The entire week in Rio buzzed with one word: Fla-Flu.
For Gabriel, it wasn't just another match. It was the clássico. The stadium was sold out, with more than 70,000 fans expected. Every newspaper headline carried his face. "The promise faces his first clássico." The pressure was a storm.
On the bus to the Maracanã, Gabriel sat by the window, staring at the sea of fans outside, flags waving, drums pounding. His chest tightened. His mother's words from the night before echoed:
"Play with joy, Biel. That's your gift. Let the ball dance with you."
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The Roar of the Crowd
The Maracanã was electric. Red-and-black on one side, green-and-white on the other, each chant trying to drown the other out. Fireworks exploded above, smoke drifting across the stands.
Fluminense's squad featured young names already making noise: Alexsander, a dynamic midfielder with endless energy; Isaac Rodrigues, a quick and tricky winger; and John Kennedy, sharp in front of goal.
Gabriel looked at them from across the pitch and thought: This is my stage now.
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The First Touches
From the whistle, the game was fire. Fluminense pressed high, forcing mistakes, trying to shake the boy early.
In the 8th minute, Gabriel received the ball on the wing. A defender closed fast, lunging to steal. Gabriel feinted right, let the ball roll between his legs, and spun left in a 360 turn. The crowd gasped.
"Olé!" echoed through the stands as he sprinted into space, slipping a pass to Arrascaeta. The chance didn't become a goal, but Flamengo's fans roared as if it had.
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The First Goal
At the 27th minute, Everton Ribeiro intercepted a pass and launched a quick ball forward. Gabriel anticipated it, darting behind the defensive line.
The ball bounced once. Gabriel controlled it with his chest, let it drop, and, before the keeper could close him down, flicked it over with a delicate lob.
The net rippled. Goal.
The red-and-black half of the Maracanã erupted into chaos. Fans jumped, screamed, waved flags. Teammates mobbed him.
Gabigol shouted in his ear, laughing: "That's how you announce yourself in a clássico!"
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The Dribble Show
But Gabriel wasn't finished. In the second half, he truly danced.
At the 60th minute, he received the ball near midfield, three defenders rushing at him. He flicked it past the first with a step-over, dragged it back to escape the second, and nutmegged the third cleanly. The crowd lost its mind, chanting his name.
He surged into the box, fired with his left foot—but the keeper saved with his fingertips. Even without a goal, the dribble was replayed instantly on the big screen, and the stadium echoed with chants: "Gabriel! Gabriel!"
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The Second Goal
Fluminense equalized through John Kennedy at the 70th minute. Tension rose. Both sides pushed harder.
Then, in the 82nd minute, Arrascaeta picked the ball deep and threaded a perfect through-pass. Gabriel anticipated again, sprinting behind the defenders.
This time, he didn't chip. He slowed, dragged the ball sideways to make the keeper dive early, and calmly rolled it into the empty net.
2–1. Flamengo.
The red-and-black half of the stadium erupted like a volcano. The Nação screamed his name until it echoed across Rio.
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After the Whistle
The final whistle blew. Flamengo 2–1 Fluminense. Gabriel Silva, the boy from the backyard, had scored twice and dribbled like a master in his first clássico.
Reporters swarmed. Fans chanted outside. On the pitch, veterans hugged him, laughing, shaking their heads.
Arrascaeta told him quietly: "This isn't luck, garoto. This is talent. Genius. Keep your feet on the ground, and the world will bow."
As Gabriel walked off the pitch, chest heaving, sweat dripping, he lifted his eyes to the stands. His mother waved a flag, crying with joy.
And in that moment, Gabriel knew: he wasn't just playing football anymore. He was writing history.