The System Makes Me a Player

The crowd was still roaring when the referee blew the final whistle of the first half. The vibration was almost tangible — like a wave rippling through the field, making the ground tremble beneath their boots. Kelvin's goal still echoed in the shouts, but the name that kept repeating, louder and louder, was his.

"DANTE! DANTE! DANTE!"

The sound hit him like thunder.

Dante didn't know whether to smile or cry. He stayed on his knees on the pitch, hands pressed to the grass, chest heaving. Sweat dripped down his face, mingling with tears he couldn't tell were of joy, relief, or confusion.

His eyes scanned the packed stadium — a blur of waving flags, flashing lights, people jumping, screaming, crying. But amid that chaos, everything felt silent.

His heart still beat to the rhythm of the pass. Of that choice.

He remembered the exact instant he didn't shoot.

The silence inside him.

The sound of the ball rolling.

Kelvin's foot touching it right after.

And the ball going in.

But what echoed most wasn't the crowd's roar. It was his own voice, looping in his mind: "Why didn't I shoot?"

The answer, however, he already knew.

It was the first time he had done something truly his own.

As he still knelt there, a shadow covered his view. He looked up — and there was Kelvin. Hair drenched in sweat, eyes steady, a faint smile on his face — the kind that carried a mix of calm and confidence, as if he had always known exactly what was about to happen.

"Dante, I told you, didn't I?"

His voice cut through the air effortlessly. Kelvin wasn't asking — he was confirming something he had known all along.

Dante stayed silent for a moment.

Yes, he knew.

He knew exactly what Kelvin meant.

Kelvin took another step forward, reached out his hand, and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I told you — you're the only one who can see the same world I do"

For a moment, Dante couldn't move. That sentence pierced right through him.

Kelvin extended his hand a bit further, insisting, with a small smile.

"Come on, get up. It's halftime — we need to get organized."

Dante finally reacted. A faint, almost invisible, but genuine smile escaped him. He reached out and grabbed Kelvin's hand, feeling the strength pulling him back to his feet.

"Yeah… you're right. Let's go"

The reply was simple, even ordinary. But inside, something enormous stirred — something he wanted to say but couldn't.

He wanted to thank him.

He wanted to say that, for the first time since he was a kid, he felt free.

But the words stayed trapped in his throat.

As they walked side by side toward the tunnel, the crowd was still chanting his name. The sound blended with the echoes of the whistle, the voices of teammates calling out, the flashes of cameras. It was the kind of moment any player would dream of — but for Dante, it carried a different weight.

Because for the first time, the crowd's shouts weren't demands. They weren't echoes of the voices from his past saying, "Shoot," "Finish it," "You're the star"

They were cries of recognition.

Of someone who had finally shown something real.

In the tunnel, the dimness replaced the brilliance of the stands. The sound became muffled — only the heavy breathing and the clatter of cleats remained. Kelvin walked ahead, greeting others, with the calm composure of someone who always seemed in control.

But Dante… he didn't feel in control of anything.

He sat on the locker room bench, staring at the floor, his chest slowly rising and falling. The sound of running showers, voices, and Kazana's instructions all seemed distant.

"You good?" Ian asked, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

Dante took a while to respond.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fucking great, Ian"

Rafael stepped into the middle of the locker room, his commanding voice cutting through the noise:

"Alright, the first half was ours! But the game's still open. Full focus — no distractions. We need to keep control, especially in midfield. Dante, Kelvin… what you two did out there was incredible, but don't get carried away. Zenkai's coming out even stronger"

Dante nodded silently.

Kelvin replied with a firm nod.

The atmosphere inside the locker room was electric — but tense. The players were still trying to balance the rush of adrenaline with the focus needed for the second half.

Kelvin wiped his face with a towel, breathing deeply. He didn't look tired — it was as if he hadn't even started playing yet. His eyes were fixed on a random point on the floor, as though he could already see the next sequence of plays unfolding.

Across the room, Kazana paced back and forth, arms crossed, analyzing every detail.

"They're gonna come at us hard", he said in a calm, deep tone, "Their coach will push Diego further up, and Biel will press higher. If we slip up, they'll equalize fast"

"So we're playing on the counter?", asked Ian, tying his cleats.

"Exactly", Rafael answered without hesitation, "But smartly. Dante, you'll have to drop deeper. Their marking will try to trap you and Kelvin together. I want you pulling the ball inside and opening space for Felipe"

Dante nodded again, still with his head down.

Felipe, sitting beside him, gave him a light slap on the shoulder.

"Relax, man. You played amazing. The crowd's still chanting your name"

Dante smiled.

"Thanks"

Across the room, Rodrigo laughed with Ian, trying to lighten the mood.

"If Felipe had taken that shot from Kelvin's pass, he'd have torn the net apart"

"Oh, shut up, Rodrigo", Felipe shot back, laughing. "Let's see you run half the game at my pace"

"Man, I run enough to clean up your mistakes", Rodrigo teased, drawing laughter from the group.

Gradually, the tension gave way to laughter. The sound of jokes contrasted with the nervous energy still lingering in the air. But amid the humor, there was a silent, tangible focus — everyone knew what was at stake.

Kelvin stood up and clapped his hands, calling everyone's attention.

"Guys, we can't start the second half thinking it's already won — they'll crush us if we do. We need to keep playing like we were, but with more composure. If Zenkai pushes higher, we break out fast, use triangles. Dante and I will draw their marking — you guys exploit the space. Simple"

Oliveira, who had been quiet until then, lifted his head.

"I'm sorry about the goal. But I promise you, Diego's not getting past me again"

"Relax", said Kazana, folding his arms, "I'll be covering that side too. If he comes, we kill the play before the box. The key is to stay in position"

The captain spoke firmly, but his eyes revealed something more — a kind of confident arrogance, the same one that kept the team standing even in their worst moments.

"Listen", Rafael began, his tone sharp and direct. "You're playing well, but Zenkai's dangerous. Luquinhas is floating between the lines — if he connects with Diego, we're done. Dante, you'll have to hold him in the middle, but if that doesn't work, follow what Kazana said"

The locker room briefly descended into confusion, and the coach quickly corrected himself with a half-smile:

"I mean, let Dante hold him, and Kazana covers. No mix-ups. We need discipline"

The laughter that followed broke the tension just enough. It was that blend of seriousness and humor that made Sanu such a united team.

"Alright", the coach concluded, "Let's get back out there. And remember: you're the home team. This crowd's with you. Make every one of their shouts count"

The locker room door opened, and the deafening roar of the stands flooded back in. Shouts of "Sanu! Sanu!" echoed in unison, mixed with drums and horns. The players exchanged glances.