The floodlights above Allianz Parque still burned, throwing long shadows over the pitch as Thiago walked back toward the bench—not with swagger, not with exhaustion, but something else. Something quiet. Like the eye of a storm that had already passed, and the heat still rising from the earth.
He didn't celebrate much. The team had already swarmed him after the third goal. Even Nando, stiff and silent all season, had patted his shoulder, offering no words but a nod that said what pride never could.
But now the adrenaline drained from his legs, and the weight settled back onto his frame. Not burden, but truth. The game had asked everything of him—and he had answered.
When he sat down, he barely noticed Eneas' look from the touchline. The coach didn't speak. Just a slow inhale, the briefest of gestures—thumb brushing his chin, eyes steady. Measured approval.
The match ended 3–2.
Palmeiras victorious.
