© NATIONAL YOUTH TOURNAMENT — FULL BRACKET
Total Teams: 32
Single-elimination knockout.
One match per round. No second leg.
: ROUND OF 32
Santos vs Grêmio Novo Horizonte
Palmeiras vs Atlético Mineiro U17
Flamengo vs Bahia
Fluminense vs Vasco
São Paulo vs Internacional
Cruzeiro vs Botafogo
Corinthians vs Fortaleza
Athletico PR vs Goiás
Ceará vs Sport Recife
Vitória vs América MG
Ponte Preta vs Chapecoense
Bragantino vs Avaí
Santos B vs Londrina
Paraná vs Náutico
Figueirense vs Cuiabá
Coritiba vs Juventude
The bus didn't feel like a bus.
It felt like a container holding noise that hadn't decided whether to explode or suffocate.
Paulo tapped his knee rapidly.
Davi was unusually quiet.
Lucas had his phone out.
Not music.
Notes.
Always notes.
Paulo leaned across the aisle and peeked.
"Are you revising tactics or studying for an exam?"
Lucas didn't look up.
"If you'd listened during analysis, I wouldn't need to."
Paulo gasped.
"Crazy. He insulted me with homework."
Davi from the back: "Professor probably has a PowerPoint ready."
"I do," Lucas said calmly.
The entire bus groaned.
Renan had his hood over his head.
Eyes closed.
Paulo nudged him.
"You dead?"
"Saving battery," Renan muttered.
Theo smiled faintly.
Theo sat by the window.
Outside, banners hung across streetlights.
National Youth Knockout — Round of 32.
For the first time, this wasn't academy football.
This was bracket football.
Lose and go home.
Paulo breaks the silence
"So," Paulo said, looking at Theo,
"first real tournament. You ready?"
Theo shrugged.
"Define ready."
Lucas answered before Paulo could.
"Ready means you don't overrun your first touch."
Paulo smirked. "Professor already in match mode."
Davi leaned forward.
"Doesn't matter who they are. We score early, they panic."
Renan shook his head.
Davi suddenly leaned forward between seats.
"Alright. First goal scorer?"
Paulo raised a hand instantly.
"Me."
"You're a right back," Theo said.
"Exactly. No one marks us. We're ghosts."
Davi snorted.
"You cross like a ghost too."
"Shut up, Brick. You need three chances to score one."
"Still score."
"Still ugly."
They both stared at each other.
Then burst out laughing.
Stadium smaller than professional grounds.
But loud.
Very loud.
Theo stepped off the bus and froze.
Not because of the pitch.
Because of the stands.
He saw them immediately.
His grandmother. White scarf. Smiling.
His father. Arms crossed. Serious.
Gabriel waving dramatically.
His mother standing still — eyes soft.
For a second, tournament noise faded.
Paulo followed his gaze.
"They came?"
Theo nodded.
"Good," Paulo said quietly.
"Now you can't play bad."
Theo elbowed him.
But his chest tightened.
This wasn't street football.
This wasn't academy training.
They were here.
Watching.
Coach Vale stood in front of the board.
Serious.
Measured.
Behind him — formation drawn.
🔵 Santos Formation: 4-3-3
GK: Diego
RB: Paulo
CB: Luan & Marco
LB: Henrique
CM: Lucas (deep link)
CM: Renan (free interior)
CM: Caio (box-to-box)
RW: Theo
LW: Felipe
ST: Davi
Coach tapped the board.
"They sit in a 4-4-2 mid-block."
He flipped to the second diagram.
🔴 Novo Horizonte Formation: 4-4-2
GK: Mateus Andrade
RB: Pedro Lima
CB: João & Tiago
LB: Vinicius
RM: Bruno
CM: Rafael & Otávio
LM: Matheus
ST: Eduardo & Alan
Coach circled the goalkeeper's name.
"Mateus Andrade."
Room quiet.
"Sixteen. Generational reflexes. Excellent with feet."
Lucas nodded subtly.
"He plays high line," coach continued.
"He'll step outside the box if needed."
Paulo whistled low.
Coach continued.
"They concede few goals because he organizes the back four constantly. Loud. Precise."
Renan leaned back.
"So we test him early."
Coach nodded.
"Yes. But not foolishly."
He drew arrows.
"Wide overloads. Quick switches. Drag their midfield narrow. Then isolate their fullbacks."
He looked directly at Theo.
"Patience first 20 minutes."
Theo nodded once.
Coach added:
"Mateus is brave. He commits early. Watch his weight shift."
Lucas looked at Theo.
"Low driven shots," he whispered.
Coach heard him.
"Exactly."
He pointed to Davi.
"Occupy both center backs. Don't chase wide."
