Theo didn't slow.
Didn't glance up.
Didn't calculate angles like he usually did.
His body moved first.
The defender stepped forward, weight heavy on his left foot, expecting the safe touch inside.
Theo went the other way.
One sharp knock with the outside of his boot.
Not pretty.
Not textbook.
Just instinct.
The ball slipped past the defender's reach by half an inch.
Studs scraped air.
Missed.
A shout behind him.
Too late.
Theo was through.
Grass opened.
Box in front of him.
Crowd noise crashed back all at once.
"SHOOT!"
"BACK POST!"
"CUT IT!"
Voices everywhere.
But they felt far.
Like underwater.
Casual.
Unimportant.
The keeper rushed out.
Big.
Arms wide.
Theo's right foot pulled back—
For months he would've squared it.
Safe pass.
Correct pass.
Assist.
Coach's nod.
But something in his chest said no.
Not today.
He struck.
Low.
Near post.
Clean.
The sound—
Not a bang.
A snap.
Ball skidding across wet grass.
Keeper's glove stretched.
Missed by inches.
Net.
Ripple.
Silence.
For half a second, the world felt weightless.
Then everything crashed back.
Noise. Boots. Hands slamming his back. Paulo screaming something unintelligible directly into his ear. Davi nearly tackling him to the ground in celebration.
"You SHOT!"
"I always shoot—"
"LIAR!"
Theo laughed, breathless.
Not because he scored.
Because he hadn't hesitated.
Because for once, he hadn't asked permission from his own head.
Coach Vale's whistle cut through the chaos.
"Reset! Reset!"
Football didn't wait for emotions.
The ball was already back at the center.
The game moved on like nothing happened.
Like goals were just punctuation.
Not the story.
The restart came fast.
São Paulo pressed harder now.
Their midfield stopped playing polite.
Shoulders got heavier.
Studs lingered longer on tackles.
Theo felt it immediately.
The temperature of the match had changed.
No more space.
No more clean lines.
Everything was tighter. Dirtier.
More real.
Lucas dropped deeper, demanding the ball constantly.
"Calm," he kept saying. "Calm."
Which usually meant the opposite.
Theo tracked back automatically.
Right winger or not, everyone defended now.
Their left-back tried to bomb forward.
Theo chased.
Thirty meters.
Forty.
The burn came quicker than he expected.
His lungs felt sharper today.
Like he'd swallowed cold air.
He stole the ball near the sideline and poked it out for a throw.
Nothing flashy.
But Paulo slapped his hand as he passed.
"Good work."
Small things.
They mattered.
Minutes blurred.
Not highlights.
Work.
Headers.
Clearances.
Throw-ins.
Theo received wide twice more.
First time, two defenders jumped him instantly.
Back pass.
Simple.
Second time, he tried to turn.
Stud caught the grass wrong.
Ball slipped away.
Groans from the bench.
Theo clicked his tongue.
Reset.
Forget it.
Next play.
Football never let you dwell.
São Paulo almost equalized around the twenty-minute mark.
Corner.
Chaos in the box.
Bodies crashing like falling chairs.
A header skimmed past everyone.
Theo found himself marking a guy twice his size for some reason.
"Why me?" he muttered.
The ball bounced loose.
Davi cleared it blindly, screaming like he'd just saved the world.
"NOT TODAY!"
They laughed even while running.
The pace didn't slow.
If anything, it got uglier.
Less beauty.
More survival.
Theo realized something quietly:
This was the part people didn't show in highlights.
Not the dribbles.
Not the goals.
This.
Tracking runs.
Bad touches.
Second balls.
Sweat in your eyes.
Mud on your socks.
Just… doing the job.
He checked over his shoulder constantly now.
Lucas always said:
"Scan before the ball comes."
Theo scanned.
Then scanned again.
And noticed something.
The defender marking him had stopped diving in.
Too cautious.
Respecting the earlier dribble.
Theo smiled faintly.
Fear was space too.
Just shaped differently.
Lucas intercepted again.
Quick one-two.
Theo ran automatically.
Cross came.
Too high.
Davi missed by inches.
"BRO!"
"YOU'RE TALLER THAN ME!"
"I'M TRYING!"
Even while arguing, they were already jogging back.
No one sulked.
That was Santos.
Mess up.
Move on.
By minute thirty-five, Theo's shirt clung to his back like tape.
