Chapter 47 - 46 – Through Grit, Not Glory
The day after the late equalizer, the headlines barely mentioned Thiago. The sports pages focused on Nando’s chip—the one that forced the rebound—and Rafael’s captaincy under pressure. His name was there, just not spotlighted. A footnote to the action. Another promising youngster in the Palmeiras machine.
He didn’t mind. Not fully. Not anymore.
Thiago arrived at the training ground two hours early. Not to prove anything, not even to get ahead—he needed rhythm. He needed to feel the ball again. He brought his boots, laced clean, no dirt from yesterday’s match, and stepped onto the empty auxiliary pitch. The city skyline still blinked in slow pulses behind the fencing. The ground crew hadn’t even finished spraying the lines yet.
He worked alone. First touches. Tight dribbles. Cones to simulate defenders. He worked with silence. Thoughtless, fluid. Only when his legs began to sting did he pause, pull off his bib, and sip water from the bottle he brought himself. Rafael hadn’t arrived yet. Neither had Nando. Just him, the dew, and the sunrise.
Coach Eneas spotted him from a distance. Said nothing. Just a nod through the windowed corridor.
The official session started late. The team gathered on the main pitch. It was a recovery day for most. But Thiago chose extra rotations. Eneas allowed it. So he drilled while others stretched, shadowed plays while the physios handed out ice packs. Nando walked past him once, shoulder brushing. No words exchanged. Just the usual static.
The next match was three days away—an away trip to Ituano, a team that defended in deep trenches and countered with ruthlessness. A team that would not give you beauty, only ugliness. Thiago had been on the bench the last time they played. This time, he knew he’d start.
And something in him burned at that thought.
That night, Thiago called his mother. It had been too long. Her voice was warm and cautious.
"You’re not eating enough," she said halfway into the call.
"How do you know?"