CHAPTER 123: CHAPTER 123 – SOMETHING TO PROVE

The morning air was crisp and sharp in his lungs as Thiago stepped onto the training pitch. The grass beneath his cleats was still damp with dew, each blade glistening under the pale September sun that struggled to break through the Dortmund clouds. His breath came out in little white puffs as he tugged his gloves on tighter, the leather creaking slightly from the cold. Around him, teammates were slowly trickling onto the field. Some still yawned and rubbed sleep from their eyes while others were already warming up, lazily juggling balls or jogging in slow circles to shake off the morning stiffness.

"Looks like someone finally slept in his own place, eh?" Sven Bender said as he came up beside Thiago with a slight grin.

Thiago smirked. "Yeah. Still feels weird not hearing hotel doors slam shut every five minutes."

Bender nodded knowingly. "You’ll get used to the quiet. Just be careful. That’s when the homesickness sneaks in."

"Already called my mom," Thiago said, laughing. "I’m not taking any chances."

Behind them, Kuba let out a dramatic scream as Subotić launched a ball straight at his back. "Animal! Absolute savage!" he shouted, clutching his side like he’d been shot.

"Relax, drama queen," Subotić called back, rolling his eyes. "You’ll live."

"Barely!" Kuba groaned, flopping onto the grass like a dying man.

The mood was light, the kind of easy banter that only came when the team was in good spirits. Thiago could feel the difference in the air today. There was an energy, a buzz that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was the upcoming match. Maybe it was the crisp autumn air. Or maybe it was the unspoken knowledge that today, things might change.

Klopp emerged from the building with his staff, his usual wool cap pulled low over his forehead and a clipboard tucked under one arm. The moment he stepped onto the pitch, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations dropped to murmurs, feet shuffled toward the center, and the ball juggling stopped. Everyone stood a little straighter, eyes locked onto their manager.

"Alright boys," Klopp said, his voice loud and bright despite the early hour. "You know what week it is. Bundesliga, Matchday 4. We’re playing Hamburger SV. And after two hard-fought matches in five days, we’ve earned a bit of rotation."

That got a reaction. A few eyebrows shot up. Players exchanged glances some hopeful, others wary. Thiago felt his stomach tighten just a little.

"I want hunger. Energy. Intelligence," Klopp continued, pacing slightly as he spoke. "We’re at home, and we’ll be playing our game, but I also want to give chances. There are some of you who’ve been training like wolves waiting for the gate to open." He paused, meeting a few pairs of eyes directly. "That gate is opening."

Thiago felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot through him. He kept his face carefully neutral, but his fingers twitched at his sides. He couldn’t help glancing at the others. Kuba, standing beside him, gave him a subtle nudge with his elbow.

Klopp moved them through warmups quickly. Thiago felt sharp today sharper than usual. His feet were light, his passes crisp, his turns smooth. There was an energy in his movements that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t the nervous buzz of his debut, nor the desperate excitement of being subbed on for a few minutes. This was different. This felt... right.

After a particularly intense rondo drill where Thiago had intercepted three passes in a row, Klopp called them in again. The squad huddled close, breath steaming in the cool air as the coaches exchanged looks.

"You’ll get the full list later," Klopp said. "But I’ll tell you now some of you will be starting who haven’t yet."

The air went electric. Every player leaned in slightly, shoulders tense, eyes locked onto Klopp.

"Thiago," Klopp said, and his eyes found Thiago’s immediately. "You’re starting this weekend."

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then the murmurs started. Kuba slapped his back hard enough to make him stumble. "There we go!"

Mario Götze, standing nearby, grinned. "Oi, Brazil’s in the building."

Thiago blinked. "Wait... really?"

"You think I joke about football?" Klopp’s smile was brief but warm. "You’ve earned it. You’ll be starting left wing. Großkreutz will be on the other side. Barrios in the center."

The world tilted slightly. The words echoed in his head. You’re starting. Left wing. From the first whistle. In the Bundesliga.

Klopp kept talking, going over tactics and shape, but the noise faded to a dull hum in Thiago’s ears. He nodded along, trying to stay present, but his mind kept circling back to those words. Starting. First eleven. His chest felt tight with something he couldn’t quite name.

When the meeting broke up and players returned to drills, Thiago lingered for a second too long. Bender passed by, clapping his shoulder hard.

"Welcome to the real fight."

Thiago grinned. "Feels a little unreal."

"It won’t once the whistle blows."

Kuba jogged up beside him as they headed to their next drill. "So. First start."

"Yeah."

"You nervous?"

