The alarm tore through the silence with a metallic harshness that made Gabriel open his eyes all at once, like a soldier awakening to reveille.
Reveille. The thought bothered him — where had such a specific comparison come from? He'd never served in the military. At least, not in this life.
He stared at the white ceiling for a long moment, negotiating surrender terms with his own reluctant body. In the corner of the room, his backpack leaned against the wall like a sentinel awaiting orders.
Belém's scent entered through the open window — moisure from night rain, wet asphalt drying in the rising sun, and the distant murmur of a city that never truly slept. Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the unlived day settling on his shoulders like a familiar mantle. He breathed deeply. Once. Controlling the rhythm.
"First day," he whispered to the empty room, his voice still hoarse. "Let's do this right."
His posture aligned almost by instinct — shoulders back, spine straight, chin slightly raised. An automatic remnant from a time he couldn't name, but his body remembered perfectly. There would be no sword today, but the sensation of battle's eve was there, suspended in the dense, humid air.
He grabbed his phone. The screen lit up, showing for an instant the sword on his wallpaper. For a fraction of a second, the metal seemed to glow, more intense than the night before, as if something inside the image was waiting for him.
Gabriel blinked deliberately. The image returned to normal.
Need to sleep better, he thought. But he made no move to change the wallpaper.
He closed his eyes and made a silent promise, without witnesses — the same ritual he performed before anything important.
"Today, something good will happen."
Or at least, the voice in his head added, something efficient.
…
The UFPA campus was a green continent at the edge of a river that seemed more like an ocean. The sidewalk followed the waterfront, stretching like an invitation to get lost. Gabriel felt the water's flow calling his attention — a sleeping liquid giant, lazy, reflecting the cloudy sky like an imperfect mirror.
"Coffee to wake up, my friend? Hot pastry, fresh from the oil!"
A vendor with a styrofoam cooler tied to his bicycle offered with a smile that seemed to know all the freshmen from all semesters.
Gabriel took a plastic cup and a pastry that burned his fingers slightly, the heat infiltrating his hands like a morning blessing. The coffee's strong taste cut through sleep's fog. "Thanks," he said, his clumsy attempt to imitate the local accent being received with low, complicit laughter.
"First week here?" the vendor asked, already preparing the next order with economical movements that spoke of years of practice.
"Yeah," Gabriel smiled, genuine for the first time that morning. "Still learning to talk like people from here."
"Man, you already speak better than many São Paulo folks who show up here," the man laughed. "Stay calm, you'll get the hang of it. Belém teaches those who want to learn."
Following signs that seemed to multiply at each corner, an amused thought struck him: A labyrinth. Except instead of a minotaur, there's a Calculus I professor waiting to ambush the unprepared.
After a near collision with a bicycle — his reflexes making him dodge with a fluidity that surprised even himself — he finally found the right building.
…
In the hallway, a mural vibrated with youthful energy: overlapping posters like archaeological layers of student history. And there, discreet in a corner, a poster that made Gabriel stop mid-step as if he'd hit an invisible wall.
Yellow and blue, with the word "Enactus" in bold, challenging letters.
The name hit him not like a common sound, but like a vibration that crossed his chest — an echo reverberating in a place of memory he kept carefully locked.
The image came sharp and involuntary: him, younger and more cynical, sitting on a street curb he couldn't locate geographically. Beside him, a friend with easy laughter speaking with contagious enthusiasm about "a team that uses business ideas to change the real world."
He'd mocked it then. Generic superhero name.
Why did I have to be so cynical? The regret came with unexpected force.
Now, the poster was there in front of him, almost accusing. "Enactus UFPA – Transforming ideas into real impact." The phrase was ambitious, perhaps naive... but something about it stuck to him like the golden dust of purpose.
His hand moved involuntarily, fingers almost touching the paper.
"You don't look like someone just passing through," said a voice behind him, calm but analytical.
Gabriel turned faster than intended — another of those automatic reflexes from a training manual he didn't remember reading.
It was a tall, thin student with a backpack carelessly slung over one shoulder and a badge that said "Leonardo – Communications." His gaze wasn't just curious; it was surgical.
"I... was just looking," Gabriel replied, instinctively stepping back half a step — always creating space for maneuver.
Leonardo smiled, an intelligent smile that suggested he'd noticed the retreat. "Man, nobody just looks at that poster the way you were looking. Seemed like you were deciding if the armor fit your size."
The word armor made something strange happen in Gabriel's chest — a stab of physical recognition.
Leonardo pointed with his chin to a room at the end of the hallway. "Open presentation is happening right there now. That's where you find out if the armor really fits or if it's just cheap metal fantasy."
Gabriel's hesitation lasted exactly one heartbeat.
Today, something good will happen.
He took a step toward the room. Then another. The decision was made before his conscious mind could interfere.
…
The room buzzed with an energy Gabriel recognized immediately. It wasn't the usual academic chaos; it was something more focused. Chairs arranged in a semicircle, a makeshift projector on a wall that had seen better days, laptops open like digital windows to possible worlds.
It was an idea garage disguised as a classroom.
A woman about twenty-four commanded the front of the room with a naturalness that didn't need volume to be authoritative. Hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, posture radiating leadership without arrogance.