His calves felt heavier.
Weird.
Too early for that.
He wiped sweat from his eyes.
Vision blurred for half a second.
He hated that.
Tiny things irritated him more than big ones.
São Paulo tried long balls now.
Frustrated.
Predictable.
Renan plucked one out of the air lazily like catching fruit.
"How are you not tired?" Paulo asked.
"Built different," Renan said, yawning.
Theo wanted to punch him.
Last minutes of the half.
Everything slowed.
Not because the tempo dropped.
Because energy dropped.
Mistakes creeping in.
Passes half a step late.
Touches too long.
Theo received near the line again.
Usually he'd try something.
This time?
He shielded.
Won a foul.
Simple.
Smart.
Boring.
But right.
Whistle.
Sharp.
Final.
Half-time.
Scoreboard flickered:
Santos 1 – 0 São Paulo
No one cheered.
Not really.
They just nodded.
Like:
Good.
Work done.
Halfway.
Theo bent over, hands on knees, sucking air.
The goal already felt like it happened yesterday.
Funny how football did that.
One moment magic.
Next moment… just running again.
Paulo bumped his shoulder.
"Nice finish earlier."
Theo shrugged.
"…Felt nice."
Paulo grinned.
"Do it again."
Theo laughed.
"Let me breathe first."
They walked back together.
Slow.
Tired.
Comfortable.
Like a group of workers clocking out for a break.
Not heroes.
Not stars.
Just kids playing football.
And somehow—
Theo liked that more.
The locker room air was thick.
Wet grass.
Sweat.
Tape.
Banana peels.
And that weird metal smell from old lockers.
It felt familiar.
Safe.
Like a cave after a storm.
Boots thudded against the floor one by one.
Bags dropped.
Jerseys peeled off.
Someone blasted water on their face too aggressively.
"BRO, IT'S NOT A SHOWER."
"LET ME LIVE."
Davi collapsed onto the bench like he'd been shot.
"I'm retiring at seventeen."
"No you're not," Paulo said, stealing his water bottle.
"I've given enough to this sport."
"You missed two headers."
"That's emotional damage."
Lucas was already analyzing.
Of course he was.
He drew shapes on the whiteboard with his finger like invisible diagrams.
"Their left side presses late. If we switch faster, Theo gets isolated more."
Theo blinked. "You're thinking already?"
Lucas stared at him.
"When am I not?"
"…Fair."
Renan lay flat on the floor.
Actually flat.
Like a starfish.
"You alive?" Theo asked.
"Debatable."
"You sleeping?"
"Saving energy for my next life."
Paulo kicked his shoe lightly.
"Get up, corpse."
Someone tossed Theo a towel.
He caught it automatically.
Sat down.
Finally.
And only then—
his heart started slowing.
Funny how the body waited for permission.
He replayed the goal in his head.
Not the shot.
The decision.
That moment when everything went quiet.
No coach.
No "correct."
Just instinct.
He liked that version of himself.
Didn't know why he buried it before.
Coach stepped in.
No dramatic entrance.
Just presence.
And instantly the noise dropped.
Not silent.
But attentive.
He looked around once.
Nodded.
"Good half."
That was it.
No speech.
No yelling.
No "we must die for this."
Just:
"Good half."
Which somehow meant more.
"Keep it simple," he added.
"They're tired too."
Small pause.
"Streetlight—"
Theo looked up automatically.
Coach smirked.
"Nice goal."
The room erupted.
"OOHHH COACH SAID NICE!"
"FRAME IT!"
Theo threw a sock at Paulo.
"Shut up."
But he couldn't stop smiling.
Davi peeled a banana aggressively.
"Protein."
"That's not protein," Lucas said.
"It's yellow strength."
"No such thing exists."
"Watch me score and learn."
Paulo leaned closer to Theo.
"See?"
"See what?"
"You're way more fun when you shoot."
Theo rolled his eyes.
"Idiot."
"Correct."
Someone started arguing about whose cross was worse.
Someone else claimed the referee was blind.
Renan was now using his bag as a pillow.
Lucas threatened to tape his mouth shut.
Theo just listened.
All of it.
The noise.
The nonsense.
The jokes.
And realized something small but important:
He didn't feel nervous anymore.
Not really.
Not like morning.
Now it just felt like…
another game.
With friends.
With sweat.
With dumb arguments about bananas.
