Everything hurt.
Not the kind of pain you get from one bad tackle or a rough fall.
This was different.
My legs felt heavy, like someone had strapped weights to them. My lungs burned every time I tried to take a proper breath, and sweat clung to my skin like it didn't want to let go.
I bent forward slightly, hands resting on my knees, staring down at the grass.
"Still standing?" Josh's voice came from the side, calm but with that same edge as before.
I let out a short breath. "Yeah."
"Barely," Noa added behind me, dropping onto the ground with a groan. "These guys are insane…"
One of them stepped forward first. A tall centre-back, broad shoulders, short curls, arms crossed like he owned the pitch. There was something calm about him, but not soft.
"Name's Thiago Rabelo," he said. "You two the new ones?"
I nodded slightly.
"Gabriel."
He glanced at Noa, still on the floor. "And him?"
"Noa," I said. "He'll get up eventually."
"That's reassuring," Thiago replied dryly.
Another voice cut in, lighter, faster.
"You nearly passed out during the third drill," a shorter guy said, jogging over with quick steps, a grin already on his face. "That's usually where people quit."
He tapped his chest.
"Lucas Nogueira."
Winger, I guessed immediately.
Too much energy not to be.
Noa pushed himself up slightly. "I didn't quit."
Lucas smirked. "You thought about it."
"…Maybe."
A goalkeeper stood near the goal, gloves still on, watching me.
"Renato Alves," he said simply.
No introduction. No extra words.
"…You're the shotstopper here?"
He shrugged slightly. "One of them."
Thiago added from the side, "Best one."
Renato didn't react. Didn't deny it either. My grip tightened slightly at my side.
Josh stepped forward again, clapping his hands lightly. "These are the boys you'll be training with," he said. "Every day. No breaks. No special treatment."
Angus folded his arms behind him. "If you can't keep up with them…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Didn't need to.
Lucas leaned in slightly toward me. "You've got some hype around you already," he said quietly. "That shot you pulled earlier? People are talking."
Lucas leaned in slightly toward me. "You've got some hype around you already," he said quietly. "That shot you pulled earlier? People are talking."
I glanced at him.
"Good," I said.
He grinned. "We'll see how long that lasts."
Thiago turned, already walking back toward the pitch. "Enough talking. If they're staying, they train."
Renato tossed another ball lightly into the air, catching it without looking away from me.
"Let's see if that shot works here," he added.
Noa finally stood up fully beside me, stretching his arms.
"…I hate all of them already," he muttered.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Everyone stopped.
Even the noise seemed to drop with it.
I turned.
A man stood near the halfway line, arms folded behind his back. He wasn't loud like Angus. Didn't carry himself like a giant either.
But somehow, He had more control over the pitch than anyone.
"Line up," he said.
Lucas jogged past me. "That's him."
"Who?" Noa muttered, still catching his breath.
"The one you don't want to mess around with."
We stepped into line.
The man walked slowly in front of us, eyes scanning each player like he was reading more than just what he saw.
"Name's Nelson Duarte," he said. "Head academy coach."
He stopped right in front of me for a second longer than the others.
"You've all had your warm-ups," Nelson continued. "You've all had your conditioning."
A pause.
"Now we play."
That got a reaction.
Small shifts. Slight grins. Focus tightening.
"3v3 scrims," he said. "Short pitch. Tight space. No hiding."
Lucas whispered under his breath, "Here we go…"
Nelson pointed across the pitch.
"You lose the ball. Press immediately."
Another point.
"No long shots. If you score, it's because you created it."
His eyes flicked briefly toward me.
"Not because you got lucky."
I didn't react but I heard it.
"Three touches max," he added. "Force your brain to keep up with your feet."
Noa leaned toward me. "…We're finished."
I smirked slightly. "Relax."
"I am relaxed," he whispered. "This is me relaxed."
Nelson clapped once with teams started forming quickly.
"Rabelo, Renato, Lucas, you're one," he called.
Great. Of course.
"Gabriel, Noa…" he paused, looking around.
Then pointed.
"…Mateus."
Another player stepped forward, a lean midfielder, quiet, sharp eyes, the kind that looked like he saw everything before it happened.
"Mateus Silva," he said briefly.
I nodded.
"Let's not embarrass ourselves," Noa muttered.
Mateus glanced at him. "Try not to slow us down."
Noa blinked. "…I take it back, I hate him more."
A few players chuckled as they spread out.
Nelson stepped back, whistle already near his lips.
"First to three goals," he said. "No excuses."
WHISTLE.
We barely had time to settle.
The ball was gone.
Lucas took the first touch light, almost lazy and in the same movement, it was already past Noa. A quick roll with the sole, a flick behind his standing leg… smooth. Effortless.
