The System Makes Me a Player

My hands were trembling. Sweat poured down like rain. The stadium was in ecstasy.

Keita kicked long again, and once more Uchi managed to trap the ball in attack. Their number 7 crossed, and Samuka rose for a header. Murilo pulled off another miracle, saving with his opposite hand.

"Murilo! Murilo!", the Sanu fans shouted in chorus.

Rodrigo received from Murilo in midfield, turned beautifully and opened to me. I played first-time into Ian, who broke into the space. He spotted Felipe free on the right and launched the pass. Felipe controlled, cut inside and shot with his left. Keita flew to save.

The rebound fell to Kazana. He tried to finish, but was blocked.

"Don't let him shoot!", two Uchi defenders shouted, closing in.

The ball spilled again, and I struck it hard. Keita parried once more, saving. The stadium roared, mixing frustration and relief.

In the middle of the scramble, I noticed Oliveira standing a few meters back. He didn't celebrate, didn't vibrate. His head was down, fists clenched. His mouth moved quickly, and even through the noise, I caught it.

"Damn it… I promised I wouldn't let this happen", he muttered, "I swore I'd stop anyone… swore to myself"

His tone was low, almost a growl. He was talking to himself, but the fury in his eyes showed it came from deep inside.

The attack restarted. Samuel drove through the middle, the ball glued to his foot. He skipped past Ian easily, surging toward the box.

"Close him down!", Dante shouted, rushing to cover.

Samuel spread the pass to Santos, sprinting down the right. The cross came in deadly, dropping between Oliveira and Samuka.

"Not past me!", Oliveira snarled to himself.

He leapt with everything, body colliding with Samuka's in the air. He won it, heading powerfully to the side. When he landed, he punched the ground and got up fast, breathing heavy.

"It's mine!", he shouted alone, eyes locked on the cleared ball.

The clearance opened the space for us to counter. Ian picked up the loose ball and fed Rodrigo. He advanced, releasing Felipe at pace. The crowd rose, but Keita rushed out of the box and headed clear.

The game turned insane. Every time Uchi attacked, Oliveira was there. Sliding in to cut, winning duels, intercepting at the last second.

"They won't get through"

"Not anymore"

"I won't give in again"

Samuel tried down the left this time. He and Samuka combined, confusing our marking. Their triangle play was too quick, and the stands were already screaming, anticipating the goal. But Oliveira hurled himself into the passing lane, blocking with his outstretched leg. The ball ricocheted high and dropped clean to him.

He didn't hesitate. Drove forward firmly, pushing the whole team with him.

"Come on, pass it!", Rodrigo shouted, asking wide.

Oliveira waited for Samuel to close in, then released at the perfect moment. Rodrigo sprinted free down the right and whipped in a cross. The ball flew across the box, Kazana clashed in the air with the defender, and on the rebound Felipe appeared unmarked.

He shot without thinking. The net rippled.

3–1

The stadium erupted in screams. People jumped, flags waved, everyone in ecstasy.

"Goal! Goal!", echoed all around.

Felipe ran to the corner, sliding on his knees. Kazana hugged him, Ian and Dante joined in seconds later. Murilo came out from goal to celebrate too, pounding his chest.

But Oliveira didn't. He stood at midfield, chest heaving, sweat dripping. His eyes weren't on the goal, nor the celebration. They were fixed on Samuel, standing stiff-faced in the center circle.

"I told you," Oliveira muttered, "I told you you wouldn't get through"

I was the only one close enough to hear. His voice shook, loaded with rage.

The game resumed. Uchi came even harder, shouting at each other.

"Press high!"

"Quick, switch it!"

"Don't let them breathe!"

Samuel got the ball again and tried to spin past Dante. He laid it into Samuka, who gave it back first-time. The two advanced like wolves. The ball came lofted toward Samuel. Samuel and Oliveira jumped together.

"It's mine!", Oliveira roared, heading with violence.

He landed firm, spread his arms wide and yelled alone:

"Not you!"

Samuel fell with a glare, but the play was gone.

They pressed on the flank. Santos tried to escape Rodrigo, accelerating. The cross came low, but Oliveira threw himself into a desperate slide, cutting before it reached Samuka. The impact sent him rolling, but he got up instantly, punching the air.

"Faster! Get there first, always first!"

The crowd began to notice. Every time he cut play, the fans cheered differently, as if they could feel the fury in his body.

Dante tried to organize, but everyone knew: it was Oliveira holding the tide.

Samuel went for an individual run, cutting through the middle. He skipped Ian, skipped Rodrigo, and drove toward the box. Oliveira closed him head-on. The clash looked inevitable. Samuel feinted left, but Oliveira read it, slammed his body in and stripped the ball clean.

The crowd erupted again. Oliveira launched first-time, releasing me on the left. I surged forward, advanced, and slipped it into Kazana. He spun with his back to goal, laying it off to Felipe. The move was nearly perfect, but Uchi's defense cleared before the shot.

Even so, the stadium stayed alive, feeling the weight of every duel.

I trotted back, but couldn't stop watching Oliveira. He trembled, muttered, repeating over and over:

"I won't let it, I won't let it, I won't let it…"

It was as if he was trapped in a war of his own. Not against Samuel, not against Samuka, but against himself.

Uchi's pressure didn't stop. Samuel still believed. He called his brother:

"Come on, Samuka, now!"

The one-two was sharp. Samuka received up front and struck across goal. Murilo parried, and the ball spilled in the middle. Samuel rushed to finish, but Oliveira was there first, blocking with his body. He collided, crashed down too, but never let go of the ball. He stood up with it at his feet and launched forward, sparking another counter.

This time Rodrigo carried and fed Felipe on the right. Felipe crossed low. Kazana rose, clashed with the defender, and on the rebound Ian smashed it first-time. The ball exploded into the net.

Another goal for Sanu.

4–1

The celebration was even greater, but Oliveira just closed his eyes, breathing deep. He muttered again:

"This is it… this is what I promised…"

And I understood. He wasn't just playing for us. He was playing for something he had sworn to himself, and in a way… it left me curious.