Football suddenly felt simple again.
And maybe that was the trick.
Coach clapped once.
"Five minutes."
Everyone stood almost together.
Like instinct.
Like birds taking off.
Theo tied his laces tighter this time.
Stood.
Looked down at the grass through the open door.
Before stepping out—
he bounced the ball once.
Caught it.
Spun it.
Placed it exactly on the white line.
Stepped over.
Same as before.
His little ritual.
Stupid.
But steady.
"Streetlight," Paulo said behind him.
"Yeah?"
"Second half. Nutmeg."
Theo smirked.
"No promises."
"Coward."
"Idiot."
They bumped shoulders and walked out.
Sun brighter now.
Air hotter.
Game waiting.
And for the first time that day—
Theo didn't feel like proving anything.
He just wanted to play.
The second-half whistle came quicker than Theo expected.
Like someone had fast-forwarded five minutes of life.
Suddenly they were back on the pitch.
Sun higher.
Heat sharper.
Grass brighter.
Everything louder.
First touch.
Theo knew immediately.
Something was wrong.
Not pain.
Not injury.
Just… weight.
His legs felt like someone had quietly replaced them with sandbags during halftime.
He flexed his calves once.
They answered slower than usual.
Weird.
Too early for this.
Ball switched wide.
Lucas to Paulo.
Paulo to Theo.
Clean triangle.
Theo pushed forward—
The defender matched him too easily.
Normally he'd burst past.
Now?
It felt like running underwater.
He still got the cross out.
But it floated.
Soft.
Underhit.
Davi stretched.
Didn't reach.
Theo clicked his tongue.
Too weak.
"Unlucky!" Paulo shouted.
Theo nodded.
But he knew.
That wasn't unlucky.
That was him.
They tracked back immediately.
São Paulo countered fast.
Theo sprinted.
Or tried to.
His top speed wasn't there.
The winger slipped past him half a step too easily.
Paulo covered.
Clean tackle.
But Paulo shot him a quick look.
Not blaming.
Just noticing.
That somehow hurt more.
Minutes passed.
And the fatigue didn't fade.
It stacked.
Every sprint cost double.
Every turn burned.
Breath scraping his throat like sandpaper.
When had he gotten this tired this fast?
He wasn't like this on the streets.
Then again…
street games didn't have structure.
Didn't have ninety minutes.
Didn't have tracking runs every thirty seconds.
Lucas called for the ball.
Theo tried to support inside.
Arrived late.
Pass intercepted.
Coach's whistle cut play.
"Earlier, Theo!"
"Yeah— sorry!"
Sorry.
He hated saying that word on the pitch.
Next play.
He received near the line again.
Perfect 1v1 chance.
Normally his favorite moment.
He stepped.
Tried to explode.
Nothing.
Legs refused.
Defender stole it clean.
Counter started instantly.
Theo stood frozen for half a second.
That half-second felt like a year.
He forced himself to chase.
But the damage was done.
Renan bailed them out with a lazy but perfect interception.
"How do you look tired already?" Renan muttered while jogging past.
Theo didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
The world narrowed.
Not into clarity.
Into fog.
Sounds mixing.
Vision slightly blurred at edges.
Body heavier.
Mind slower.
He hated this.
Hated feeling behind his own body.
Then:
"THEO!"
Coach's voice.
Theo looked.
Finger pointing.
Bench gesture.
"Out."
Just that.
Not angry.
Not disappointed.
Just factual.
For a second, something inside him sank.
Subbed.
Already?
Was he that bad?
Then Davi clapped him on the back hard.
"Good job, Streetlight. Rest. We got it."
Paulo bumped his shoulder.
"Next game you run less like a grandfather, okay?"
Theo snorted despite himself.
"Shut up."
No pity.
No sympathy.
Just normal.
That helped.
He jogged off.
Boots suddenly feeling twice as heavy.
Bench wood colder than expected when he sat.
Chest rising hard.
Sweat dripping down his chin.
He stared at the pitch.
And for the first time that day—
he wasn't inside the game.
He was outside it.
And everything looked different.
Funny thing about watching football from the bench.
It slowed down.
Not physically.
Mentally.
When you're inside, everything is chaos.
When you're outside—
patterns appear.
Theo leaned forward.
Elbows on knees.
Breathing slowly.
Watching.
Really watching.
