"Welcome to my streets, boy."
Carlos stumbled slightly as he walked, one hand raised, waving at random people like he knew every single one of them.
"This is where I grew up," he continued, glancing around like the place hadn't changed at all. "This is where I developed my skill."
I shoved my hands into my pockets, looking around.
Cracked pavement. Faded walls. Old goals made from whatever people could find. Kids playing barefoot, arguing over fouls like it was the World Cup.
It felt…
Familiar.
"Very… nice," I muttered.
Carlos laughed under his breath. "You don't have to lie, kid."
"I'm not," I said, glancing at a group of kids juggling a ball made from tape and cloth. "It's just… different."
"Different?" he repeated, smirking. "Or real?"
I didn't answer that.
Because I already knew.
"I know it's strange meeting your idols!" Carlos chuckled, stretching his arms slightly as he walked. "I know how it feels."
He paused for a second, like he was digging through a memory.
"I met Pelé in 1988 as a young boy," he said, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Passed out from the shock."
I blinked. "You're joking."
"I wish," he replied. "Woke up on the floor with people pouring water on my face. First thing I saw was him laughing at me."
I let out a small laugh without meaning to.
"Not exactly how you imagined it, huh?"
"No," Carlos said. "But that's the thing about idols."
He stopped walking.
So I stopped too.
"They're just people," he said, turning to face me properly now. "Until they're not."
I frowned slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he said, stepping closer, "the moment you decide to chase that level… they stop being something you admire… regardless of the fact. I will train you to become the greatest player on earth. With help from a special someone."
I raised an eyebrow. "Special someone?"
Carlos didn't answer.
Instead, he just turned his head slightly, looking past me toward the edge of the roar.
I turned.
At first, I didn't see anything until a soft voice entered my eardrums.
"You're being dramatic again, Pai."
I blinked.
Standing just off the pitch was a girl, about our age, maybe a little older. She didn't look like she belonged here.
Not because she couldn't.
Because everything about her felt… precise.
Clean white dress, barely touched by the dirt. A light jacket draped neatly over her shoulders despite the heat. Her posture straight, her movements controlled, like every step had been thought through before it happened.
Her dark hair fell neatly past her shoulders, a slight wave catching the light. There was something delicate about her.
Just… composed.
Carlos groaned slightly. "Don't call me that in front of my students."
She smiled faintly, stepping forward.
"Then don't act like that in front of them," she replied calmly.
Her accent was soft, not fully Brazilian. There was something else in it. Something lighter.
She stopped beside him, brushing a bit of dust off his shoulder like it annoyed her more than it should.
"…So you're Gabriel," she said.
I nodded slowly. "Yeah."
She tilted her head slightly, studying me. "The one who used Aggro without understanding it."
Straight to the point.
I exhaled lightly. "Seems like everyone knows that already."
Carlos chuckled. "Word travels fast."
She ignored him.
Of course she did.
"I'm Anya Demi," she said, her voice calm. "Carlos's daughter."
I blinked, looking between them.
"…You're serious?"
Carlos smirked. "What, you think I just found her on the street?"
She gave him a look.
A quiet one.
But it was enough to make him raise his hands slightly in surrender.
"Anyway," he added quickly.
Anya stepped forward, onto the pitch, her eyes dropping briefly to the ball at my feet.
"You rely too much on instinct," she said.
I frowned. "Isn't that the point?"
"No," she replied simply.
A small pause.
"That's the beginning."
She moved closer, stopping just a step away from me.
Up close, she seemed even calmer. Like nothing rushed her. Not her thoughts, not her movements.
"Instinct gives you power," she continued. "But control… that's what makes it repeatable."
I glanced at Carlos. "You both rehearsed this or something?"
He grinned. "She's better at explaining it than me."
"I can tell," I muttered.
Anya ignored that too.
Instead, she gently nudged the ball with the tip of her shoe, rolling it slightly away from me.
"Try again," she said.
"No emotion this time."
I stared at her. "That's not really how it works."
"It is if you want to improve."
I hesitated for a moment, my body feeling heavier than before, then stepped forward.
The ball sat there waiting, perfectly still, like it knew I was overthinking it. There was no noise this time, no crowd shouting, no pressure building in the air, just them watching, quietly, expecting something.
I inhaled slowly, trying to empty everything out of my head. No anger.
My foot slid forward, step.
Then I planted firmly beside the ball, feeling the ground beneath me. I swung through and struck it. The contact felt smooth, almost too smooth. The ball flew off my foot fast, straight, cutting through the air with no resistance.
"…That wasn't it."
Anya didn't even look impressed. "No," she said calmly. "It wasn't."
Carlos folded his arms, nodding slightly. "Too clean."
I glanced back at them. "Too clean?"
"That shot?" he shrugged. "Anyone at a decent level can hit that. Straight, controlled, no risk. An average goalie could save that."
"If you wanna get into the state of mind of the Brazilian samba, you better hit the hay before you break a bone," Anya shrugged
.
"I expect you here tomorrow morning, Gabi. Training begins. I'm gonna contact some scouts from the local clubs. I'll get a deal signed and sealed by next week. Let's see if you got what it takes, kiddo. And maybe… you even get a call-up to the U-20 squad for the U-20 World Cup."
Carlos spread his arms out.
"I'll be waiting for you… Gabigol."