On Sunday, a cloud of tension still hung over Cleiton and Cássio. The events of the previous day had left them introspective, but both knew they couldn't simply distance themselves from the team. Determined, they decided to attend the match against Bahia de Feira, even though they were prohibited from playing or sitting on the bench. Dressed in casual clothes, carrying light backpacks, and with somber expressions, they met at the neighborhood corner to head to the stadium together.
"Ready to watch?" Cássio asked, attempting to lighten the heavy mood.
"Ready to cheer," Cleiton replied, forcing a small smile.
Upon arriving at the stadium, they climbed to the stands, choosing a discreet spot to sit. Despite being off the field, their eyes never stopped analyzing every move, as though they were mentally playing the game themselves. Bahia de Feira came out strong, and the match began evenly, with few clear chances for either side.
The first half was tense. Vitória's defense showed occasional lapses in positioning, and their attacks lacked the sharpness seen in previous games. Cleiton watched each defensive error with a growing sense of frustration. The absence of his voice organizing the backline was glaringly evident to him, and beside him, Cássio fidgeted every time a play on the flanks slipped out of control.
"This isn't looking good, man," Cássio said, gripping his knees tightly. "We can't do anything from here."
Cleiton nodded but didn't respond. His focus remained glued to the game, his sense of helplessness only growing.
In the second half, Vitória improved but still struggled to capitalize on their chances. By the 78th minute, Bahia de Feira nearly broke the deadlock. In a swift play, their forward broke into the box and fired a powerful shot, but Vitória's goalkeeper pulled off a miraculous save. Cleiton exhaled deeply, running his hands over his face.
"That was close..." he murmured, barely audible. 'If they lose today, Cerqueira's going to pin it on us.'
Cássio turned to him, concern evident in his eyes. "You really think he'll blame us for this?"
"I don't think he'll miss the chance," Cleiton said, shaking his head and staring at the field. He left the thought unfinished aloud, but in his mind, it echoed louder: 'And it's not just him. If the team loses, the system's vengeance mission fails too. There's too much at stake.'
Time seemed to accelerate, each passing second more agonizing with the scoreboard still at zero. In the stands, the tension was almost palpable. Cleiton's palms were clammy as he gripped his knees, his attention unwavering. Beside him, Cássio bit his lip, his anxiety mirroring Cleiton's. When the clock hit 88 minutes, the stadium collectively held its breath.
A long ball was launched toward Nathan, who was well-positioned near the edge of the box. With perfect control, he trapped the ball against his chest, leaving the opposing defender flustered. With a quick, decisive move, Nathan dodged the marker, leaving him behind as if it were a practice drill. The goalkeeper charged forward to close the angle, but Nathan, cold as ice, fired a low, precise shot into the bottom-right corner. The ball hit the net.
For a split second, the stadium froze, absorbing what had just happened. Then, like a tidal wave, an eruption of joy swept through the crowd. The Vitória fans jumped and shouted, flags waved fervently, and the deafening beat of drums echoed across the stands. Cleiton and Cássio, momentarily forgetting they were there as punished spectators, stood up instinctively, shouting along with the fans. Cleiton punched the air, and Cássio grabbed his arm, laughing as they celebrated.
"That's it, Nathan! I knew you'd pull it off!" Cássio shouted, his voice lost in the sea of cheers. Cleiton, his heart still racing, felt a mix of pride and relief. The pressure had been immense, but Nathan had once again proven why he was the team's star.
"Nathan saved the day," Cássio said, exhaling deeply.
"Literally," Cleiton replied, the relief clear in his voice.
When the referee blew the final whistle, signaling Vitória's narrow 1-0 victory, Cleiton and Cássio descended from the stands in silence. They didn't know what kind of reception awaited them on Monday, but one thing was certain: Vitória had narrowly escaped defeat, and their absence on the field couldn't be allowed to happen again.
"Monday, we make things right," Cleiton said as they walked away from the stadium.
Cássio smiled, this time with more confidence. "And this time, no losing our heads. We'll prove our worth the right way."
The walk home was lighter, but both knew that the real challenge would begin at the next practice.
