Dante was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling at a frantic pace, still feeling, unable to forget, the wrong decision. The sound of the crossbar echoed in his mind like a hammer, each reverberation reminding him that he had made the wrong choice once again. Kelvin’s voice, however, did not leave his head.
"You’re the only one on the field who understands me, Dante"
It was strange to hear that. Dante had always believed his role was on the front line, that he was there to be the standout, to score goals, at most, and control the pace of the match. He had never thought himself capable of seeing anything beyond the obvious. But when Kelvin asked him if he had already known the backheel pass was coming, Dante couldn’t deny it.
Deep down, from the moment he saw Kelvin’s movement, something inside him had already calculated that the ball would reach his feet. It was instinct. It was connection. And that was what Kelvin wanted to show him.
"Then show me, Kelvin... Show me this world you keep talking about"
Kelvin smiled, his eyes shining as if carrying a secret no one else in the stadium could decipher. Sanu’s number 11 received the ball again, pulling it close to his left foot and already twisting his body to escape Diego, who came charging like a raging bull to win possession.
Diego lunged, but with a sharp cut, Kelvin left him behind. The ball stuck to his foot, and before Biel could close the space, Kelvin released a short, low pass, straight to Dante.
Dante controlled it at once, but he didn’t think about holding it. With a light hip turn, he flicked the ball backheel. Kelvin didn’t even need to look. He already knew. The ball returned to his foot as if drawn by a magnet.
The crowd began to stir.
"Look at that!", Samuel shouted, jumping from his seat.
"They’re... in sync?", Samuka answered, eyes wide.
Kelvin pulled Mateus out of the box as he stepped up to intercept. Instead of going for the dribble, Kelvin rolled the ball smoothly to the side. Dante was already there, anticipating the pass, controlling it at once and spinning on his axis, leaving Biel completely lost.
"They’re not even looking!", Matheus Rios said, stunned, his voice breaking.
"It’s pure awareness", Rafael Duarte added, trembling with excitement.
Now with space, Dante drove toward the edge of the box. Biel sprinted back furiously, but before he could catch him, Dante released another first-time pass, low, short, almost without looking. Kelvin was already making the diagonal run.
The ball found the left foot of number 11, who didn’t stop to think. He pushed it toward the byline, dragging Luquinhas with him. Just as it seemed he would cross, Kelvin stepped on the ball, spun, and left his marker in the dust.
Back to goal, surrounded, Kelvin simply flicked it backheel.
Dante appeared again.
With a soft touch, he returned it to Kelvin, who had already spun and burst into the box.
The stadium erupted in screams. It was a spectacle. The ball seemed to dance between them.
"This is unbelievable!", Samuel yelled, hands on his head.
"They’re playing like they’re one person!", Samuka shouted, bouncing on his seat.
Mateus lunged once more, throwing himself in front of Kelvin. But without looking, Kelvin spun and gave another short, low, lateral pass.
Dante appeared again, already inside the box.
And that was when something different happened.
As all this unfolded, Dante didn’t even understand what he was doing. At no point did he think about what he was planning—or rather, what Kelvin was planning.
"Could it be Kelvin is controlling me?", he thought, confused, but he knew the answer was no. Kelvin was simply revealing the genius within him.
And as he realized this, the world before his eyes began to shift completely. As if a new reality appeared, a world entirely transparent.
Everything turned black and white.
The bodies in motion, once chaotic, were now lines, predictable trajectories. He could see even the smallest details: Biel’s shoulder tensing, ready to pounce; Mateus’ right leg lagging, unable to close the gap; the goalkeeper’s desperate gaze, locked onto his shooting leg.
It was as if time had slowed down.
He heard only the sound of his own breathing, each breath echoing in his mind. Sweat rolled down his forehead, but he no longer felt the stadium’s heat. The crowd’s vibration had turned into a distant hum. All that remained was the ball, his feet, and that invisible space Kelvin seemed to open before him. Latest content publıshed on 𝖓𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑~𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖾~𝖓𝖊𝖙
And in that moment, his parents’ voices hammered in his mind again, harsh, inescapable:
"This is your moment"
"You were born to be the star"
Dante’s heart tightened. Since childhood, that phrase had echoed like a curse. Every practice, every match, every victory, every defeat, always with the same weight: he had to be the protagonist. It was the heritage, the expectation, the invisible prison that bound him.
He raised his head and, for a moment, saw the stands in quick flashes. Indistinct faces, but clear cries:
"Show them it’s you, Dante!"
But there was another voice. Softer, more recent.
"There are many ways to be the star of a match, Dante. You don’t have to be a striker, your passes are good... why not try being a midfielder?"
And that broke the cycle.
He didn’t know what to do anymore, but his mind did.
He controlled the ball firmly, raised his leg, and feigned the shot. The goalkeeper dove, desperate. Mateus and Biel threw themselves in to block.
The sound of his cleat striking the dry grass fooled everyone. The entire stadium believed he was about to shoot. Even his teammates held their breath.
But at the last second, when everyone thought he would finally do what he had always been taught to do... Dante rolled the ball to the side.
And there was Kelvin.
With the goal wide open.
For an instant, time seemed to freeze again.
Kelvin lifted his gaze, surprised, but with a glimmer only Dante could see. A glimmer of complicity. Of confirmation.
The stands reacted like a wave. First, silence, as if the air had been ripped from everyone’s lungs, then a deafening roar, a collective scream that shook the stadium’s very foundations.
"MY GOD!", Samuel shouted, jumping and spilling his soda.
"He didn’t shoot... he didn’t shoot!", Samuka repeated, almost unable to believe his eyes.
"He made the pass!", Matheus Rios exclaimed, clapping, his voice breaking with emotion.
"That’s it! That’s real football!", Rafael Duarte finished, punching the air.
On the pitch, Biel panicked, spinning his body to recover. Mateus, still on the ground, pounded the turf in frustration. Diego shouted at the goalkeeper, but it was too late.
And with the fate of the play at his feet.