Davi nodded.
Paulo raised a hand.
"What about counters?"
Coach drew a fast arrow.
"They release immediately to left striker. Fast. We must track."
He turned serious.
"This is knockout. No second chance."
Silence.
Then softer:
"Play your game. But play together."
In the stands.
Gabriel leaned forward.
"Look at him. Standing like he owns the place."
Father didn't smile.
"He's nervous."
Mother squeezed grandmother's hand.
Grandmother whispered:
"He always was before something important."
Father's eyes didn't leave the pitch.
"He just doesn't show it."
Gabriel nudged him.
"You proud?"
Father paused.
"…yes."
Players lined up.
Novo Horizonte across from them.
Theo finally saw him.
Mateus Andrade.
Tall. Calm. Almost expressionless.
Gloves on. Eyes scanning.
Not nervous.
Studying.
Theo felt something strange.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Mateus looked back at him briefly.
No smile.
Just assessment.
Paulo leaned toward Theo.
"That's the kid?"
Theo nodded.
"He doesn't blink."
Lucas muttered.
"Good. Means he commits."
Davi cracked his neck.
"I'll test him first."
Renan whispered to Theo:
"Remember. Not everything needs to be dramatic."
Theo nodded.
But his pulse was loud now.
On the pitch.
Warm-up passes.
Lucas jogged beside Theo.
"First 10 minutes. Stay wide."
Theo replied quietly:
"I know."
Lucas looked at him.
"Don't rush the first duel."
Theo didn't answer.
Paulo jogged by.
"If you cook their right back, I overlap. If not, recycle."
"Trust me?" Theo asked.
Paulo smirked.
"Always."
Davi shouted from center.
"Early cross if I signal."
Renan passed softly to Theo.
"Look for me second phase."
Theo controlled.
Clean.
Breath steady.
Whistle about to blow.
Theo looked at stands one last time.
Grandmother smiling.
Father serious.
Gabriel shouting something dramatic.
Mother praying quietly.
He turned back to the pitch.
Across from him —
Mateus Andrade adjusted his gloves.
Mateus rolled the ball once between his palms.
Breathing steady.
Crowd noise blurred into nothing.
He didn't hear cheers.
Didn't hear whistles.
Only distance.
Angles.
Movement.
Number 11 again.
Right wing.
Good strike.
Clean technique.
Left foot slightly open on contact.
Predictable.
He tossed the ball up once.
Caught it.
Exhaled.
Same as always.
Same game.
Different jersey.
He had seen better.
He would see worse.
Doesn't matter.
Ball.
Angle.
Solve.
That's it.
He placed it down.
And didn't look away.
Face blank.
Whistle.
The sound cut through everything.
Not loud.
Just final.
Like a door locking behind you.
Theo's first step felt heavier than usual.
Grass slightly wet.
Studs bit deeper.
The ball moved faster than training.
Passes snapped.
Voices sharper.
Everything tighter.
Lucas received first.
One touch.
Switched right instantly.
Theo.
The ball reached him quicker than expected.
He opened his body—
A shadow already there.
Their left back didn't wait.
No space.
No respect.
Shoulder straight into ribs.
Welcome.
Theo stumbled.
Kept it.
Barely.
Back pass.
Reset.
Heartbeat loud.
Too loud.
Second phase.
Renan slipped through two midfielders like they weren't real.
Laid it wide again.
Paulo overlapped.
Theo timed it perfectly this time.
Slip.
Run.
Cross early.
Low and vicious.
Davi attacked near post—
CRACK.
Clean strike.
Top corner.
Goal.
It was a goal.
It had to be—
A hand.
Out of nowhere.
Not stretch.
Not desperation.
Controlled.
Strong.
Like swatting a fly.
The ball didn't even spin.
Just redirected.
Wide.
Corner.
Theo froze.
Looked up.
The keeper didn't celebrate.
Didn't shout.
Didn't pump fists.
He just walked.
Picked the ball up.
Rolled it out calmly.
Like nothing special happened.
Like that save was routine.
Theo felt something uncomfortable settle in his chest.
This wasn't nerves.
This was…
resistance.
He was already walking back into position.
Adjusting his sleeve.
Talking to his center back like they were discussing homework.
"Watch the far post next time."
Normal voice.
Calm.
Like it was nothing.
Like that shot wasn't worth remembering.
Theo stood there longer than he meant to.
Chest still tight.
Hands still shaking.
And that's when it hit him.
Everyone else looked like they were playing a tournament.
That guy looked like he was at training.
Whistle. Corner. Crowd noise rising.
Mateus didn't look at Theo once.
Didn't even register him.
Just raised one hand.
Organized his line.
Waited.