The System Makes Me a Player

Kazana received the pass back from Ian, turned his body forward, and burst ahead with force, dragging Samuel's marking with him. The captain didn't seem willing to retreat even an inch. With every step, the sound of the crowd intensified, voices mixing between encouragement and tension. The clock was already pointing to the final minutes of the first half, but no one on the field wanted to slow down.

The defender tried a sliding tackle, but Kazana anticipated the movement with a subtle touch from his left foot, escaping the cut and opening space at the edge of the box. Samuka, alert, closed in immediately, forcing Kazana to improvise. Even so, the captain kept absolute control of the ball, shielding it with his broad frame and turning as if he carried the weight of the entire team on his shoulders.

I moved up on the left, calling for the ball, but Kazana read the play at the last moment: the goalkeeper was slightly off his line, alert, but with no full coverage of the right corner. His breathing was heavy, sweat dripping down his face, but the decision had already been made. In one explosive motion, he shifted the ball to his right foot and fired.

The shot came off dry, low, ripping through the air like a lightning bolt that seemed impossible to stop. The stadium held its breath once more, everyone following the trajectory as if time had slowed down. The Uchi goalkeeper dove, his entire body stretched, arm at the very limit of his reach. For an instant, it seemed too late.

But the tips of his fingers reached the ball. A subtle, yet decisive deflection. The sound of the impact echoed in the stadium, and the ball veered off course, curving until it rolled out over the end line. The crowd erupted with shouts of almost, a mix of frustration and admiration for the save.

The referee blew his whistle, signaling a corner kick. Kazana clapped his hands hard, calling the team forward, but for a moment I could see irritation on his face. I moved closer to help with the set piece, but before the kick was taken, the referee brought the whistle to his lips and ended the first half.

The whistle for halftime rang loud, almost like a release from the suffocating rhythm we had endured. The score was 2–1, but by the look on Kazana's face, it was as if we were losing. He walked to the sideline with heavy steps, jaw locked, every muscle in his face exposing his frustration. Even after nearly scoring a spectacular goal, he didn't seem satisfied.

As we gathered near the bench, Rafael was already waiting, calling each of us with firm gestures. His posture was different from any coach I had ever played under: he didn't raise his voice unnecessarily, didn't throw pressure on us, but spoke with clarity, as if he knew exactly what was happening on the pitch. He looked first at Kazana, who was still breathing heavily, trying to contain his irritation.

"You all right, captain?", Rafael asked, but his tone didn't sound like concern — it sounded like a challenge.

Kazana wiped the sweat off his face with his hand and answered through clenched teeth, "I'm fine, Rafael. We're playing our game. It just wears you down a little"

Rafael nodded but didn't argue. He turned to the rest of us, letting his gaze land on each player, as if he wanted to carve his instructions into our heads.

"Listen, what happened in those last minutes cannot happen again. They're betting on the twins' speed to break our line, and if we keep giving them space, we're going to suffer. Dante, Márcio, Oliveira… close the middle tighter. I don't care if you have to leave the flanks open for a few seconds — I want the central corridor shut down"

Dante nodded, taking a deep breath. He looked exhausted, but the determination in his eyes made it clear he wouldn't back down.

"Kelvin", Rafael turned to me, and for a moment I felt that different weight, as if he knew I was the team's thermometer, "Keep accelerating down the wings, but don't play thinking only of yourself. Use Kazana as your reference. The two of you together will open up space. Trust his movement"

I glanced at the captain, who still looked ready to explode, but I noticed his eyes studying me in silence, as if making sure I was absorbing Rafael's words.

"Ian, Rodrigo", Rafael continued, "be bolder with your passing. You've got the ability to break their lines. Don't wait for the game to come to you — make the game happen"

While we received instructions, the crowd kept chanting, but I could sense the vibration was different, more anxious than before.

On the other side, the Uchi players huddled together. I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but their faces revealed the weight of the first half. Samuel and Samuka were especially off. It wasn't the fury I expected to see, nor the pure frustration of knowing they were behind. They spoke to each other in low voices, eyes fixed on some undefined point, as if they were debating something no one else could understand. Their hands moved quickly, but their words came out confused, disjointed. I swear, for a few seconds, it didn't even look like they were talking about the game.

I watched carefully, trying to decipher it, but nothing made sense. Samuel looked at the ground, then at his brother, murmuring something that sounded more like a code than a sentence. Samuka nodded, but his gaze was distant, lost in thoughts completely detached from what we were living on the field. It was as if they were in another reality, as if that 2–1 score was just a detail in something much bigger that I couldn't see.

It bothered me. I expected to see rage, fire in their eyes, but what I found was almost… disorientation.

"Kelvin!", Rafael's voice yanked me from my thoughts, "Are you listening?"

I nodded right away, even though my head was still trying to process what I had just witnessed.

"I need you switched on the whole time", he said, "Doesn't matter if you're tired, doesn't matter if they try to double up on you. You're going to be our outlet. If the play gets stuck, don't force it. Find Ian, find Dante, but never, ever give the ball away cheaply. Clear?"

"Clear", I replied.

Kazana snorted beside me, clenching his fists. The captain was restless, and it spread to the team. Rafael noticed and stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, breathe. You're angry, I know. But your anger is energy. If you channel it right, you'll drag this team forward. If you lose your head, you'll drag us into the pit. So choose, captain"

For a second, I thought Kazana would fire back harshly, but he only closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. The anger was still written all over his face, but Rafael's words seemed to spark a flicker of control inside him.