Chapter 11 – Letters from Penedono

February's sunlight was a little kinder, though the morning air still stung. At Benfica's academy grounds, the shadows of boys stretched across damp earth, tiny silhouettes darting from one side of the pitch to the other.

João Dias—now called "Jota" by most—stood quietly at the edge of the training circle. The ball at his feet remained still, but his thoughts didn't.

He listened to boots hitting turf. To breathing.

And to his own quiet rhythm inside.

Something was shifting.

---

That day's training wasn't intense.

Mostly ball control, position rotation, and one-touch drills.

But Jota knew Coach Nuno was watching for something else.

"Who stays calm when the game isn't glamorous?"

"Who stays focused even when no one's watching?"

That was the real test.

And, as always, Jota answered with silence.

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That afternoon, after training, he walked slowly toward the academy's mailroom.