The gates of the Flamengo first-team facility towered above Gabriel like an entirely new world. He walked in with his boots slung over his shoulder, heart racing so hard he swore everyone could hear it.
Inside, the pace was different. The building smelled of polish and grass, the air heavier with expectation. Jerseys with famous names hung on hooks. Coaches and staff moved with sharp precision. Everything screamed professional.
Gabriel swallowed hard. I don't belong here… not yet.
But then he saw them. The players. Men he'd only ever seen on TV, larger than life, now tying boots, laughing, stretching casually as though this was just another day. One striker—an idol Gabriel had pretended to be on the playground—jogged past and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Nervous?" he asked with a grin.
Gabriel froze, stammering. "A little…"
"Good. Nerves mean you care. Just don't let them eat you alive."
---
Baptism in Red and Black
The scrimmage began. From the very first whistle, Gabriel felt the difference. The speed. The precision. Passes zipped like bullets, tackles thundered with authority, voices barked orders nonstop.
Within minutes, he was drenched in sweat, lungs burning. The ball rarely stayed at his feet for more than two touches before someone pressed him. These weren't boys. These were men forged in fire.
And yet… he refused to hide.
When the ball came, he moved instinctively—quick touches, sharp passes, always fighting to stay involved. He chased every lost cause, pressed every defender, even if it meant collapsing after the whistle.
Then came his moment.
A midfielder slipped a pass through the line. Gabriel darted between two defenders, heart in his throat. The keeper rushed forward, massive, filling the goal. For a split second, Gabriel froze—then he remembered the backyard, the flip-flop goals, his mother's voice in the stands.
He flicked the ball over the keeper's outstretched hand. It bounced once. Twice. Then kissed the net.
Silence. Then shouts. Teammates clapped, coaches exchanged quick nods.
Gabriel stood frozen, chest heaving. He had just scored against the first team.
---
Earning a Glance
The session ended, and Gabriel sat on the grass, gasping for air. One of the veteran defenders passed by and ruffled his hair.
"Not bad, garoto. You've got guts."
Another, older player added with a smile, "Keep training like that, and who knows? Maybe you'll be back here sooner than you think."
The words struck deeper than any cheer from the crowd. They weren't promises, but they were acknowledgment. He mattered.
As Gabriel walked off the pitch, legs trembling, he glanced back at the field where legends trained. His chest swelled with something new—not just a dream, but the taste of it.
For the first time, he believed: I can be one of them.