Kelvin woke up early, even before his parents opened their eyes. It was still dawn when he sat up in bed, the room bathed in soft shadows, with only the faint light from the streetlamp filtering through the curtains. He felt restless, yet at the same time, surprisingly calm. The number 11 jersey was already neatly folded over the chair, next to the backpack where he had packed his cleats, shin guards, and a water bottle.
He got up silently, careful not to make any noise. He went to the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and spent a few seconds staring at his reflection in the mirror. It wasn't just any Saturday. It was tournament day. His first official tournament with Sanu.
Down in the kitchen, he prepared a light breakfast — an egg sandwich, a banana, and a glass of juice. He ate in silence, his stomach churning more from anticipation than hunger. With each passing minute, he imagined the field, his teammates, the opponents, and most of all… the crowd. Even if it was just students, teachers, and a few parents, it was still a lot more people than he was used to.
After eating, he went back to his room and put on the school uniform over a thermal shirt. He did it with an almost ceremonial care, as if preparing for something sacred. Before leaving, he took one last look at the room, as if saying goodbye to an old stage before stepping into the spotlight.
A little before 7:30, he left the house. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but the sky was already tinted with a promising pale blue. The walk to school felt shorter than usual — maybe because of the rush or the nerves.
When he reached the gate, he saw some teammates already there: Ian sitting on the step with headphones on; Felipe and Luan playing with a ball; Kazana standing against the wall, arms crossed, looking at the sky.
Kelvin walked up and was greeted with a silent nod.
— Slept well? — asked Kazana, still not taking his eyes off the sky.
— More or less — Kelvin replied with a brief smile. — But I'm ready.
— That's what matters — said Kazana, finally looking at him. — Today's going to be our first tournament of the season.
One by one, the players began to arrive. At 7:50, Rafael showed up, checking the attendance list. He was as serious as ever, but there was something different in his eyes — maybe pride, maybe expectation.
— Morning, everyone. The bus is on its way. Let's stay focused — he said, clapping his hands lightly to get their attention. — Take this tournament seriously, people. Just because it's the first of the season doesn't mean it's whatever.
Kelvin took a deep breath.
Rafael then pulled a large cloth bag from his hands and began to speak while pulling something out.
— Before we get on the bus, I have something to give you. — He held up a pair of black athletic pants. — I know the uniform only came with the shirt and socks, but we managed to get these pants to complete the look. I want you to wear them during the tournament, it'll give the team more presence, more unity. Looks more professional.
He began handing them out one by one. They were simple pants, but well made, with the Sanu crest discreetly embroidered on the left side. Most players smiled when they received theirs — little details like this, even simple, helped create a sense of professionalism none of them were used to.
— And Murilo, Levi — he said, looking at the two goalkeepers — I've got these for you.
Rafael pulled out two differently cut pants. Wider at the legs, made with thicker, more resistant fabric on the sides. Clearly goalkeeper pants, made for diving and contact with the ground.
— I know they're different, but you need something specific for the position, alright?
Murilo took his with a nod. Levi, more reserved, simply thanked him with a quiet "thanks."
— Now put them on and get everything ready, the bus is almost here. — Rafael finished, looking toward the gate.
Kelvin held his pants in his hands and, for a moment, just stared at the embroidered crest. He felt a strange warmth in his chest — a kind of pride he was still learning to recognize. He put the pants on right there, over his thermal. The outfit with the number 11 jersey was now complete, and in that moment, he truly felt like part of the team. A real player.
The sound of an engine approaching from the street interrupted his thoughts. The school bus — old, but clean — turned the corner and stopped right in front of the school entrance.
— Let's go, everyone on board! — Rafael called out, already walking toward the bus door. — No messing around, stay focused. Our game's at 11:00, and we need to be there already!
Kelvin climbed the steps right behind Kazana. He picked a window seat on the left side and sat down. The city's scenery was beginning to brighten with the sunrise, and as the bus started moving, Kelvin rested his head against the glass, feeling the morning chill contrast with the warmth growing in his chest.
The ride to Sobral, where the tournament was happening, took just over an hour and a half, but to Kelvin, it felt like about three. The other players spoke quietly, some listening to music, others with headphones on or just staring out the window, each dealing with the anticipation in their own way. Rafael, seated at the front, talked softly with the driver, but from time to time turned around to observe the group attentively.
When the bus finally stopped, reality hit them all. There it was — the field. A well-kept synthetic turf, with freshly painted white lines, tall goals with new nets, and covered benches. Around it, concrete bleachers were already starting to fill with students and teachers.
— Everyone out! — Rafael called, standing quickly. — Your match starts at eleven, but I want everyone ready and warmed up before then.
The players got off in an orderly fashion. Kelvin stepped down with his backpack on his shoulders, taking in the smell of the grass mixed with the fresh morning breeze. The field was larger than the school's, and he already felt the weight of the moment — and he hadn't even stepped on it yet.
Across the street, right next to the field, there was a small snack bar with a red awning and plastic tables spread across the sidewalk. The smell of grilled bread and fresh coffee filled the air — irresistible even to the most nervous.
Several players from other teams were already there, laughing, eating, and relaxing before their matches. It was a simple place, but cozy — almost like a local tradition for those who played on that field.
Rafael pointed with his chin toward the place.
— Guys, we've still got about forty minutes before warm-up. If anyone wants to grab something to eat, now's the time. That place is famous — he said with a slight smile, easing the tension a bit. — But go easy, alright? Don't stuff yourselves before the game.
Some of the players lit up and began crossing the street in small groups. Kelvin went along with Ian and Felipe, the smell coming from the grill stirring up the hunger that had been hidden by anxiety. As they approached the snack bar, they were greeted by the sound of conversation and the clinking of glass cups.
— I'll just have an egg sandwich and a black coffee — said Ian, already heading to the counter naturally, as if he were a regular.
Kelvin smiled. Even though the nervousness was still there, being in that pre-match environment with his teammates made everything feel more real — and at the same time, lighter.
— This tournament is ours — said Dante, who was right behind them.
Kelvin just nodded. No words were needed.