The youth team had just finished a draining training session when Gabriel heard his name.
"Silva. Locker room."
The voice was sharp, belonging to the assistant coach. Gabriel's chest tightened. He wiped the sweat from his face, heart pounding, and walked quickly inside.
There, waiting, was the head coach of the professional squad. His presence alone filled the room with gravity.
"You've been working hard, garoto," the coach said, his voice calm but firm. "We've seen your matches. The clássicos, the goals, the way you handle pressure. You're not just a boy anymore."
Gabriel swallowed, his throat dry.
The coach continued. "This Sunday, we have a friendly at the Maracanã. The first team will face Portuguesa. I want you in the squad. You'll get minutes. Show me you belong."
Gabriel froze. Then his chest nearly burst. His dream had just been spoken into reality.
"Yes, professor," he managed to say, voice trembling. "I won't waste it."
---
Under the Floodlights
The day arrived. The Maracanã glowed like a living creature, its lights spilling into the night sky. This time, Gabriel wasn't walking as a mascot. He was on the bench, in full uniform, the Flamengo crest pressed against his heart.
His mother was in the stands, tears shining in her eyes. João too, cheering loudly, a brother in spirit.
As the match began, Gabriel sat on the edge of his seat. Every touch of Arrascaeta, every run of Gabigol, every tackle of David Luiz—it was surreal.
Then, in the second half, the coach turned.
"Silva. Warm up."
Gabriel's legs trembled as he jogged the sideline, the roar of the crowd washing over him. When his number lit up on the board, the stadium erupted.
---
The First Touch
His first touch was simple: a pass back. But the crowd cheered anyway. They knew the boy. They knew his story.
Minutes later, Arrascaeta threaded a ball between defenders. Gabriel darted into the box, chest tight, and struck first-time. The keeper parried, but Gabriel followed, slamming the rebound into the net.
GOAL.
The Maracanã roared. His name echoed: "Gabriel! Gabriel! Gabriel!"
Tears blurred his vision as his teammates swarmed him. Gabigol ruffled his hair with a grin.
"Careful, garoto. If you keep this up, I'll lose my spot."
---
A Statement
But Gabriel wasn't done.
Near the end, Everton Ribeiro floated a cross into the box. Gabriel leapt, higher than anyone, and met it with a powerful header. The ball crashed into the net.
Two goals. At the Maracanã. In his first match.
The final whistle blew, and the stadium still sang his name. Reporters scribbled furiously. Fans shouted that a new star had been born.
Gabriel knelt on the grass, tears dripping onto the sacred field. He kissed the crest on his chest and whispered:
"Mom, we made it."
---
The Rising Flame
In the locker room, the veterans clapped for him. Arrascaeta hugged him, laughing. "You're special, garoto. Keep your feet on the ground, and the sky will be yours."
The coach simply nodded. "This is only the beginning. Don't let it end here."
That night, Gabriel walked out of the stadium into the Rio night, his boots still muddy, his heart blazing.
He was no longer just the boy from the backyard.
He was Flamengo's rising flame.