The fallout from the "Dirt Pitch Flick" was, according to Tico, "a marketing masterpiece of accidental genius." Thiago's phone was no longer vibrating; it was basically vibrating itself into a puddle of molten plastic.
Tico was currently standing on the balcony of the luxury apartment, attempting to negotiate with a high-end French perfume brand while simultaneously trying to prevent a man dressed as a giant chicken from entering the lobby.
"No, I don't care if it's 'subtle and musky'!" Tico yelled into his phone. "Thiago smells like grass and victory! He doesn't need to smell like a French garden! ...Look, if you want him to hold the bottle, you need to triple the offer, and he refuses to wear the scarf! He looks like a painter in the scarf!"
Thiago, meanwhile, was trying to eat his breakfast while watching @GaloAnalysis, a YouTube channel run by a philosophy student who had devoted a forty-minute video to comparing Thiago's "No-Look Chip" to the works of existentialist philosophers.
"You see," the YouTuber argued, pointing at a freeze-frame of Thiago's face, "Thiago is not just scoring; he is demonstrating the absurdity of the defender's existence. He is proving that defensive structure is a social construct, and only through the 'absurd'—the chip—can one truly experience footballing freedom."
Thiago choked on his orange juice. "I just didn't want to break my toe on the keeper," he muttered to himself.
The day of training brought a shift in atmosphere. The international break was looming, but first, they had to face Grêmio—a team renowned for being as cynical as they were successful.
The locker room was a hive of quiet, intellectual intensity. The First Team coach, Rocha, was not shouting today. He was drawing complex, geometric patterns on a glass board.
"Grêmio doesn't play with a defense," Rocha explained, his voice low. "They play with a wall of cynicism. They will try to foul Thiago before he can even think about the flick. Lyanco, I need you to play the role of the 'Philosopher.' If they act, you react. Don't fall for the trap."
Thiago sat near the back, observing his teammates. Hulk was quiet, obsessively checking his boots, a stark contrast to his usual boisterous self. Scarpa was discussing the optimal angle of a free-kick with the goalkeeper, using complex vocabulary that left the rest of the room scratching their heads.
"The trajectory, in a vacuum, would be a simple parabola," Scarpa argued, "but with the Magnus effect and the specific humidity of the Arena MRV, we are looking at a more complex, non-linear function."
"It's just a banana kick, Gustavo," Hulk grunted, not looking up.
As they walked out to the pitch, Thiago found himself walking alongside Hulk. The captain looked down at him, his face serious.
"You did well against Fortaleza, kid. But Grêmio? They won't just try to break your ankles. They'll try to break your confidence."
"I'm not worried about confidence, Captain," Thiago replied, looking straight ahead. "I'm worried about finding the space to do this." He quickly performed a perfect Bergkamp Flick with a water bottle on the touchline, catching it before it fell.
Hulk actually smiled—a rare, genuine expression. "Good. If you can do that with a plastic bottle, I expect you to do it with a Grêmio defender. Just don't expect me to applaud if you try it in our own box."
The training session was intense, focused on rapid transition drills—the exact opposite of the slow, methodical style Grêmio would try to impose. Thiago felt the System's blue glow guiding him, calculating trajectories and positioning in real-time. He wasn't just training; he was preparing for a match that was already being described as a clash of philosophies: Grêmio's cynical realism versus Thiago's absurd surrealism.