Theo arrived before the sun fully decided where to sit.
The academy felt quieter at this hour, like it hadn't finished waking up. He placed his bag beside the bench, pulled out his boots, and lined them neatly — left, then right. He always did it that way. He wasn't sure why.
Paulo arrived minutes later, yawning dramatically.
"You know," Paulo said, stretching his arms overhead, "normal people sleep."
Theo smiled. "Normal people don't train here."
Paulo considered that. "Fair."
They passed the ball gently between them, not counting touches, not testing anything. Just feeling it. The ball sounded different in the morning — softer, almost respectful.
"Coach likes this hour," Paulo said. "Says football behaves better before noon."
Theo laughed. "Does it?"
Paulo shrugged. "That's what he says. Could be a lie. Coaches lie a lot."
Theo looked around the empty pitch again.
He liked this hour.
Training began with positional drills — nothing new. Movement patterns, rotations, quick combinations down the flanks.
Theo stayed wide on the right, reading the drill before it unfolded. He moved when he was supposed to. Passed when it made sense. Didn't force anything.
The ball came.
And came again.
Paulo overlapped. Theo slipped the ball inside. Lucas found him back on the wing two passes later.
Clean.
Simple.
Effective.
The coach walked among them, occasionally stopping play to adjust a run or correct spacing. Once, he tapped Theo lightly on the shoulder, guiding him two steps wider.
Theo nodded and adjusted.
No words needed.
Everything was… fine.
During a rotation drill, Theo noticed something strange.
No one corrected him when he drifted.
When he stayed wide, the drill flowed.
When he tucked inside, it still worked.
At one point, Lucas glanced at him mid-play and adjusted without a word. Renan filled space Theo left behind instinctively, like they'd done it before.
It felt seamless.
Too seamless.
Theo wondered if that was good — or if it meant he hadn't left a mark anywhere specific.
He shook the thought away and played the next pass.
The assistant coach stood beside the main coach, arms folded, eyes following the drill without urgency.
"He adjusts quickly," the assistant said.
"Yes," the coach replied.
"But he doesn't settle."
The coach didn't answer immediately. He watched Theo drift wide, then tuck inside, then drop deeper as the pattern reset.
"That can be taught," the assistant added.
The coach shook his head slightly. "Only if we decide what we're teaching."
They fell silent again.
Theo jogged past them moments later, focused, unaware.
As the session progressed, Theo noticed something subtle.
Not about himself — about the field.
Certain players were always placed in the same roles during drills. Lucas orchestrated from the center. Renan drifted between lines with quiet freedom. Davi stayed high, physical, predictable in the best way.
Theo rotated.
Right wing.
Right midfield.
Once, even left.
No explanation. No correction.
Just movement.
During a break, Paulo leaned toward him. "You're everywhere today."
Theo smiled. "Keeps things interesting."
Paulo laughed. "Coach likes players who can do everything."
Theo wasn't sure if that was true.
At the end of training, the coach gathered them near the whiteboard.
He began listing roles for the next session. Not teams. Not starters.
Roles.
"Lucas — central link."
"Renan — interior freedom."
"Davi — reference point."
Names were followed by purpose.
Theo waited.
"Paulo — overlap discipline."
Paulo saluted jokingly.
Theo shifted his weight slightly.
The coach paused, scanning the group.
"Theo," he said finally. "Rotation."
That was it.
No role. No explanation.
Theo nodded.
The boys drifted off afterward, laughing, arguing about whose turn it was to carry cones next time. Theo walked toward the bench to collect his bag when voices carried from behind the equipment shed.
He wasn't trying to listen.
He just did.
"He's good," one voice said. Calm. Familiar.
Theo recognized it as one of the staff members — not the coach.
"Yes," another replied. "Very."
A pause.
"But what is he?"
Silence followed. Not awkward. Just… thoughtful.
Theo stood still.
No one sounded frustrated. No one sounded critical.
They sounded curious.
Theo picked up his bag and walked away.
As the players gathered their things, the assistant glanced toward Theo again.
