For a second after Coach read the last name, nobody moved.
Like the air itself needed to process it.
Then Davi exploded first.
"HA! I TOLD YOU!"
He slammed both hands onto Theo's shoulders hard enough to nearly knock him forward.
"You doubted me? You doubted Brick's prophecy?"
"I didn't—"
"Doesn't matter. Apologize."
Paulo shoved Davi from the side. "Shut up, prophet. You predicted we'd lose last week too."
"That was tactical pessimism."
"That was stupidity."
Renan yawned. "Same thing."
Laughter broke out.
The tension that had been sitting on everyone's chest since morning cracked like glass.
Theo hadn't even realized how tight his jaw was until it relaxed.
Lucas walked past, calm as always, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Congrats," he said simply.
Lucas never used extra words.
Which made it heavier.
Theo nodded. "You too, Professor."
Lucas adjusted his glasses. "Don't call me that on the pitch."
"Why?"
"Referees think I'm arguing even when I'm breathing."
Paulo burst out laughing. "It's true! He once explained offside to a linesman mid-game!"
"I was correct," Lucas said flatly.
"That's not the point!"
They drifted toward the benches together, boots half untied, jerseys damp with sweat.
No one rushed home.
No one ever did after good news.
Paulo threw himself backward onto the grass dramatically.
"Alright," he said, staring at the sky, "important question."
Everyone groaned.
"This is never good."
"What are we eating to celebrate?"
Davi sat up instantly. "Now we're talking."
"You think with your stomach," Lucas said.
"And you think with math. We all have strengths."
Renan muttered, "I think with sleep."
Theo laughed.
It came out easier than expected.
Natural.
Not forced.
He hadn't laughed like this in days.
They started walking toward the gate together, five silhouettes spilling onto the street like they always did.
And like always, the conversations overlapped.
Davi complaining about how defenders were "cheating" during drills.
Paulo arguing that fullbacks were the most underappreciated species on earth.
Lucas explaining something about passing triangles nobody asked for.
Renan nearly walking into a pole because he wasn't looking.
"Sleepy!" Paulo shouted. "The pole's been there your whole life!"
"Still surprising," Renan muttered.
Somewhere between the noise, Theo realized something quietly.
This—
This chaos.
This nonsense.
This was the part he'd missed.
Not starting.
Not selection.
This.
Walking nowhere with people who somehow felt like home.
At the snack stand near the corner, they stopped like always.
Same old man. Same rusty fridge. Same warm drinks.
"Five juices," Paulo announced dramatically, like ordering for royalty.
"Four," Lucas corrected. "Renan fell asleep last time and spilled his."
"I was resting."
"You were unconscious."
Theo leaned against the wall, watching them argue.
Listening.
Memorizing.
Because some stupid part of him whispered:
These days won't last forever.
He didn't know why that thought appeared.
But it stuck.
"Oi," Davi suddenly said, elbowing him. "You're quiet again."
Theo blinked. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous."
"Very," Paulo added. "Thinking leads to Lucas behavior."
"I take offense," Lucas said calmly.
"You should."
They started arguing about who'd score first tomorrow.
Davi obviously claimed himself.
Paulo said defenders deserved goals too.
Lucas said goals were overrated compared to assists.
Renan said if he scored he'd retire immediately.
Theo listened.
Then Paulo looked at him.
"What about you, Streetlight?"
Theo paused.
Didn't know why.
"…I just want to play well," he said.
They stared at him.
Then Davi groaned.
"That's the most boring answer in human history."
Paulo nodded. "Illegal. Pick something cooler."
Theo smiled.
"…Fine. First touch nutmeg."
The group exploded.
"THERE HE IS!"
"Now that's my winger!"
"Please actually do it."
And for the first time in a while—
Theo didn't feel like he had to be anything.
Not special.
Not safe.
Just…
Theo.
The house smelled like oil.
And soap.
And dinner.
The familiar mix hit Theo the moment he opened the door.
"Ma?" he called.
"In the kitchen!"
He stepped in—
—and stopped.
His father was already sitting at the table.
Waiting.
That was unusual.
