The morning sun poured through the bus window as Gabriel leaned his head against the glass, watching Rio roll by. He hadn't slept well. Not from exhaustion, but from noise—his phone buzzing nonstop with messages, calls, and notifications. Clips of his goal in training with the first team were circulating on social media. Headlines too:
"Flamengo's New Jewel?"
"Gabriel Silva, the boy who could be the next striker."
"Backyard to Gávea: A Rising Flame."
At first, he had smiled, showing his mother the clips. She cried, hugging him tightly, whispering that his father—wherever he was—would have been proud. But as the hours passed, the excitement turned heavy. Each new headline felt less like praise and more like a chain wrapping tighter around his chest.
---
Whispers in the Air
When he arrived at the youth training ground, the difference was immediate. Eyes followed him everywhere. Teammates who once ignored him now muttered his name under their breath. Some clapped him on the back with forced smiles. Others narrowed their eyes, bitterness clear.
"Look who's famous now," one boy whispered as he passed.
Another muttered, "Hope he doesn't forget where he came from."
Gabriel kept his head down, pretending not to hear. But each word stung. He wasn't used to attention. He wasn't used to being the one in the spotlight.
The sharpest gaze of all came from Lucas. The rival sat on the bench, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"So the papers love you now, backyard boy," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Let's see if you're still their 'jewel' after the next match."
Gabriel clenched his jaw, saying nothing. He wanted to reply, to bite back—but João's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Save it for the field," João whispered.
---
The Coach's Warning
That afternoon, the youth coach gathered the team. His eyes lingered on Gabriel longer than anyone else's.
"Listen up," he barked. "I don't care what the press says. I don't care about headlines or promises. Here, you prove yourself every day. Fame doesn't win games—work does. If you think you've made it just because your face is on TV, you're already finished."
Though he didn't name him, Gabriel felt the words stabbing into his chest. He lowered his head, fingers curling around his knees.
After the meeting, the coach pulled him aside. His tone was quieter but firmer.
"Silva, this attention… it's poison if you let it sink in. The same mouths that praise you now will spit on you after one bad game. You understand?"
Gabriel nodded. His throat felt tight, but he forced himself to answer.
"I understand, professor. I'll fight harder."
The coach studied him for a long moment before finally letting him go.
---
Cracks in the Mirror
That night, Gabriel scrolled through his phone again. Some comments praised him. Others already compared him to legends—Zico, Adriano, Gabigol. The words made his stomach twist. He wasn't them. He was just a boy still trying to prove himself.
Then came the darker comments. Anonymous accounts sneering, rivals mocking him, strangers predicting his downfall.
"Another hyped-up kid who'll disappear in a year."
"Not even close to Lucas's level."
"He'll never handle the pressure."
Gabriel threw the phone onto his mattress, burying his face in his hands. The noise was suffocating. He longed for the days when the only voices were his friends cheering on the dusty backyard field.
But then he remembered the roar of the Maracanã. He remembered his mother's eyes, full of pride.
He sat up, fists clenched. No. I can't break now. I can't let them be right.
---
The Fire Within
At training the next day, something changed. Gabriel ran harder. Tackled sharper. Called for the ball with more authority. Every pass, every dribble, every sprint was his silent answer to the noise outside.
Lucas noticed. Their battles on the field became more ferocious, sparks flying with every clash. Teammates watched, holding their breath as if each duel carried more weight than the match itself.
João stayed close, steady as ever. "Don't let him get in your head," he said during a water break. "You're not fighting Lucas. You're fighting yourself."
Gabriel nodded. He knew João was right. The real rival wasn't Lucas, or the press, or the strangers online. It was the doubt gnawing at his chest.
---
A Silent Vow
That evening, Gabriel sat on the rooftop of his small home, the city lights flickering in the distance. The air smelled of smoke and fried food drifting from the streets below.
He looked up at the stars, remembering Gabigol's words in the tunnel: "Remember this sound, kid. One day, it'll be for you too."
"I'll get there," Gabriel whispered to the night. His voice was low, steady. "Not for the papers. Not for Lucas. For my mother. For everyone who believed when no one else did."
The city roared on around him, but inside Gabriel's chest, a quieter roar began to grow.
Not of fear. Not of doubt.
But of promise.