," she replied without hesitation.
They both smiled, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
They just looked at each other, letting the silence carry the weight of their affection.
"I will be at the stadium next week," she continued proudly.
"You are playing your first match. I think we will have a good time after the match."
Gabriel's eyes widened slightly. "You're coming?" His voice lifted, suddenly louder and clearer.
"Grandma, that makes me so happy. I'll be looking for you in the stands."
"Of course I'm coming," she said. "Do you think I would miss it? Never."
He laughed, shaking his head. "I'll make sure we win, just for you."
"You play for yourself," she corrected gently. "And for God. The rest will follow."
Her words settled deeply inside him.
"I'm very happy to hear from you," she added, her tone softening.
"I am always the happiest grandmother on this earth whenever I hear your voice."
A wave of emotion washed over him. He hadn't realized how much he needed this call until now.
The pressure, the expectations, the constant training—it had all been building inside him.
Hearing her voice felt like breathing fresh air after being underwater.
"I'm very lucky to have you as my grandmother," he said sincerely.
"And I will make you proud."
"You already have," she replied instantly.
She leaned closer to her screen, squinting slightly.
"But I can see you're tired. Even your eyes show it."
He gave a small smile. She always noticed everything.
"Get some rest, okay?" she continued. "We will talk again later. You need your strength."
"I will," he promised.
"I love you, Grandma."
"I love you more, my boy. Take very good care of yourself."
They ended the call with smiles lingering on both their faces.
Gabriel stayed still for a few seconds after the screen went dark, staring at his reflection faintly visible on the black screen.
The room felt less lonely now.
He considered calling his mother next but quickly dismissed the idea.
If he called, it wouldn't be a short conversation. She would want details about everything.
She might even get emotional.
And right now, he was too drained for that.
Instead, he opened Snapchat and sent a quick snap to the family group—a tired selfie with the caption: "Training done. I'm good. Love you all."
He chuckled to himself.
By now, they're probably all sitting in the living room, he thought.
Mom, Lucas, and Camila —though father would pretend he didn't gossip.
They'll start talking about how skinny I look.
He placed his phone on the bedside table and muted it just to have a peaceful siesta.
Just as he closed his eyes, his phone buzzed.
He reached for it lazily.
It was a message from Grandma.
"You are my world "
He stared at the words for a long moment. His throat tightened slightly.
He typed a reply, then erased it.
There was nothing he could write that would fully capture what he felt.
Instead, he placed the phone back down, letting her message linger on the screen for a few more seconds before it dimmed.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling.
You are my world.
The words echoed gently in his mind. They weren't heavy or pressuring.
They were warm. Protective.
Like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
For the first time that day, his thoughts slowed. The noise in his head quieted.
The anxiety about the upcoming match faded just a little.
He closed his eyes, a faint smile resting on his lips.
As sleep slowly took him, his grandmother's smile remained in his memory—the wrinkles, the warmth, the unwavering pride.
And with that thought, Gabriel drifted off, feeling less alone than he had all day.