The week after the youth victory was different. Reporters didn't just mention Gabriel's name—they highlighted him. His goal, his composure, his calm under pressure.
But what caught more attention came from inside the club: Gabriel had been called again to train with the professionals. This time, not as a guest. Not as an extra body. As part of the session.
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Among Legends Again
The training ground buzzed louder than usual. Cameras were allowed in, journalists eager for glimpses of the stars.
Gabriel jogged onto the pitch in full kit, chest tight but steady. Around him, giants moved: David Luiz shouting instructions, Everton Ribeiro commanding with calm authority, Arrascaeta weaving magic with the ball at his feet, and Gabigol smirking, his swagger filling the air.
This was no longer a dream. This was reality.
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The Drill
The coaches set up a full scrimmage. Gabriel lined up on the left side, opposite Gabigol.
From the start, the game was lightning. The professionals' movements were sharper, quicker, almost impossible to track. Gabriel nearly drowned in the pace—but then something clicked.
Arrascaeta received the ball in midfield, head already up, scanning. Gabriel's instincts screamed. He sprinted into space, before the ball had even left Arrascaeta's foot.
And there it was. A perfect pass, slicing through defenders, landing exactly in Gabriel's path.
He didn't think. He didn't panic. He chipped the ball first-time over the keeper's shoulder. The net rippled.
The field went silent for a second—then bursts of laughter and applause erupted.
"Olha só o moleque!" Arrascaeta shouted, grinning wide. "That's vision!"
Gabigol jogged over, slapping Gabriel on the back. "Careful, garoto. That kind of goal? The torcida's gonna want you tomorrow."
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A Glimpse of the Future
Later in the scrimmage, another moment came. Gabriel received the ball with his back to goal, two defenders crushing him. He flicked it with his heel, spun, and released a no-look pass into space—João (who had been invited to join this session as well) ran onto it and finished.
The field erupted again. Even the coaches clapped, shaking their heads.
David Luiz jogged past, muttering, "Genialidade. Keep that fire, menino."
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The Lesson
After training, Gabriel sat exhausted, heart still racing. Arrascaeta walked over, handing him a bottle of water.
"You know why that worked today?" the Uruguayan asked.
Gabriel shook his head.
"Because you trusted the shirt. You weren't playing for yourself—you played for the team. That's Flamengo. It's not about showing off. It's about carrying everyone with you."
Gabriel listened, the words settling deep into his chest.
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A Silent Promise
That night, as he walked home, Rio buzzing with life around him, Gabriel's thoughts raced. He had felt it—a glimpse of the player he could become. Not just a boy with dreams, but a striker capable of creating magic, of carrying the flame forward.
On the rooftop, he looked toward the distant glow of the Maracanã.
"One day," he whispered, "I'll bring my genius there. Not just for me. For the Nação. For Flamengo."
The boy from the backyard was growing. And the world was beginning to notice.