Chapter 90 – On the Edge
Thiago had never been so tired without running a single sprint.
His bedroom felt smaller than usual tonight. The walls, covered in peeling posters of Ronaldo and Ronaldinho, seemed to press in closer. The desk lamp buzzed softly, casting long shadows across the mess of papers covering every inch of his floor.
He sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, knees aching from staying in one position too long. The Puma folder—sleek black with silver lettering that caught the light—lay open near his foot. The Ajax contract, slightly crumpled from being handled too much, sat in the center like some kind of trophy. Notes from Lyon and Osasuna were scattered around it, some with coffee stains, others with scribbled thoughts in the margins.
And then there were the Dortmund papers.
He’d pulled them from the back of his drawer where he’d hidden them, like he wasn’t ready to face them yet. Just scouting reports, really. No official offer. But Klopp’s name was on one of the pages, and that made them feel heavier than anything else.
Thiago leaned back until his shoulders hit the edge of his bed frame. The wood dug into his skin through his thin t-shirt. He stared up at the ceiling, where a single crack ran from one corner to the middle like a lightning bolt.
"Too much," he muttered to the empty room. His voice sounded strange—too loud and too quiet at the same time.
His phone was warm in his hand from being held too long. He scrolled through his contacts, thumb hovering over João’s name. They’d been friends since they were kids kicking a half-deflated ball in the streets. If anyone could make sense of this, it was him.
The call connected after two rings.
"Bro!" João’s voice came through, slightly breathless like he’d been walking fast. "What’s up? You alive?"
Thiago let out a laugh that was more air than sound. "Barely."