Lucas received.
Two touches.
Before Theo even realized why—
he knew Lucas would switch.
Switch came.
Exactly there.
Theo blinked.
Lucky guess.
Probably.
Next play.
Paulo overlapped.
But not randomly.
Theo noticed something.
Paulo only overlapped when the winger cut inside first.
Never before.
Always after.
A trigger.
A rule.
He'd never seen it consciously before.
But it was always there.
Davi drifted between center-backs constantly.
Not chasing the ball.
Pulling defenders.
Creating space.
Sacrifice runs.
Ugly runs.
Necessary runs.
Theo had never appreciated those properly.
From inside, it just felt like chaos.
From here—
it was chess.
Passes weren't random.
They were answers.
Every movement caused another.
Every step opened something somewhere else.
Invisible threads connecting everything.
Theo's eyes followed them unconsciously.
Mapping.
Calculating.
Before the ball moved—
he knew where it would go.
Not because he guessed.
Because it was the only logical path.
"Switch," he muttered quietly.
Ball switched.
Theo froze.
"…what?"
Next play.
"Through."
Through ball came.
Exactly between defenders.
Lucas didn't even look up.
He just knew.
Theo's heart thumped once.
Hard.
He wasn't predicting the future.
He wasn't seeing magic.
He was just…
understanding.
Finally.
The game wasn't fast.
His brain was slow before.
That was the difference.
Something clicked softly.
Like a key turning.
Not a power-up.
Not dramatic.
Just:
clarity.
Football wasn't about reacting.
It was about seeing two seconds earlier.
And if you saw two seconds earlier—
everything felt slow.
Easy.
Simple.
Theo leaned back.
Breath steady now.
Mind sharper than when he was running.
Weird.
Being tired made him see better.
Like the noise had faded.
He watched the winger who replaced him.
Similar runs.
Similar positioning.
But different timing.
Half-second off.
Lucas had to adjust twice.
Theo noticed instantly.
Before, he wouldn't have.
Now?
It was obvious.
He swallowed.
So this is what Lucas sees all the time…
No wonder he looks calm.
He's never surprised.
On the pitch, Davi fought for a loose ball like a bulldozer.
Shot blocked.
Rebound bounced.
Chaos.
Tap in.
Goal.
2–0.
Davi screaming like a maniac.
Sliding on his knees.
Pointing at the bench.
"I TOLD YOU BANANAS WORK!"
Everyone laughed.
Theo laughed too.
But quieter.
Because his mind was still elsewhere.
Still tracing lines on the pitch.
Still connecting dots.
Not faster.
Not stronger.
But…
clearer.
And for the first time—
Theo didn't feel bad about being subbed.
Because he had learned something he couldn't have learned while running.The last ten minutes didn't feel dramatic.
They felt… inevitable
São Paulo weren't pressing anymore.
Not properly.
Their passes lost bite.
Touches got sloppy.
Shoulders sagged.
Pre-season fatigue.
Pre-season motivation.
It showed.
Theo watched with strange calm.
Earlier, he would've been screaming inside.
Wanting to be back in.
Wanting to prove something.
Now?
He just observed.
Like solving a puzzle.
Lucas slowed everything down.
Two touches max.
Left. Right. Back.
Tempo control.
Paulo overlapped only when safe.
Not greedy.
Renan recycled like a machine.
Boring.
Efficient.
Perfect.
Then chaos.
Long ball.
Davi body-checking two defenders at once.
Ball bounced awkwardly.
Keeper punched air.
Rebound dropped.
Brick didn't think.
He never thought.
He smashed.
Net.
2–0.
"GOOOOO!"
He sprinted toward the corner like he'd scored a World Cup winner.
Sliding on knees.
Shirt half off.
Screaming nonsense.
"BANANAS! I TOLD YOU!"
Lucas buried his face in his hands.
Paulo fell laughing.
Renan didn't even run — just clapped lazily like, yeah, expected.
Theo laughed harder than he had all day.
Not because of the goal.
Because of Davi.
Because this stupid idiot celebrated every tap-in like destiny.
Because this team felt… stupidly alive.
Final whistle came softly.
No fireworks.
No crowd roar.
Just a referee stretching his arm and ending it.
Game over.
2–0.
Simple.
Clean.
Done.
They shook hands automatically.
Routine.
Respect.
Sweaty palms.
Half smiles.