Usually he came home later.
Grease still clung faintly to his fingernails.
Shirt half unbuttoned.
Tired.
But smiling.
A small one.
The kind he only wore when he was proud.
"So," his father said.
Theo blinked. "So?"
"You made it."
Theo froze.
"How do you—"
"Ran into your coach."
Theo's heart jumped. "You met coach?"
His father nodded. "At the tea stall near the garage. Recognized you from the photo you showed me."
Theo sat down slowly.
"What did he say?"
His father leaned back, thinking.
"He said… 'Your son doesn't play like the others.'"
Theo's chest tightened.
"That good or bad?"
"I asked the same thing," his father said, chuckling. "He laughed."
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'Good players follow instructions. Your son listens to the game instead.'"
Silence.
Then:
"He told me not to worry," his father added. "Said you'll figure it out."
Theo looked down at his hands.
They were shaking slightly.
Not fear.
Something else.
Something warm.
His father continued, voice softer now.
"When I was your age… I worked at your grandfather's shop."
Theo looked up.
"I wanted to race bikes," his father said. "Not fix them."
"…Why didn't you?"
His father smiled.
"Someone had to fix things."
A pause.
"But you…" he tapped Theo's forehead gently, "you're not meant to fix. You're meant to run."
Theo swallowed.
"You think so?"
His father snorted. "You break everything you touch. Of course."
Theo laughed.
"…Thanks."
"Just don't forget," his father added quietly, "enjoy it while it's still fun."
That line stayed longer than anything else.
Match days had a sound.
Theo noticed it the moment he stepped off the bus.
Not louder.
Not quieter.
Just… tighter.
Like the world had reduced its breathing.
Even the birds seemed cautious.
The academy grounds were already alive.
Parents near the fence.
Kids in other kits warming up.
Whistles from different pitches.
Boots thudding against balls.
Short bursts of shouting.
Somewhere someone laughed too loudly — the kind of laugh that only came from nerves.
Theo adjusted the strap of his bag.
His hands were colder than usual.
Not shaking.
Just… colder.
He flexed his fingers.
Opened and closed them.
Blood moving.
Good.
Paulo walked beside him, unusually quiet.
No jokes.
No commentary.
Just staring ahead.
"You good?" Theo asked.
Paulo nodded. "Yeah."
Beat.
"…No."
Theo smirked. "Same."
They shared that small honesty.
It helped.
Inside the locker room, the energy changed.
It wasn't chaos like training.
It was ritual.
Silent.
Focused.
Each player had their own corner.
Their own rhythm.
Lucas already had earphones in, eyes closed, probably visualizing passing lanes like equations.
Davi was bouncing lightly on his toes, shadowboxing the air like the goalpost had personally offended him.
Renan was… lying down.
Sleeping.
Five minutes before kickoff.
Unbelievable.
Theo stared.
"How is that possible?"
Paulo shrugged. "He said it resets his brain."
"That's illegal."
"Probably."
The smell of tape, sweat, and fresh grass filled the room.
Someone tightened their laces too hard.
Someone re-tied theirs three times.
Someone kept checking the lineup sheet even though nothing had changed.
Little things.
Tiny tells.
Everyone pretending they weren't nervous.
Everyone absolutely nervous.
Coach stepped in.
Not shouting.
Just presence.
And somehow that was enough.
"Warm-up in three," he said calmly.
The room moved instantly.
No hesitation.
Trust.
Theo loved that about this place.
Nobody doubted the voice.
Theo noticed it while they were walking out.
Davi touched the badge on his chest before crossing the line.
Every time.
Same motion.
Same two taps.
Lucas stepped onto the pitch with his right foot first.
Always.
Paulo kissed his wristband quickly.
Renan stretched his left ankle exactly five times.
Theo blinked.
"…You guys are weird," he muttered.
Paulo grinned. "Rituals, man. Respect them."
"They work?"
"No idea," Paulo said. "But if I don't do it and we lose, I'll blame myself forever."
"…Fair."
Theo looked down at the grass.
Thought for a second.
Then quietly:
He bounced the ball once.
Caught it.
