Months had passed since Gabriel's magical Brasileirão nights. In that time, he had gone from promise to starter, from curiosity to certainty. Flamengo trusted him. The fans adored him. Rivals feared him.
The boy from the backyard had grown.
Now, another step awaited.
One afternoon, after training, the coach called him into the office. On the desk lay a yellow jersey with his name on the back.
"Parabéns, garoto," the coach said. "You've been called up to the Seleção Sub-20. Represent your country. Show them who you are."
Gabriel picked up the jersey with trembling hands. The crest of Brazil gleamed in the light. His chest swelled. He wasn't just Flamengo's flame anymore. He was carrying the hopes of a nation.
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Life Beyond the Pitch
The fame had grown heavy at times, but Gabriel wasn't alone anymore.
Mel had become a constant presence in his days. Not always in the spotlight, not in the loud world of parties and paparazzi, but in the quiet moments—messages before games, late-night calls when pressure kept him awake, walks in Rio when the noise of the city faded into something softer.
She grounded him, reminded him that beneath the jersey, he was still just a boy who loved football.
"You'll wear the yellow shirt now," she told him one night, her tone half-teasing, half-serious. "Don't forget who you are in it."
"I won't," Gabriel promised. "I'll make it shine."
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The International Stage
The Sub-20 tournament brought Brazil to Argentina. Stadiums filled with scouts from Europe, eager to see the next generation.
Brazil's rivals were fierce: Argentina, with a young striker already tipped for stardom; Uruguay, tough and relentless; and even France, whose youth system overflowed with talent.
Gabriel felt the weight of the shirt as he stood in the tunnel, the anthem booming, the yellow jersey clinging to his chest.
"Vai, Brasil!" the crowd roared.
His heart pounded. This wasn't just about Flamengo anymore. This was the world's stage.
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The Match
Against Argentina, the game was brutal. Tackles flew, tension high. The Albiceleste fans jeered, shouting to shake the young Brazilians.
In the 35th minute, Gabriel received the ball near the sideline. Two defenders boxed him in.
He stopped, rolled the ball under his foot, and then—like lightning—cut between them with a nutmeg and a burst of pace. The crowd gasped. He surged into the box, feinted the keeper, and finished with a calm strike.
GOAL.
Brazilian fans erupted, chanting his name. The commentators shouted:
"Gabriel Silva! Remember the name!"
Later, in the second half, he dazzled again—dragging three defenders with his dribbles before slipping a perfect assist to his teammate.
Brazil won 2–0. Gabriel scored one, created another.
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A Star Rising Higher
After the match, scouts scribbled furiously. Journalists buzzed with new headlines: "Flamengo's jewel shines for Brazil."
Back in his hotel room, Gabriel stared at the jersey on his bed, sweat still clinging to it. He thought of his mother, of João, of Mel.
He picked up his phone. A message waited.
*"I watched," Mel had written. "You looked like you were born for it."
Gabriel smiled, leaning back, heart steady.
The boy from the backyard had carried the flame into Flamengo. Now, he was carrying it onto the world's stage.
And he wasn't done yet.