Theo woke before the alarm.
Not suddenly.
Not startled.
Just… awake.
Like his body had decided sleep wasn't useful anymore.
The ceiling fan turned slowly above him, slicing the early light into thin shadows that crawled across the walls. The air felt heavier than usual. Even the street outside sounded different — fewer bikes, fewer voices.
He lay still for a moment.
Listening.
Nothing was wrong.
But nothing felt normal either.
His stomach twisted slightly.
Not hunger.
Not fear.
Something in between.
He sat up.
His boots were near the door.
He'd cleaned them last night.
Too carefully.
The laces were straight. Soles scrubbed. Studs shining.
They didn't look like street boots anymore.
They looked… professional.
He stared at them longer than necessary.
For some reason, that bothered him.
Breakfast was quiet.
His grandmother noticed immediately.
"You're early," she said softly.
"Couldn't sleep."
She poured tea.
Didn't ask more.
She never did.
Before leaving, she squeezed his shoulder.
"Play like yourself today."
Theo nodded automatically.
But halfway out the door, he stopped.
What did that even mean anymore?
The gates were open.
Cones already set.
Balls lined neatly along the touchline.
Too neat.
Theo noticed it instantly.
The academy didn't feel alive today.
It felt… arranged.
Like a classroom before an exam.
Paulo was already there.
But he wasn't juggling.
Wasn't laughing.
Just sitting on the bench, tying his laces slowly.
"You're quiet," Theo said.
Paulo shrugged.
"Lineup tomorrow."
That explained everything.
No one said it out loud.
But everyone knew.
Today's training wasn't practice.
It was judgment.
Lucas stretched in silence.
Renan lay on the grass staring at the sky.
Davi was hitting volleys too hard, the ball slamming the fence each time.
No jokes.
No teasing.
Even the air between them felt tight.
Then the whistle.
Coach Vale.
Short.
Sharp.
"Positions."
No warmup games.
Straight into structure.
Bibs on.
Two teams.
Half pitch.
Tournament shape.
Theo's heart sped up.
This was it.
He told himself one thing:
Play smart.
Don't mess up.
Don't take risks.
Be clean.
First touch.
Ball to Theo on the right.
Space.
Defender square.
Old Theo?
Step-over. Burst. Take him on.
New Theo?
Back pass.
Safe.
Correct.
Lucas nodded approvingly.
But something inside him shrank.
Next sequence.
Overlap run from Paulo.
Theo receives again.
Could slip past.
Could attack.
Instead?
Simple inside pass.
Recycle.
Maintain shape.
Coach Vale scribbled something in his notebook.
Theo noticed.
And for some reason…
That hurt.
Then the moment.
Inside the box.
Ball breaks loose.
Theo gets it.
Six yards out.
Angle open.
Goalkeeper leaning wrong.
This was instinct.
This was his shot.
He could feel it.
Everyone expected it.
His leg pulled back—
—and stopped.
He squared it to Davi.
Tap-in.
Goal.
Cheers.
"Nice assist!"
"Smart play!"
Davi punched his shoulder happily.
But Theo didn't smile.
Didn't feel anything.
It didn't feel like a goal.
It felt like he had avoided something.
The match ended.
No mistakes.
No losses.
Everything efficient.
Everything correct.
Theo checked his memory.
He couldn't remember a single exciting moment.
Not one touch that felt like his.
Just… safe football.
Like someone else had played.
Water break.
Paulo sat beside him.
"You're playing weird," he said quietly.
Theo blinked. "Weird?"
"Too clean."
"That's bad?"
Paulo hesitated.
"…I don't know."
That silence said more than anything.
Vale gathered them.
Hands behind back.
"In two days, pre-match friendlies begin."
Everyone stiffened.
"Tomorrow, Coach is coming back he will announce responsibilities and roles."
Roles.
The word landed heavy.
"Performance today and tomorrow determines selection."
That was it.
No speech.
No encouragement.
Just facts.
Theo looked at the whiteboard later.
Blank slots.
RW.
LW.
CM.
Empty.
He could almost see his name filling one.
And for some reason…
That scared him more than being left out.
They walked home together.
Slower than usual.
No music.
No jokes.
Just footsteps.
Then Paulo spoke.
"You didn't try once today."
Theo frowned. "Try what?"
"Anything."
"…I played well."
"Yeah," Paulo said. "That's the problem."
Silence.
"You used to scare defenders," Paulo continued. "Today you looked like… a training cone."
Theo laughed softly.
But it didn't land.
"Maybe safe is better," Theo muttered.
Paulo stopped walking.
"Since when did you want safe?"
Theo didn't answer.
Paulo's voice softened.
"If you disappear into the system…"
He kicked a pebble away.
"…who are we even cheering for?"
That line stayed with Theo all night.
That night, Theo realized something quietly terrifying.
He wasn't afraid of failing.
He was afraid of becoming invisible.
Morning - Theo got up late ... He hurried to the academy, white a toast in his mouth , sack on his back ,the laces still untied.
Before he even reached the gates , he could feel something different, The academy felt alive again.
Laughter.
Noise.
Energy.
Theo knew why before he saw him.
Their real coach was back.
Clapping hands.
"Miss me, idiots?"
Paulo cheered.
Davi ran over like a kid.
The whole place changed instantly.
Like someone turned the lights on.
Theo didn't even realize how much he missed this warmth.
Everyone gathered.
Whiteboard.
Names.
Slowly.
Painfully slow.
"Lucas — central."
"Davi — striker."
"Paulo — left back."
Theo's heart pounded.
Every second stretched.
Then—
"Right wing… Theo."
Silence.
Then claps.
Paulo shoved him.
"Told you."
Theo didn't speak.
Just nodded.
Because if he opened his mouth, something stupid might come out.
"Theo. Stay."
They walked alone.
Coach didn't look at him immediately.
"You've been trying too hard to be correct," he said.
Theo froze.
"I saw your sessions."
"…Was it bad?"
Coach snorted.
"Bad? No. It was boring."
Theo blinked.
"You're not a textbook winger," coach continued. "Stop playing like one."
Silence.
"I don't want safe football from you."
"…Then what?"
Coach looked him straight in the eye.
"I want you dangerous."
The words hit harder than shouting.
"Systems are for average players," coach said. "Special ones break them."
Theo's chest tightened.
"You see spaces others don't," coach added. "So stop asking permission."
Then finally—
"Be free."
Evening.
Empty pitch.
Sun low.
Theo drops the ball.
No cones.
No drills.
Just him.
He dribbles once.
Twice.
Takes on an imaginary defender.
Shoots.
Smiles.
Not wide.
Not safe.
Free.