Limitless Pitch-Chapter 92 – Stepping Forward

The Palmeiras training ground was buzzing with life as usual. Coaches barked instructions from the sidelines, the sound of cleats thudded against the turf, and the occasional sharp whistle echoed across the fields. Thiago stood near the edge of the pitch, water bottle in hand, trying to center his thoughts. The morning sun was already bearing down hard, but the sweat on his back wasn’t just from the heat.

Today was different.

He wasn’t just another teenager trying to fight his way into the first team anymore. He was a player with a future somewhere else—across the ocean, in a country he’d never stepped foot in, under a coach who believed in him more than he sometimes believed in himself.

Dortmund.

The name sounded unreal even when he said it in his head.

He spotted Coach Eneas near one of the goalposts, arms crossed, watching the U-20 squad go through a quick passing drill. Thiago took a breath and walked over, heart thumping faster with each step.

Eneas noticed him right away. "You’re late," he said, not harshly, but with that familiar edge that meant he’d been keeping track.

"I know," Thiago replied, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry. I just needed some time."

Eneas studied him for a moment, then nodded toward the bench under the shade. "Come. Sit."

They walked over and sat side by side, silence stretching between them for a few seconds. Thiago wasn’t sure how to begin. He tapped the edge of his water bottle, watching the condensation slide down the side.

"I wanted to tell you in person," he said finally. "Dortmund... they’ve submitted the official offer to the club."

Eneas didn’t react right away. His eyes stayed focused on the players in the distance. After a few moments, he let out a soft breath.

"I figured it was coming," he said. "I saw how you looked after that call last week. Something in you shifted."

Thiago glanced at him, surprised. "You could tell?"

"Of course," Eneas said, cracking a small smile. "I’ve seen enough kids to know when they start looking toward something bigger. Your feet are still here, Thiago, but your head’s been in Germany all week."

Thiago laughed, a little embarrassed. "Guess I’m easy to read."

Eneas shook his head. "Not easy. Just honest."

Another pause.

"It’s the right move," the coach said, voice steady. "Dortmund is a good club. Klopp’s building something. You won’t get lost there like you might in bigger clubs. They’ll develop you, not just use you."

"Yeah," Thiago said, feeling a strange mix of excitement and fear. "That’s what he said too. He wants me to be part of their next generation. Said I’d play if I earned it."

"And you will," Eneas said, turning to face him fully now. "You’ve got the tools. More importantly, you’ve got the head for it. Most kids your age, they want the flash. The cars, the fame. You? You want the ball. That’s why you’ll go far."

Thiago nodded slowly. He didn’t know what to say. Praise always made him a little uncomfortable, especially when it came from someone like Eneas.

"Have the club said anything yet?" he asked.

"They’re reviewing the offer," Eneas replied. "I’ve seen it. One million euros, very good for someone without a pro deal yet. They’re not happy about losing you, but they know it’s time."

Thiago looked down at his cleats. The laces were frayed, one knot barely holding. He’d worn them longer than he probably should have. Somehow, that felt symbolic now.

"Do you think they’ll try to block it?" he asked quietly.

"No," Eneas said without hesitation. "They might stall a bit, ask for adjustments, but they won’t stop it. They know what this means—for you, for your family. And they won’t stand in the way."

Thiago let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

"Thank you," he said, voice low.

"For what?"

"For everything. For pushing me. For not giving up on me when I was messing around."

Eneas chuckled. "That’s my job. And anyway, you gave me something back—hope. You reminded me why I coach."

They sat in silence for a bit longer, the sounds of training drifting around them. Thiago felt like a Chapter of his life was ending, right here on this bench, in the morning sun, with the man who had believed in him before anyone else did.

Later that day, in the locker room, Thiago found Rafael lacing up his boots, still humming some song he’d been obsessed with all month. The guy had the worst taste in music, but he always made the place feel lighter.

"Hey, Captain" Thiago said, leaning against the locker next to his.

Rafael looked up. "What’s up?"

"I wanted to tell you before it goes public," Thiago said. "I’m going to Dortmund."

Rafael froze, mid-lace, his eyebrows lifting high. "For real?"

Thiago nodded. "They made the offer official. It’s happening."

Rafael blinked a few times, then grinned. "Damn, man. That’s huge! Germany, huh?"

"Yeah," Thiago said, laughing a little at how surreal it sounded. "Klopp called me himself. Said he wanted me in the squad."

Rafael stood up and gave him a firm handshake that turned into a bear hug. "You deserve it, bro. You’ve been on fire. After that final? I knew it was only a matter of time."

Thiago smiled. "You’re not mad?"

"Mad?" Rafael scoffed. "Why would I be mad? We all saw this coming. You’ve been carrying half the team lately. Just don’t forget us when you’re scoring goals in front of eighty thousand crazy Germans."

"I won’t," Thiago said, genuinely touched. "You’ll be the first I call when I score my first Bundesliga goal."

"You better," Rafael grinned. "And hey, save me a spot at your place in Dortmund. I’m gonna need free accommodation when I come visit."

"You got it."

They bumped fists, and Thiago felt something ease inside him. Telling Rafael had been harder than he expected. But his friend’s support made it easier to breathe.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the rooftops of Campinas and the streetlights flickered on one by one, Thiago walked back home slowly. He passed the small café where he used to sit with his mom after Sunday mass, the newsstand that still had faded posters of Kaká from 2007, and the old futsal court where he’d first learned to shoot with his left foot.

Everything felt the same, but he knew it wouldn’t be for long.

He was going.

Really going.

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