Noa blinked.
"…What?"
Thiago stepped up next, not rushing it. He dragged the ball across his body, shielding it with ease before slipping it between my legs without even looking.
A nutmeg.
I turned instantly but they were already moving.
Mateus tried to close the angle, stepping in sharp, but Lucas spun away again, a quick body feint followed by a sudden burst, the ball glued to his feet like it didn't belong anywhere else.
Samba.
Every touch had a beat to it. Every movement flowed into the next like they weren't thinking, they were dancing.
"Press!" Mateus called.
We did.
Too late.
Thiago received it again, one touch to control, another to flick it over Noa's foot as he lunged in. The ball dropped perfectly behind him, and Lucas was already there, stepping onto it like he'd predicted it seconds ago.
"Are you serious?!" Noa shouted, spinning around.
I stepped in hard this time, cutting the angle, forcing Lucas toward the sideline.
Finally a mistake.
Or so I thought.
He slowed. Just for a second.
Then his foot rolled over the ball, dragging it back, his body shifting one way while the ball went the other. My weight followed the fake, too far.
He slipped past me like I wasn't there.
"…Tch."
Renato was already ready.
Lucas didn't even look up.
A quick pass across the small pitches Thiago stepped into it, One touch.
Finish. Net.
"1–0," Lucas said casually, jogging back.
No celebration. No reaction. Like it was expected.
I stood still for a second, breathing heavier now.
Noa walked past me, shaking his head. "Nah… nah, that's not normal."
Mateus clicked his tongue. "You're reacting too late."
I glanced at him. "Then start talking earlier."
He didn't reply.
Just nodded slightly.
Nelson's voice cut in from the side. "Again."
One touch forward, then I slowed it down again. Not rushing this time. Not forcing it.
They stayed calm. Of course they did.
Lucas hovered in front of me, light on his feet, ready to pounce. Thiago stayed central, blocking the obvious lane. Renato stood behind them, silent, watching everything.
No space. No mistakes.
"Left," Mateus said.
I shifted instantly, dragging the ball across my body. It didn't look like much at first, just a small adjustment but I kept going.
"Keep going."
I trusted it.
Lucas stepped in to close me down, but he wasn't committing yet. He was waiting for me to make the first real move.
"Now. Inside."
I cut in sharply.
That's when I saw it.
Not a gap, more like a crack. Something small enough to miss if you blinked.
Mateus was already there.
He hadn't sprinted. He hadn't forced it. He just… appeared in the right place, like he'd seen it before it even opened.
I slipped the ball into him.
Clean.
One touch.
That's all he needed.
He didn't rush. Didn't panic. His head tilted slightly, eyes scanning everything at once, Thiago stepping, Lucas turning, Noa starting his run.
Then he passed.
Fast. Direct.
Right through the middle.
"GO!"
Noa reacted immediately this time. No hesitation. He burst forward, meeting the ball just ahead of Thiago.
For once, perfect timing.
He took a touch into space.
"Right!"
Mateus again.
Noa shifted the ball across his body, cutting away from pressure. It wasn't flashy. It didn't need to be.
It was right.
I was already moving.
Everything felt quicker now. Not rushed, just sharper. Like I was finally keeping up with the pace instead of chasing it.
I met the ball just outside the box.
One touch to settle.
Lucas closed in fast.
Thiago stepped up again.
Pressure.
But this time, I didn't freeze.
"Lift," Mateus said.
I flicked the ball up slightly. Just enough to change the angle.
Lucas lunged.
Too late.
I turned with it, letting it drop into space behind him. My body moved smoothly, no panic, no extra steps.
For a second, everything opened.
Renato shifted in goal, eyes locked onto me. Waiting. Reading.
Good.
I shaped to shoot then changed it.
A quick pass across.
Noa.
Open.
"Finish it."
Noa didn't hesitate. He struck it low and clean, sending it past Renato before he could adjust.
Net.
1–1.
Noa stood there for a second, blinking like he didn't believe it. "…I did it?"
I jogged past him, a small smirk on my face. "Try not to ruin it next time."
He laughed, pointing at me. "Nah, that was all me."
Mateus didn't even react. He just turned away, already resetting.
"You're both late," he said.
I frowned slightly. "Late?"
"You saw it after I told you," he replied. "You need to see it before."
That stuck.
I nodded slowly.
"…Again."
Across from us, Lucas rolled his shoulders, a grin creeping back onto his face.
"Now it's getting interesting."
Thiago stepped back into position, calm as ever.
Renato didn't say anything.
This time, it felt different.
Not like I was reacting.
Like I was starting to understand.