The sun hadn't even risen when Gabriel jogged through the empty training pitch, his breath fogging in the cool morning air. The floodlights still glowed faintly, casting long shadows across the grass. No one else was there. No coaches. No teammates. Just Gabriel, his boots, and the ball.
He placed it at midfield, took a deep breath, and sprinted forward. Shot after shot, pass after pass, he repeated the same movements until his lungs burned. The miss from the practice match still haunted him, replaying in his mind like a cruel echo. Every strike was his way of erasing it.
By the time the others arrived for official training, sweat had soaked through his shirt. Some of the boys snickered. "Trying to be a hero, backyard boy?" Lucas called out, his laugh sharp. Gabriel didn't answer. He simply picked up the ball and kept going.
---
A Bond Forged in Struggle
After practice, João jogged over, his long legs carrying him with ease.
"You're crazy, you know that?" he said, chuckling. "You've been out here since dawn?"
Gabriel wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "If I don't, I'll fall behind."
João clapped him on the back. "Or maybe you'll collapse."
But his tone wasn't mocking—it was warm. Encouraging. The two began training together in the afternoons, João practicing tackles and headers while Gabriel worked on dribbles and finishing. Sometimes they stayed until the sun dipped behind the city skyline, their laughter mixing with the thud of the ball and the cicadas singing in the trees.
"You're the only forward who actually makes me sweat," João admitted one evening, flopping down on the grass.
Gabriel smiled faintly. "Then we'll make each other better."
---
Rivalry in Red and Black
But while friendship grew on one side, rivalry burned on the other.
Lucas didn't like being overshadowed. Whenever Gabriel scored in training, Lucas made sure to answer with something flashier—a long-range strike, a nutmeg, a mocking wink. The coaches noticed both of them, writing things on clipboards, murmuring to each other.
One day, during a scrimmage, Lucas shoved Gabriel after a challenge.
"Don't think a few tricks will make you Flamengo," he hissed.
Gabriel's fists curled. The urge to swing at him pulsed through his veins. But João stepped between them.
"Save it for the game," João warned.
The coach's whistle cut through the tension. "Play on!"
Gabriel exhaled sharply. He didn't want to fight with fists. He wanted to fight with goals. With sweat. With everything he had.
---
The Spark
That night, as Gabriel collapsed onto his mattress back home, exhaustion wrapped around him like a heavy blanket. But for the first time, it wasn't despair that filled him. It was fire.
He whispered to himself, eyes heavy with sleep:
"I'll rise… not for them. Not even for me. For my mom. For everything she gave up. For everything we never had."
And in that quiet vow, Gabriel's dream sharpened into something stronger than desire. It became purpose.