Thiago closed his eyes on the early bus ride into downtown São Paulo. Morning traffic crawled past on Avenida Paulista, but inside Palmeiras' chartered van, a stillness had settled. Earlier, Rafael had passed him a water bottle without a word; Nando sat mute at the back. Everyone sensed it: across the city, the Clássico against Corinthians loomed like a storm.
They arrived at Pacaembu Stadium just after dawn. The stands still slept under a layer of dew, but floodlights glowed above. Staffers arranged cones, and the pitch waiver felt colder and sharper. In the centre circle, two Corinthians players jogged in green bibs — just a light, unofficial warm-up. But the rivalry was already playing out in the empty seats.
"Walk in slow," Coach Eneas had emphasized. "Look like you belong. But don't act like you own the place."
Palmeiras warmed up, passing at a steady tempo. Thiago threaded triangles, played lasered short balls, and moved his head before each touch. Nando and Rafael occasionally nodded at his technique. A chain of unspoken trust was connecting them. But when the whistle blew, and the Clássico jerseys were laid out in their lockers like armor, anything that had felt safely possible in practice would turn personal.
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Kickoff hit like a blow. Corinthians' 4–4–2 pressed fast, probing through the central midfield. Palmeiras absorbed the pressure in the first five minutes, cautious. Thiago dropped back into the midfield line when Corinthians regained the ball, helping to link defense and attack. He didn't feel burdened—it felt necessary.
By minute 12, Corinthians had taken the lead. A swift one-two down their right flank opened space, and their winger smashed it past our keeper. Fans erupted. Panic could've followed, but Thiago noticed smiles flicker across Palmeiras' bench when Nando cleared a counter cross with flawless composure.
Minutes later, Corinthians nearly doubled. An interception in midfield, long switch, dangerous volley that whipped high—off the woodwork. This match had teeth.
Thiago spent the rest of the first half calculating. He tracked back, closed gaps, and erupted on a counter from minute 17. Rafael found him in space near the edge of the box. Thiago shaped a curling shot, but the keeper tipped it wide. Corner. Nothing came of it—but it was his moment. The room for doubt was shrinking.
The second half began with the Clássico intensity stitched into the air. Corinthians' fans roared like the tide, and Palmeiras responded with steely determination. Thiago wasn't on yet. Coach Eneas held firm, watching Thiago's minute ticks and body signals from the bench.
Around minute 58, Palmeiras earned a free kick just outside the box. Rafael placed it… and nerve tightened in Thiago's chest, not fear, but focus. He thought: Here we go.
Rafael took it. Solid contact. The ball dipped under the bar, but the linesman flagged. Algún susurro — it skated the line.
A chance, but disallowed.
At minute 62, the substitution: 17 ON. 11 OFF.
Thiago stood, heart locked in gear. As he jogged on, he felt every camera angle shift. This was the Clássico, this was him now.
The tempo rose. Corinthians had renown for locking the midfield, squeezing the strokes of passing. Palmeiras pushed forward, trying to break the press. Thiago found pockets—left channel drops, overlapping midfield. In minute 67, he intercepted a pass from midfield and broke onto space. One touch. Two. Curved cross to the far post… cleared by a defender's head.
He felt the bench breathe.
Minutes later, around 71, Thiago drew a foul—skinny, just enough to win a free kick. That same Ryan—bench again—is silent brilliance. He stood, breathing. Rafael returned the free kick deep. Corner won. Crowd hissing.
Next sequence, minute 75: Thiago received the ball wide. The fullback closed; he feigned one way, burst inside, cut back. A flare of brilliance, caught an extra camera lens—at least two local sports channels looping the angle. He slid the ball toward the near post. No one got there.
But again, the spark caught the breath of the fans.
With Corinthians still leading, Palmeiras pushed harder in stoppage time. Every pass felt necessary. Thiago dropped back to recycle play, bled patience into still limbs. He thought of Camila's handwritten note: "Keep running."
Minute 90+2, Rafael launched a sweeping throw. Thiago controlled, faced the box, juked a defender. In that moment—time slowed—he saw an angle, a lane. He drove through a pass to Nando, who was open. Defender closing fast. Nando chipped it… palmed over bar.
It deflected back. Thiago didn't hesitate: left-foot volley on the turn. Keeper reached, top-plucked, but the ball ricocheted into the roof of the net.
1–1.
Hold for two seconds:
He dropped his head. The roar topped the night.
The bench exploded. Players stormed the touchline, fists pumping, shouts echoing into the São Paulo night.Rafael reached Thiago first—grabbed his head, laughed something into his shoulder.Another player slammed into him from behind. "You saved it, 17!"
But Nando?He clapped. Once. From midfield.No run. No smile.He turned and jogged back toward the Palmeiras half, jaw clenched, gaze forward.
Thiago saw it. Noted it. Filed it away like film.
But he didn't chase it.Not now.
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Inside, sweaters drenched, benches smoldering, voices roaring—Palmeiras' cry of defiance after the goal. Coach Eneas paced on the sidelines, fighting emotion but failing. He pulled Thiago aside in a rare close stance. "Good timing. Right place. Not mistakes. Impressive."
That was praise. Enough to echo long after the roar faded.
Thiago found Rafael on the way out. The veteran winger laughed, clapped both shoulders. "You stole the moment—and that's okay. We own this now."
Thiago nodded, chest still tight.