Chapter 60 – Under the Surface
Monday’s dawn broke in silence. No street chatter, no early whistles from the dorm guard. Just the slow yawn of São Paulo waking up—and Thiago sitting by the window, legs drawn in, watching clouds drag shadows across the buildings like slow-moving giants. The city stretched before him, endless and humming, its streets still damp from overnight rain that left the air thick with petrichor and exhaust.
He hadn’t slept much.
The decision he’d made—about Europe, about Marina, about the road ahead—settled in his chest like a quiet pressure. Not painful. Not heavy. Just there, constant as his heartbeat. The sheets beside him were rumpled from restless turning, the pillow still holding the indent of his head.
The idea had stopped being a possibility whispered in dark rooms.
It was now a plan. Ink waiting for paper.
Training resumed with an edge of urgency sharp enough to cut skin. The match against Botafogo-SP was over, its memory already fading beneath the weight of what came next. Palmeiras had done enough to finish top of the table. Next came the semifinals.
Santos.
Neymar.
The name hung in every hallway whisper, every coach’s clipboard, every analyst’s nervous note scribbled in margins. Thiago didn’t need the System to tell him this was going to be the biggest match of his life so far. The air in the locker room was different today—charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
But instead of tension coiling in his gut, he felt clarity. The kind that came when the path forward was no longer a maze but a straight line.
Everything now had shape. Weight. Consequences.