"He's comfortable being everywhere," he said. "Most boys need a map."
The coach picked up a cone and placed it back where it belonged.
"And some get lost if you give them one," he replied.
The assistant smiled faintly. "So what do we give him?"
The coach didn't look up.
"Time," he said.
Nothing changed.
Paulo still talked too much on the walk home. Lucas still argued about passing angles. Renan still pretended not to care while caring deeply.
At dinner, Theo told his grandmother about training.
"Good?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
She smiled. "That's nice."
That evening, Theo helped his grandmother fold laundry.
She handed him shirts one by one. Old ones. Faded ones. Some too small now.
"You've grown," she said.
Theo nodded. "I don't feel like it."
She smiled. "That's because growing happens when you're not looking."
Theo folded another shirt carefully.
He thought about the word rotation.
Later, lying in bed, Theo stared at the ceiling fan as it turned slowly above him.
What is he?
The question wasn't heavy.
It was open.
During a cool-down jog, Paulo jogged beside Theo.
"You know what your problem is?" Paulo asked.
Theo braced himself. "What?"
"You're too many players in one body."
Theo laughed. "That's not a problem."
Paulo shrugged. "Depends. Coaches like boxes."
Theo slowed slightly.
Paulo noticed and nudged him. "Relax. If they don't know what to do with you yet, it just means you're new."
Theo nodded.
Yet stayed quiet.
That night, Theo trained differently.
Not harder.
More deliberately.
He didn't try new tricks. Didn't chase flair.
He worked on the same movement again and again. Receive wide. Scan. Release. Reset.
He imagined different versions of himself in the same drill.
Winger.
Midfielder.
Connector.
Outlet.
The wall gave the ball back every time.
Unimpressed.
Honest.
Theo stopped and wiped his face, breathing steady.
He looked at his reflection faintly caught in a dark window.
"If I don't define myself," he said quietly, "they will."
He placed the ball down again.
And kept going.
That night, Theo trained differently.
Not harder.
More deliberately.
The alley was drowned in mist — not thick enough to hide things, only enough to blur them. The streetlight above him flickered, its glow breaking against damp walls and pooling on the ground like something spilled and forgotten.
The world felt reduced.
Just the ball.
The wall.
And the space between them.
He didn't try new tricks.
Didn't chase flair.
Receive wide.
Scan.
Release.
Reset.
Again.
The ball struck the wall and came back with a sound too sharp for such a small place. The echo lingered, bouncing once… twice… before settling into the night.
Thud.
Footstep.
Breath.
The rhythm tightened around him.
In the glass of a shuttered shop, his reflection caught the light — fractured by cracks in the pane, split into uneven shards. For a moment, each piece showed a different version of him.
One stood wide, waiting.
One drifted inward, uncertain.
One stayed still.
Too still.
Theo slowed.
The reflection did not.
It moved a half-second late, then corrected itself — as if learning him.
A chill crawled up his spine.
Rotation.
The word surfaced uninvited.
He's good.
Another.
But what is he?
The phrases didn't echo like memories. They pressed in, overlapping, repeating — not loud, but relentless, like water dripping in the same place again and again.
Theo's breathing changed. He could hear it now, layered beneath the hum of the streetlight, beneath the distant sound of a passing car that felt impossibly far away.
When he straightened, the reflection straightened too.
But it didn't mirror him perfectly.
It stood a little darker.
A little sharper.
Its eyes fixed on him like it already knew the answer.
Theo took a step back.
The reflection didn't.
"If I don't define myself," he said, voice low, almost afraid of carrying too far, "they will."
The mist swallowed the words.
But the dark version remained.
Watching.
Waiting.
Theo placed the ball back on the ground.
The wall didn't care.
The alley didn't react.
The reflection didn't disappear.
He struck the ball again.
Thud.
And as it came back to his feet, Theo felt it — not fear, not panic — but the certainty that from now on, wherever he trained, wherever he played…
That version would be there.
Not to stop him.
But to remind him what happens if he doesn't choose.