Thiago thought about it. "I don’t know. Not yet."

Kuba chuckled. "You will be. But don’t worry. Everyone messes up their first start."

"Thanks," Thiago deadpanned.

"Except me, of course," Kuba added with a smug look. "I was perfect. Ask Klopp."

"Don’t believe anything he says," Subotić called from behind them. "The man tripped over his own shoelace in the first five minutes."

"That was a tactical stumble!" Kuba declared, grinning like an idiot.

"Sure it was," Subotić fired back, rolling his eyes. "You fell on your ass trying to chase a loose ball. Tactical my ass."

"Hey," Kuba said, wagging a finger. "It was muddy. I was adjusting my stride."

"Oh, adjusting?" Mario cut in. "Is that what we’re calling clumsy as fuck now?"

Kuba raised his hands in mock surrender. "You kids have no respect for veterans."

"Veteran of what?" Bender asked, laughing. "Clown school?"

Even Klopp, pacing on the sideline, shook his head as he tried to ignore them, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

Thiago chuckled quietly, still wearing that quiet grin he’d been holding since Klopp named him in the starting eleven. It was strange how natural this all felt now. The jokes, the ribbing, the easy back-and-forth. It was like some invisible line had finally been crossed. He wasn’t just some new prospect tagging along anymore.

He belonged.

"I just hope you don’t ’adjust your stride’ on the pitch Saturday," Thiago said, nudging Kuba.

"Oh please," Kuba replied. "You should be more worried about yourself, rookie. First start? Don’t shit yourself out there."

"I’ll try not to trip over my shoelaces."

"Hey," Subotić called out. "If he does, it’s ’tactical’, remember?"

"Exactly," Thiago said, nodding. "I learned from the best."

"Fuck off," Kuba muttered, flipping him the bird with a grin.

Training rolled on after that, and the banter slowly gave way to focus. Drills. Tactical walkthroughs. Klopp didn’t go soft just because some players were getting rest. He demanded the same intensity, the same sharpness in every pass and run.

Thiago stayed sharp. His mind was still buzzing, but his body responded well. His touches were clean, his movement fluid. There was a bite to his play now, a quiet fire under the surface.

He wanted to start. And more than that he wanted to make sure it wasn’t the last time.

------

It was late afternoon by the time he made it back to his new apartment. The moving company had delivered the last of his boxes earlier that morning, and now the place finally felt... livable.

Still empty, yeah. White walls. Bare counters. But it didn’t feel foreign anymore.

He tossed his bag in the corner and walked to the small balcony. The sun was beginning to set behind the rooftops, casting everything in a golden hue. The city stretched out before him, alive with movement and noise. Cars honked in the distance. People walked briskly down the sidewalks, bundled up against the evening chill. Somewhere, a dog barked.

Not a bad view.

He leaned against the railing, letting the cool air wash over him. His muscles ached pleasantly from training, the kind of ache that meant he’d pushed himself hard. Good.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Thiago pulled it out, still barefoot on the cool tile of his new living room floor. A message from Marina lit up the screen:

Marina:

"Big news, Thiago. Puma have contacted me to let you know they’ve sent over a few new pairs of boots that you’ll need to wear for your matches as part of the contract."

He blinked at the message, eyebrows rising. Then another came in, just as quickly:

"They’re top-of-the-line, brand-new products, so you’re only benefitting from this."

"They should be arriving at your place pretty soon."

A grin stretched across his face.

So it was really starting now—the Puma deal wasn’t just ink on paper anymore. It was real. Boots. Matches. Representation. The brand actually wanted him to wear their stuff in real games.

His thumb flew across the screen.

Thiago:

"Alright, thanks for letting me know, Marina. And they couldn’t have come at a better time either."

She replied within seconds.

Marina:

"Oh? Why’s that?"

He tapped quickly.

Thiago:

"I’m starting in our match against Hamburger SV."

There was a pause. Then, three messages in rapid succession:

Marina:

"Congratulations, Thiago."

"Your first start. A pretty big achievement."

"I’m proud of you."

Thiago leaned back into the couch cushions, the smile still on his face.

Thiago:

"First of many, hopefully."

Marina:

"I have no doubt about that."

A final message followed:

"Anyway, I’ll leave you to relax for now. Talk later. Bye!"

He set the phone down and exhaled, the buzz of excitement lingering in his chest. New boots. A Bundesliga start. His name in the lineup. Everything was starting to click into place.

And this time, he’d be wearing those boots as more than just a squad player.

He’d be stepping onto the pitch as one of the eleven