Must be Marina, he thought, noting how the others naturally oriented themselves toward her.
Gabriel chose a chair at the back of the room — a position that gave him a complete view of the space — and settled in to observe.
The presentation was creative, passionate, focused. A guy with an open notebook was furiously taking notes — shy in posture but with attentive eyes. On the other side, someone with an unmistakably Amazonian accent made a comment that drew genuine laughs.
As the presentation changed to "Project 2 – Water of Tomorrow," the memory of his friend returned with renewed force. "They need people who see things differently, you know?"
Suddenly, a sharp gasp cut through the room's focus.
A guy — distinct from the others by his polished clothes but nervous posture — had tried to navigate between the desks holding a large, open cup of iced coffee. His foot caught on a backpack strap. He stumbled forward, gravity taking over.
The trajectory of the fall was a disaster in slow motion. The dark liquid wasn't just falling toward the floor; it was arcing directly toward the main laptop controlling the presentation. The only laptop with the data.
Marina's eyes widened. Leonardo reached out, but he was too far away.
Before the collective panic could turn into a scream, Gabriel moved.
It wasn't a frantic lunge. It was a calculation executed in flesh and bone. He was sitting closest to the impact zone. In one fluid motion, his left hand shot out, not to catch the cup — that was a layman's error — but to snatch the laptop.
He pulled the computer sideways, clearing the danger zone by a millimeter. Simultaneously, his right forearm blocked the falling boy's chest, absorbing the momentum and stopping him from face-planting into the table.
Splash.
The coffee hit the empty space on the table where the laptop had been a fraction of a second ago, dripping harmlessly onto the floor. Not a single drop touched the electronics.
Silence slammed into the room.
Gabriel sat there, holding the laptop safely in mid-air with one hand, while the clumsy guy hung suspended against his other arm, blinking in shock.
"Careful," Gabriel said, his voice calm, contrasting with the adrenaline spiking in everyone else's veins. He set the laptop back down on a dry patch of the table and gently pushed the guy back to a standing position. "Electronics don't like caffeine."
The guy stared at the dry keyboard, then at the puddle, then at Gabriel. "Man... you saved the project. I... I didn't even see you move."
"Just reflexes," Gabriel murmured, leaning back into his chair as if he hadn't just engaged in high-speed crisis management. He wiped a small speck of coffee from his sleeve — the only casualty of the event.
Marina had stopped breathing for a second. Now, she exhaled slowly, observing him with an expression that mixed genuine relief and sharp curiosity. Most people would have tried to catch the cup and failed. Gabriel had identified the critical asset (the laptop) and prioritized it instantly.
That wasn't luck. That was threat assessment.
On the other side of the room, Leonardo tapped his pen against his chin, eyes narrowed in fascination.
"Well," the guy with the Amazonian accent broke the tension, letting out a low whistle. "Damn. That was fast. Like... electric fast."
He grinned, looking around the room. "Look at that. Seems like we got a Spark in the wiring, huh? Saved us from a blackout."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Spark?"
"Yeah," the guy laughed, the tension dissolving into relief. "You react fast, things don't blow up. Good nickname."
It was clearly a joke, but the name seemed to stick in the air. Spark.
For an instant, it irritated Gabriel. But then, something deeper moved inside him. A recognition. That was exactly what he used to be. Not the main hero, not the leader, but the spark that made things happen. The Support.
…
The meeting ended with free discussions. Gabriel stayed quiet, analyzing the social dynamics — who spoke, who listened, where the power lay. It was automatic, like software running in the background.
Until they reached an impasse: how to transport water collection units to an isolated riverside community without blowing the budget.
Gabriel spoke without lifting his head, voice low but clear. "You could partner with local cooperatives that already make weekly supply trips. Share freight costs, reduce expenses, and create goodwill. Everyone wins."
Silence. Marina tilted her head. "That... actually solves two problems at once. And creates a third advantage I hadn't thought of."
The guy with the Amazonian accent leaned back, grinning. "See? Spark knows the wiring."
Marina approached as people dispersed. "Do you have previous experience with social projects?"
"Not exactly," Gabriel replied, careful. "But... I understand how things connect."
She studied his face. "Interesting. Leonardo said you seemed like someone looking for something specific."
Gabriel remained silent.
"We meet next Thursday," Marina said, handing him a card. "Same place, same time. If you want to see what it's really like to be part of the team... the door is open. Think about it, Spark."
When she walked away, Gabriel remained alone in the emptying room, the card warming between his fingers.
Something fundamental had changed. As if a door he didn't know was closed had opened just a crack.
He grabbed his phone to check the time. When the screen lit up, for a second that seemed to last longer than normal, the sword on his wallpaper glowed with impossible intensity — pulsing like metal heated by a midday sun.
[System Notification: Role Accepted.]
[Class: Support / Strategist.]
[Welcome to the Team, Spark.]
Gabriel blinked deliberately, forcing focus. The text was gone. The image was normal.
But the sensation remained.
He hadn't just found an academic opportunity. He had found a place where, maybe for the first time in this life, he could stop hiding.
Or at least, begin to discover who he could become if he stopped running from the game.