The realization didn't feel heavy.
It felt unfinished.
Theo lay on his bed staring at the ceiling that night, replaying the match in his head — not the goal, not the dribble.
The choices.
When he was free, he felt alive.
When he was correct, he felt invisible.
Somewhere in between, there had to be a version of him that was both.
The next day, he arrived early.
Not to the pitch.
To the benches.
Lucas was already there, sitting cross-legged with a notebook open, drawing small rectangles and arrows.
"Are you studying?" Theo asked.
Lucas didn't look up. "Always."
Theo dropped his bag beside him. "Teach me."
That made Lucas pause.
He closed the notebook slowly.
"Teach you what?"
"How to see it the way you see it."
Lucas studied Theo for a moment — not judging, not surprised.
"You already see," Lucas said. "You just don't stay long enough."
Theo frowned. "What does that even mean?"
Lucas stood up.
"Come."
They stepped onto the quiet pitch before the rest arrived.
Lucas placed four cones in a diamond shape.
"You like freedom," Lucas said. "That's fine. But freedom without structure is chaos."
He pointed at the cones.
"This is your cage."
Theo smirked. "Cage?"
"Inside this diamond, you're allowed two touches."
"And outside?"
"Unlimited. But you can't enter unless you exit properly."
Theo blinked. "You made that up just now."
Lucas smiled slightly. "Maybe."
They started simple.
Pass from outside → receive inside → one touch out → reset.
At first, Theo moved naturally.
But Lucas stopped him.
"No."
"What?"
"You entered too early."
Theo exhaled. "I saw space."
Lucas shook his head. "You saw possibility. Not permission."
Theo stared at him.
Lucas walked closer, lowering his voice slightly.
"You drift because you trust instinct. That's good. But sometimes your teammates don't know you're drifting. So they can't adjust."
Theo nodded slowly.
"So how do I fix that?"
Lucas tapped his temple.
"Scan earlier. Move slower before you explode. Give us time to read you."
They repeated the drill.
This time, Theo delayed half a second before cutting inside.
Lucas immediately stepped into the vacated space.
It clicked.
"Oh," Theo said quietly.
Lucas nodded.
"You're not alone on the pitch. Even when you feel like it."
They advanced the drill.
Now Lucas acted as pressure.
Theo had to decide:
Enter the diamond?
Stay wide?
Drop?
Every decision had consequence.
Every movement forced a reaction.
After fifteen minutes, Theo felt different.
Not faster.
Not stronger.
Clearer.
"You don't need to be everywhere," Lucas said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You just need to be somewhere long enough for it to matter."
Theo looked at the cones again.
For the first time, structure didn't feel like a prison.
It felt like timing.
The rest of the boys began arriving.
Lucas picked up the cones.
"One more thing," he said casually.
Theo looked up.
"You don't need to choose between freedom and system."
Lucas shrugged.
"You just need to choose when."
Lucas packed up the cones.
"Go home," he said. "Before you overthink everything again."
Theo rolled his eyes. "Helpful."
"Always."
He didn't go home.
Paulo didn't let him.
"Beach," Paulo said simply, already walking.
"What?"
"Beach football. Come."
"That's not training."
Paulo grinned over his shoulder.
"Exactly."
The walk wasn't long.
Just past the old street, down the slope, where the sand met the sea and the wind carried that salty, lazy afternoon smell.
A few kids were already playing barefoot with a half-flat ball.
No cones.
No lines.
No coach.
Just shouts and laughter.
Paulo dropped his bag.
"Best pitch in Brazil," he declared.
Theo looked around.
No goals.
No markings.
"How do we even play?"
Paulo shrugged.
"We figure it out."
They kicked off without organizing teams.
It just… happened.
Ball in.
Chaos begins.
First touch — Theo miscontrolled immediately.
Sand grabbed the ball like it owed money.
Davi laughed so hard he tripped over nothing.
"Street star can't play on sand!"
"Shut up," Theo muttered, already chasing the ball.
Paulo tried to sprint.
Didn't move.
His foot sank halfway into the sand.
He looked down, offended.
"This ground is cheating."
Lucas adjusted his glasses.
"Friction coefficient increased. Expected."
"Speak normal Portuguese, Professor," Paulo said.
Renan barely ran.
He didn't need to.
He just stood in spaces and somehow the ball kept coming to him.
Lazy touches.
Soft passes.
Effortless.
Theo stared.
"How are you not tired?"
Renan shrugged.
"Sand is slow. I match the sand."
"That's not advice."
"It is."
They played small-sided.
2v2.
Then 3v2.
