Chapter 112 – System
The sun hadn’t yet crested the horizon when Thiago’s feet hit the pavement.
Dortmund slept around him—windows dark, streets empty except for the occasional night worker trudging home. His breath came in steady clouds, dissipating into the predawn gray. The air carried that peculiar stillness found only in the hour before a city wakes, when even the birds hesitate to break the silence.
He ran not because Klopp demanded it. Not because some system notification prompted him. But because his body refused to stay still after yesterday.
After watching.
The Wolfsburg match had settled in his chest like a stone—cold, heavy, impossible to ignore. Dortmund’s comfortable 1-0 win should have pleased him. The team’s cohesion, Barrios’ clinical finish, the three points—all good things. He’d even smiled when they celebrated, clapping quietly in his empty hotel room like a ghost at the feast.
But this morning, his muscles burned with restless energy.
The roads stretched before him, slick with dew, his shoes slapping against wet asphalt in a rhythm that matched his pulse. By the time he reached the training ground gates, the first hints of dawn painted the eastern sky in streaks of orange and pink. The floodlights still blazed across the empty pitches, their harsh white glow clashing with the soft morning light.
Perfect.
No staff. No teammates. Just him and the crisp morning air that smelled faintly of cut grass and damp earth.
Thiago stretched methodically, ignoring the tight pull in his right quad—a remnant from yesterday’s extra training session. The grass, still silvered with frost in shadowed patches, crunched under his cleats as he began working through drills. Simple touches at first—inside, outside, rolling the ball beneath his sole. Then sharper movements: quick turns, one-twos played against the chain-link fence, body feints that sent imaginary defenders stumbling.
Nothing flashy. Nothing for show. Just the quiet, relentless work of honing an edge.
By the time the first staff members arrived around 8:30, their breath visible in the chill, Thiago was already inside getting a rubdown from one of the physios. The treatment table felt cold against his back, the antiseptic smell of the room sharp in his nostrils.