---
On Monday morning, Vitória's training center was bustling with activity. The sound of cleats on concrete, muffled laughter, and the thud of balls against the grass filled the air. For Cleiton and Cássio, however, the atmosphere felt entirely different. They knew this session would be more than just a physical test—it was a chance to prove their determination to win back Coach Cerqueira's trust.
As the team gathered on the field, Cerqueira arrived with his clipboard, his expression sterner than usual. His eyes scanned the group, lingering slightly longer on Cleiton and Cássio. The silence on the pitch was almost stifling.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Cerqueira began, his deep voice cutting through the air. "I hope you all got plenty of rest because today we're going to work hard. Despite the victory on Sunday, we still have a lot to improve."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the lined-up players. Without taking his eyes off Cleiton and Cássio, he added, "And some of you are going to work even harder."
The icy tone left no room for doubt as to whom he was referring. Cleiton and Cássio exchanged a brief glance but kept their mouths shut. Nathan, sensing the tension, stood silently beside his friends.
The session started with physical drills. While the rest of the team jogged laps around the field at a steady pace, Cerqueira pointed at Cleiton and Cássio.
"You two—faster. I want to see sweat. Ten full laps at maximum speed."
Without protest, the two began running. The sun was already blazing, and while the others moved at a controlled rhythm, Cleiton and Cássio sprinted around the field in grueling, unrelenting laps. By the time they finished, their breaths were ragged, and sweat poured from their faces. Nathan, to everyone's surprise, kept pace with them without being asked.
"You weren't included in this, Nathan," Cerqueira said, not even looking at him.
"I know, Coach," Nathan replied, wiping his face with his shirt. "But I'm not letting my friends do this alone."
Cerqueira said nothing, but the tension in his expression was evident.
The next stage involved strength and endurance circuits. While the rest of the team followed a standard routine, Cleiton and Cássio were assigned a far more intense version: weighted push-ups, uphill sprints, and continuous hurdle jumps. Nathan, ignoring Cerqueira's disapproving glances, joined them once again.
"Are you tired?!" Cerqueira's voice boomed across the field. "Because I'm not seeing it. I want more effort, more speed. If you have the energy to challenge decisions on the field, then you have the energy to do this perfectly."
Cleiton clenched his fists, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He wanted to retort but knew it would only make things worse. Beside him, Cássio took deep breaths, trying to maintain focus. Despite his own exhaustion, Nathan managed a small smile to encourage them.
The remainder of the training session shifted to game scenarios. Cleiton was tasked with defending one-on-one against Nathan, Rodrigo, and Pedrinho, rotating through them without a break. Every time he successfully intercepted or blocked a play, Cerqueira gave a curt nod, as though it was expected rather than commendable.
Cássio, meanwhile, was ordered to repeat cross after cross, each accompanied by the coach's sharp critiques.
"Do you call that a decent cross? Again!" Cerqueira barked, gesturing impatiently. "If you're going to play like a forward, at least learn to cross properly."
The other players watched the situation unfold in silence. It was clear to everyone that Cleiton and Cássio were being singled out, but no one dared to intervene. Gabriel Costa and Pedrinho exchanged nervous glances, their concern evident, but they kept quiet, afraid of being drawn into Cerqueira's ire.
After nearly two hours of grueling training, Cerqueira finally announced a break. The team scattered, some sitting on the grass while others grabbed water bottles. Cleiton and Cássio, however, remained standing, their bodies visibly fatigued but their resolve to show no weakness stronger. Nathan, noticing this, walked over to them with two bottles of water in hand.
"Hey," Nathan said, panting but flashing an encouraging smile. "You guys are doing great."
Cleiton accepted the bottle but avoided meeting Nathan's gaze. He unscrewed the cap and took a long sip before replying, his voice heavy with exhaustion, "This isn't ending anytime soon, Nathan."
"So what?" Nathan shrugged, leaning forward slightly to catch his breath. "We face it together. You messed up, sure, but you don't have to go through this alone."
Cássio, sitting with his hands on his knees, sighed deeply. "You should be resting, Nathan. This isn't your problem."
Nathan shook his head firmly, dismissing the suggestion. "We're a team. I'm not leaving you to deal with this by yourselves."