Then everyone vs Davi because he kept screaming for long balls.
No one kept score.
No one remembered who scored anyway.
Every goal was:
"counted"
"maybe"
"no idea"
"who cares"
At one point Theo tried a step-over.
Foot slipped.
He fell flat on his back.
Sky above.
Sun too bright.
Paulo stood over him, laughing.
"Academy winger, huh?"
Theo kicked sand at him.
"Defender who can't defend air."
Paulo gasped dramatically.
"Personal attack."
Lucas attempted to explain positioning mid-game.
"Technically if we maintain triangles—"
Ball hit him in the back.
Renan had passed it without looking.
"Triangles later," Renan said.
Lucas sighed.
"…fair."
Slowly, Theo realized something.
He wasn't thinking.
Not about roles.
Not about scanning.
Not about coach.
Just:
receive
touch
laugh
fall
try again
Simple.
Football before it became complicated.
They stopped when Davi collapsed face-first into the sand.
"I'm done," he declared. "My lungs are on vacation."
Paulo dropped beside him.
"Worth it."
Lucas lay back too.
Renan sat cross-legged, staring at the water.
Theo stayed standing a moment longer.
Looking at them.
Sweaty.
Messy.
Arguing about nothing.
Happy for no reason.
Paulo tossed him a bottle.
"You were smiling," he said casually.
"When?"
"Just now. Like an idiot."
Theo blinked.
"…oh."
Paulo smirked.
"Good look on you."
They walked back slowly.
Shoes full of sand.
Talking about random stuff.
School.
Food.
Who'd mess up first in the tournament.
Nothing important.
Everything important.
Later that afternoon, Theo found Renan leaning against the fence, juggling lazily.
"Sleepy," Theo called.
Renan didn't look up. "I'm awake."
Theo stepped closer.
"Train with me."
Renan raised an eyebrow. "Didn't we just train?"
"Not like this."
Renan let the ball drop and caught it under his sole.
"What's wrong?"
Theo hesitated.
"I feel like I'm either too much… or not enough."
Renan stared at him for three full seconds.
Then burst out laughing.
"That's everyone."
Theo blinked. "Helpful."
Renan rolled the ball toward him.
"Okay. Different drill."
They moved to the side of the pitch.
No cones.
No shapes.
Just a small square marked by boots.
"One-touch only," Renan said.
Theo groaned. "Again?"
Renan shook his head. "But slow."
They began passing softly.
Renan exaggerated his body shape before every receive.
Shoulders open.
Hips turned.
Eyes scanning.
He didn't rush.
Even under imaginary pressure, he didn't speed up.
"Why are you so calm?" Theo asked mid-pass.
Renan shrugged. "Because the ball doesn't panic."
Theo missed his next touch.
Renan smirked. "You panic."
Theo narrowed his eyes.
Renan stepped closer.
"You play like something is chasing you."
Theo froze for a fraction of a second.
Renan noticed.
"But nothing is," Renan continued. "You're ahead of the defender most times. But your brain runs faster than your legs."
They switched roles.
Renan applied light pressure now.
Theo focused on breathing.
Control.
Pause.
Release.
Again.
Control.
Pause.
Release.
After ten minutes, Theo's tempo shifted.
Not slower.
More deliberate.
Renan nodded approvingly.
"You don't need five moves," he said. "You need one that hurts."
Theo smirked. "That's a striker's line."
Renan shrugged. "Good football is universal."
They ended with a 1v1 in a tight square.
Renan didn't tackle aggressively.
He waited.
Forced Theo to commit.
The first time, Theo rushed.
Lost.
Second time, he hesitated too long.
Lost.
Third time, he paused — just enough — then exploded past with a single sharp touch.
Renan clapped once.
"There."
Theo grinned.
"That's yours."
As they walked off the pitch together, Renan nudged him lightly.
"You're scary when you stop trying to impress."
Theo looked at him.
"And when I don't?"
Renan smirked.
"You're still scary. Just noisy."
Theo laughed.
For the first time in days, the feeling wasn't hollow.
It was building.
That evening, the team gathered around Lucas's phone.
Tournament bracket.
Santos on the left side.
Theo scanned down.
Quarter final potential.
Semi-final projection.
Opposite side.
Palmeiras.
No one said anything.
Paulo whistled softly.
"Could be interesting."
Theo didn't react outwardly.
But somewhere inside, something sharpened.
Not pressure.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Across the city, Luke was training too.
And whether they wanted it or not—
The lines were slowly being drawn.
*"If you trained with Theo, what will u tell him and what kind of drills will you have?