Football language.
Theo was stuffing his bib into the bag when someone tapped his shoulder.
He turned.
The left-back.
The guy who marked him first half.
Tall. Lean. Quiet eyes.
"You're Theo, right?"
"Yeah."
The guy nodded.
"You're annoying."
Theo blinked. "What?"
"Hard to mark," he clarified. "You don't stay still."
"Oh."
Pause.
"…sorry?"
The guy laughed. "Don't apologize. Makes my job worse."
Paulo appeared out of nowhere.
"He's annoying in general," Paulo said proudly.
"Hey."
The São Paulo captain walked over too.
Older-looking. Calm.
"You're young, yeah?"
Theo nodded.
"Keep playing like that," the captain said. "Don't get too tactical. Players like you disappear when coaches overthink them."
Theo froze slightly.
Funny.
Coach Vale said something similar.
Freedom is expensive.
The captain offered his hand.
"See you in the league."
Theo shook it.
Firm.
Warm.
Real.
Not enemies.
Just players on different days.
As they walked off, Paulo bumped Theo again.
"Look at you. Getting compliments."
"Shut up."
"Streetlight famous now."
"Please stop calling me that."
"Never."
The corner shop hadn't changed in twenty years.
Same faded sign.
Same cracked freezer.
Same old man behind the counter pretending not to smile.
It smelled like cold drinks and dust.
Perfect.
They piled in like stray dogs.
"Five sodas!"
"Six!"
"Coach didn't say six!"
"Shut up, buy your own!"
Davi grabbed two immediately.
"For recovery."
"That's not how recovery works," Lucas said.
"Shut up, Professor."
Theo leaned against the fridge.
Cold against his back.
Bottle sweating in his hand.
He didn't even open it yet.
Just enjoyed the feeling.
Shopkeeper squinted at them.
"You lot win something?"
"Of course," Paulo said dramatically. "Champions League final."
"Liar."
"Fine. Friendly."
"Then why you celebrating like idiots?"
"Because we're idiots," Davi said proudly.
Old man snorted.
"Good. Football should be stupid. Too serious these days."
Theo liked that.
Football should be stupid.
Not heavy.
Not scary.
Just… stupid and fun.
They argued about who assisted what.
Lucas corrected everyone's memory.
Renan almost fell asleep sitting.
Paulo kept reenacting Theo's goal exaggeratedly.
"You went WHOOSH and then BAM—"
"That's not how it happened!"
"Let me cook!"
Theo just watched them.
Listened.
Smiled quietly.
Earlier this year he trained alone against walls.
Now he had this.
Noise.
Friends.
Inside jokes.
Warmth.
Maybe that mattered more than goals.
The sun dipped lower.
They split up one by one.
"Tomorrow?"
"Same time."
"Don't be late."
"Bring bananas."
"Shut up."
Theo walked home slower than usual.
Not tired.
Just… full.
Different field.
Different city corner.
Different sky.
Scoreboard read:
Palmeiras 1 – 3 Fluminense
Luke sat on the bench.
Boots clean.
Too clean.
He hadn't touched grass once.
Not a single minute.
Not even warm-up.
The match ended five minutes ago.
Players were still talking.
Laughing.
Complaining.
Luke stayed seated.
Hands resting on his knees.
Staring at nothing.
Beside him, Mateo stretched quietly.
"You thought you'd get minutes?"
Luke nodded slightly.
"Coach said maybe."
Mateo gave a small smilei.
"Maybe means no."
Luke didn't laugh.
He looked toward the pitch.
Andre walking past, joking loudly.
Rafa already discussing tactics with the coach.
Names being called.
Plans being made.
None of them his.
Luke glanced down at his boots.
Still spotless.
He hated that.
More than losing.
More than mistakes.
He hated not even getting the chance to fail.
"Next week," someone muttere
d near the staff.
"Try someone else at striker."
Luke pretended not to hear.
But the words stuck.
Like gum on a shoe.
Mateo nudged him lightly.
"Come. Extra training?"
Luke stood slowly.
Nodded.
"Yeah."
Across the city—
Theo laughed with friends over cheap soda.
Luke walked toward an empty pitch.
Alone.
Ball tucked under his arm.
Two boys.
Same dream.
Different nights.
And somewhere, quietly—
their paths were tightening.
Not closer.
Tighter.
Like strings being pulled.