Before either of them could respond, Cerqueira's authoritative voice rang out once again. "Enough talking, you three! Back on the field. We still have plenty of work to do."
Cleiton and Cássio immediately got to their feet, Nathan following close behind. Despite their exhaustion, the determination in their eyes was unmistakable. Together, they returned to the field, ready to endure whatever Cerqueira had in store for them—because this time, they weren't facing it alone.
Back at training, Cerqueira began steering the group toward more technical drills. While most of the players moved on to routine exercises, Cleiton, Cássio, and Nathan were instructed to work on ball control under the coach's sharp—and often critical—gaze.
Cerqueira pointed at Cleiton and Cássio. "Start with the basics. Inside foot control. I want precise touches and zero mistakes."
The two began passing the ball between their feet, focusing on maintaining perfect control. Cleiton felt the fatigue in his legs, but he kept his concentration, adjusting his movements to avoid errors. Cássio, though more technically skilled, was starting to show signs of weariness.
Nathan, observing them, joined the drill spontaneously. He passed the ball to Cleiton with precision, encouraging him to keep going. "Good, Cleiton. Now pick up the pace a bit."
"Now, just the outside foot," Cerqueira ordered. "Let's see how you handle the change in angle."
Cleiton and Cássio worked to keep up the rhythm, alternating between static movements and slight advances. Cássio managed to perform fluidly despite his fatigue. Cleiton struggled initially but quickly adjusted his posture and found his rhythm.
Cerqueira remained impassive, muttering occasionally when he noticed minor errors. "Faster, Cleiton. We're not here to play around."
Nathan chimed in again, his tone upbeat. "Come on, Cleiton. Pass it to me. Outside foot, remember the turn." His positive energy helped his friends stay focused.
Cerqueira then set up a small grid with cones. "Now I want control under pressure. Two defenders against you three. Keep possession for as long as possible."
Defenders Ricardo Rocha and Marlon Kaio stepped into the confined space, ready to press aggressively. Cleiton tried to shield the ball using his body, but heavy touches made his movements clumsy. Cássio, with his offensive flair, managed to dribble briefly but lost possession shortly after.
Nathan, however, shone in this exercise, seamlessly alternating between quick passes and tight dribbles. He helped Cleiton adjust his timing and encouraged Cássio to find better spaces. Despite their efforts, the trio's performance still seemed insufficient in Cerqueira's eyes.
"Pay attention, Cleiton! Don't just rely on your body; think about your next move! Cássio, fewer unnecessary dribbles! Play like a team!"
Finally, Cerqueira organized a drill combining ball control and finishing. Each player had to receive the ball, dribble quickly toward the goal, and take a shot. Cássio was the first to demonstrate his offensive skills, dribbling smoothly and delivering a powerful strike into the corner of the net.
Cleiton, however, struggled. Not being a natural forward, he found it challenging to both carry the ball and shoot effectively. On his first attempt, his shot lacked power, and Cerqueira wasted no time criticizing him.
"Cleiton, do you want to be a defender or a forward? If it's the latter, you've got a lot of work to do! Try again."
Nathan tried to lighten the mood with a playful remark. "Don't worry about it, Cleiton. Just aim for the goal. Now you just need some power."
Cleiton took a deep breath and tried again. This time, the shot was stronger but still not enough to satisfy Cerqueira.
The training stretched on for more than three hours. While the other players finished and headed to the locker room, Cleiton, Cássio, and Nathan remained on the field, completing another round of individual drills under the coach's orders.
When they were finally dismissed, the sun was already dipping low on the horizon. Cleiton and Cássio were utterly exhausted, their shirts drenched in sweat. Nathan, still panting but with a determined smile, gave each of them a light pat on the shoulder.
"You guys were incredible today. No matter what he says, you're getting better."
Cleiton shook his head, tired but allowing a faint smile to surface. "Thanks, Nathan. If it weren't for you, we probably wouldn't have made it through."
Cássio nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, you really saved us today, Nathan. But right now, all I want is a shower and my bed."
As they walked together toward the locker room, the three of them knew this was only the beginning. Cerqueira was far from satisfied, but with each other's support, they were ready to keep proving their worth—not just to their coach, but to the entire team.