The day of the match arrived with the weight of a storm. Gabriel woke before dawn, staring at the cracked ceiling of his small room. His boots rested by the door, polished for the first time in their lives. His Flamengo kit—red and black stripes shining under the weak morning light—waited on the chair.
His mother stood in the kitchen, stirring coffee. She looked tired, like always, but her eyes softened when she saw him.
"You look like a real player already, meu filho," she said.
Gabriel smiled, trying to hide the nervous tremor in his hands. "Today's just the start, mãe. I'll make you proud."
"You already do." She kissed his forehead, and for a brief moment, the storm inside him calmed.
---
The Stadium
It wasn't the Maracanã. Not yet. But to Gabriel, the youth team pitch might as well have been the biggest stage in the world. The stands were packed with families, scouts, and young fans waving red-and-black flags. The drums echoed, the chants rose—Mengo! Mengo!—and the energy surged through his veins like fire.
The coach gathered the team in a huddle. His voice was sharp, but his eyes were steady.
"Listen up. This isn't just a match—it's your chance to prove you belong in this shirt. Remember, Flamengo doesn't forgive weakness. Now go out there and fight."
Gabriel's heart pounded as they walked onto the field. His mother's voice rang out from the stands—he couldn't see her, but he felt her. Vai, Gabriel! Mostra quem você é!
---
The Game Begins
The whistle blew. The pace was brutal from the first second. Gabriel ran, pressed, fought for space. The older players on the opposing side were stronger, their tackles heavier, but he refused to back down. Every time he touched the ball, Lucas was nearby, ready to sneer, ready to steal the spotlight.
In the first half, Lucas struck first. A curling shot from outside the box—goal. The crowd roared. Lucas ran toward the stands, arms wide, basking in the attention. His eyes flicked toward Gabriel with a smirk that said, Can you keep up?
Gabriel clenched his jaw. I won't let him have this game.
---
The Moment
Second half. The score was 1–1. Time was running out.
Then it happened—a long ball from João, soaring through the air like a lifeline. Gabriel sprinted, chest tightening, legs burning. He controlled it with his chest, the ball bouncing perfectly in front of him. One defender closed in. He dropped his shoulder, feinted left, and cut right.
Now it was just him and the keeper.
The noise of the crowd blurred into silence. His mother's voice rose above it all: Vai, meu filho!
He struck. Clean. Sharp. The ball kissed the net. Goal.
The stadium erupted. Drums thundered, flags waved, chants of "Gabriel! Gabriel!" filled the air. He dropped to his knees, tears stinging his eyes.
---
Rivalry Ignited
Lucas jogged past him, clapping slowly.
"Not bad, backyard boy," he muttered, his tone sharp. "But this isn't over."
Gabriel didn't answer. He didn't need to. His answer had already hit the back of the net.
As the final whistle blew, his teammates swarmed him, João lifting him off the ground with a laugh. Gabriel's heart swelled—not just with pride, but with relief. He had taken his first step into the world he had always dreamed of.
And deep down, he knew: this was only the beginning.