Spun it in his hands.
Then placed it down exactly on the white line before stepping over.
No reason.
Just… felt right.
He did it again.
Same way.
Okay.
That's mine, he thought.
Stupid.
But his.
Whistle.
Sharp.
Clean.
The game snapped into motion.
No slow start.
No feeling-out phase.
The other team pressed immediately.
Hard.
Two forwards closing passing lanes fast.
Aggressive.
Theo felt it instantly.
This wasn't training pace.
This was real.
Lucas received first.
Three touches.
Gone.
Pressure swallowed him.
Back pass forced.
Theo tracked back automatically, giving an outlet.
Ball came wide.
First touch.
Soft.
Second touch forward—
Defender on him instantly.
Fast.
Stronger than expected.
Theo didn't try anything fancy.
Simple inside pass.
Reset.
Good.
Calm.
Get the rhythm first.
For the first five minutes, everything was noise.
Boots.
Breathing.
Shouts.
"MAN ON!"
"TURN!"
"TIME!"
Words flying everywhere like bullets.
Theo's brain filtered them automatically.
Left.
Right.
Space.
Body angle.
Movement.
Everything shrinking into decisions.
Football had always been like this for him.
Not pictures.
Not emotions.
Just geometry.
Paulo overlapped.
Theo slipped the ball perfectly into his path.
Paulo crossed first time.
Davi almost reached it.
Half-second late.
Groans.
Close.
Very close.
Theo felt something spark.
That was good.
That felt like him.
Opponents countered fast.
Their winger tried to isolate Theo.
Step-over.
Step-over.
Explosive burst.
Theo didn't dive in.
Didn't panic.
Just matched stride.
Shoulder angle.
Cut the inside.
Force wide.
Timing—
Tackle.
Clean.
Ball out.
Their bench clapped.
Theo didn't celebrate.
Just jogged back.
But inside?
Small smile.
Okay.
I'm here.
Minute ten.
Tempo rising.
Lucas started controlling possession better.
Short triangles forming.
Renan drifting between lines like smoke.
Theo noticed something:
The defender marking him was nervous.
Standing half-step too far.
Respecting the dribble.
Old reputation.
Good.
Use that.
Ball switched quickly.
Theo isolated.
1v1.
Crowd murmur rising.
This was it.
Old instinct screaming:
Take him on.
New fear whispering:
Be safe.
Split second.
Heartbeat loud.
Paulo's voice echoed faintly in his head:
Since when did you want safe?
Theo stepped forward.
Feinted inside.
Defender bit.
Outside touch.
Burst.
Past him.
Clean.
Wind rushing in his ears.
Crowd noise swelling.
He didn't think.
Crossed low.
Davi sliding—
MISS.
Ball rolled inches wide.
Theo bent over, hands on knees.
Half laughing.
Half dying.
That was close.
Too close.
But—
That felt alive.
More alive than the assist yesterday.
Opposition adjusted.
Double marking now.
Respect earned.
Lucas noticed and shifted shape slightly.
"Inside if needed," he shouted.
Theo nodded.
Communication.
Trust.
Twenty minutes in.
Game stretched.
Spaces opening.
Fatigue creeping.
Theo's legs heavy now.
Breath sharp.
But mind clear.
Strangely calm.
He scanned constantly.
Always scanning.
Left.
Right.
Behind.
Where's space?
Where's danger?
Where am I needed?
Not just winger.
Not just role.
Just… where?
Then the moment.
Lucas intercepted.
Quick turn.
Eye contact with Theo.
No words.
Pass already coming.
Theo ran before the ball even left Lucas's foot.
Perfect weight.
Perfect angle.
Ball arrived exactly where his stride expected.
Time slowed.
One defender between him and box.
One.
He could hear the studs scraping grass.
Feel the heartbeat in his ears.
This was the decision.
Dribble?
Shoot?
Pass?
The world narrowed.
Not to fear.
Not to noise.
Just choice.
And for the first time—
Theo didn't think about being correct.
Didn't think about coach.
Didn't think about mistakes.
Didn't think about anything.
He just played.
And for that one second—
he felt free.