Chapter 18 – Concrete Roots, Golden Threads
Thiago stood outside the hotel lobby with his kit bag slung over one shoulder, trophy medal still hanging around his neck.
The bus back to São Paulo was loading up. João was halfway inside already, cracking jokes, half-yelling about getting his face in the post-match photos.
But Thiago wasn’t going with them.
Coach Paulo stepped out of the building and handed him a folded sheet of paper.
"Driver’s waiting," he said.
Thiago glanced at the header on the form—Palmeiras – Official Leave Pass.
"You’ve got the weekend off," Paulo said, tone clipped like always. "Use it."
Thiago nodded.
"Where to?"
"Home."
The car ride was quiet. The city blurred past in layers: industrial outskirts, narrow favelas, glimmering highways.