It didn't matter that he already had two assists. The pitch didn't remember.
Training started at 8:00 AM sharp, and by 8:15, Thiago was already sweating through his base layer. The sky was the kind of washed-out gray that made everything feel colder than it actually was, and the wind had teeth again. He adjusted his neck warmer and kept moving.
One good pass wouldn't keep him in the squad. One moment of vision wouldn't protect him from the bench. He'd played two matches for Dortmund—his debut and then the next one, where he'd somehow picked out Barrios again with a cross that looked simple but came from hours of practice hitting the same ball at slightly different angles. Two assists. Two tiny cracks of light.
And still, none of it meant anything now.
What mattered was today. This drill. The next drill. Then tomorrow. Then the next week.
