Chapter 67 – Breaking the Rhythm
The night had become a living thing inside Allianz Parque—a pulsing, heaving beast of noise and heat and desperation. The air itself seemed to vibrate with sixty thousand voices screaming in unison, the scent of burnt flares and spilled beer mixing with the earthy tang of freshly watered grass. Every blade of turf glistened under the stadium lights, each droplet reflecting the chaos unfolding above.
Thiago wiped his forearm across his brow, the sweat stinging his eyes as he jogged back into position. His lungs burned with each breath, his muscles screaming from the relentless pace, but his mind remained eerily calm—a still point in the hurricane. The scoreboard read 1-1, but the numbers lied. This wasn’t equilibrium. This was the eye of the storm.
Across the pitch, Neymar materialized from the chaos like a phantom. One moment he wasn’t there—the next, he was collecting the ball near the left touchline with that casual arrogance only true genius possessed. The entire stadium seemed to inhale as he received the pass, even the Palmeiras faithful falling silent for half a heartbeat.
Then he danced.
A Santos fullback overlapped as a decoy. Neymar ignored him.
Instead, he executed a dragback so sudden it left the pressing midfielder lunging at empty air, his studs tearing up a divot of grass where the ball had been. A centerback charged in—too late. Neymar cut inside with two quick touches, changed direction with a hip swivel that defied physics, then threaded a pass through a gap no mortal player should have seen.
The shot that followed was low and vicious. Palmeiras’ keeper reacted with feline reflexes, getting just enough of his fingertips to push it wide.
Corner.
The tension snapped taut enough to cut skin.
Neymar strolled to the corner flag like he owned the stadium, the home crowd pelting him with whistles and profanities. He didn’t flinch. Just lifted the ball with delicate fingers, kissed his fingertips, and placed it down with the care of a jeweler setting a diamond.
Thiago positioned himself near the edge of the box, marking the secondary runner while keeping one eye on Neymar’s setup. Every muscle in his body coiled tight.