GOAT7

its the year 2014 14 Year old João Félix is a prodigious young talent playing in FC Porto's youth academy. Though physically undersized, he demonstrates exceptional spatial intelligence, technique, and tactical awareness. His teammates call him “O Mago” (The Magician) for the way he creates opportunities from impossible angles. His family is supportive but modest—his father a teacher, his brother Hugo a fellow academy player.

But João’s rise halts abruptly when he is cut from the FC Porto youth system, with the reason cited as “developmental concerns” (a euphemism for being too small and not physically developed enough). The decision devastates him. Suddenly, the player everyone was talking about disappears from the football world. Teammates stop replying to his messages. His name fades from league records. No clubs call. João becomes invisible.

He returns to Viseu, haunted by shame and self-doubt. He refuses to train. Watches old match footage in silence. The once-prodigy now battles depression and isolation.

Then, during a solo jog, João notices a man watching him from afar. This man, Tiago, introduces himself as a former analyst from Porto. He presents João with a notebook—filled with diagrams and data focused solely on João’s off-the-ball movements. Tiago offers him something no one else has: belief and a new system of training. He calls it “Jogo Sem Bola”—the game without the ball.

João accepts. He will train in secret. No spotlight. No club. No recognition.

Just the work.

The Ghost of Portugal

Chapter 12 – Under the Lights (600 words

The bib wasn't yellow. It was red — the color they used when an academy player was pulled into senior training. João Félix stared at it in Coach Luís Boa Morte's hand.

"Senior pitch," Boa Morte said. "You've got fifteen minutes to change."

João nodded once. Jogged toward the far tunnel, heart calm, steps light.

Time to prove silence had a shape.

The main pitch cracked under his boots. The grass, tighter. Slicker. You could feel the level before a pass was even hit. Around him, Sporting CP's first team buzzed. Rui Patrício barked from the goal. Adrien Silva barked louder. William Carvalho looked like a wall — wide, calm, immovable.

No one noticed João as he entered the rondo square.

Marco Silva, the head coach, stepped forward, stopwatch in hand. Young, sharp-jawed, suit pressed crisp even for a training session.

"This is not a welcome party," Silva said to the group. "He's here to train. If he's slow, expose him."

First touch — João received it with a cushion, flicked it without looking back to the right. Smooth. But not flashy.

Second touch — reverse bounce pass to the wing. Opened space.

Third touch — none. Just a shoulder drop and the defender bit too early.

William noticed. João saw it in the flick of his eyebrows.

Adrien stepped in, pressing hard. João let the ball run across his body — then backheeled it through his legs to the opposite midfielder.

Scrimmage followed. Eleven versus eleven. No bib now. João was with the second team, tasked with unlocking the starters. No instruction, no role. Just figure it out.

Sporting's captain, Adrien Silva, shouted orders every thirty seconds. "Watch his back! Track the run! Step on the second ball!"

João wasn't the fastest. He wasn't the strongest. But when he drifted left — defenders shifted. When he inverted — gaps opened.

William stepped late on a press. João spun, shoulder-to-shoulder with a senior defender. The ball zipped past. João took one touch. Not toward the goal, but into space.

The far touchline erupted. Some clapped. Some just watched.

Minutes later. João checked his shoulder, pulled out wide. The left back followed. João feinted back, darted inside.

The ball came. Not perfect — a bit heavy.

He let it run across, drew pressure, flicked blind over his boot.

The winger overlapped. Cut inside.

Coach Silva lowered his stopwatch. Spoke quietly to one of his assistants.

After training, João unlaced his boots, breathing hard, not exhausted — but processed.

"You made William adjust. That's not nothing."

"He said you bend space. Whatever the hell that means."

He tossed João a fresh senior kit.

That night, João lay in bed, ice pack on his calf, watching clips from the training session Tiago had filmed from the stands. Paused, rewound, analyzed.

William shaded to the right. Adrien overcommitted. Where the center backs left seams.

"Elite players react to the ball. Systems players move before it comes."

No highlight reel. No screaming crowd.

And they'd remember him this time.

Under the light