The Dream That Changed Gabriel
The next morning, long before the first light of dawn spread across the city, Gabriel was already awake.
The soft hum of the air conditioner filled his small hotel room, and the faint chirping of birds outside hinted that morning was near.
His alarm hadn't even gone off yet — but he was wide awake, his heart beating with purpose.
He sat at the edge of his bed, staring at his boots neatly placed by the wall.
His mind replayed the dream he'd had just hours ago — a dream so vivid that it still sent a thrill down his spine.
In that dream, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Lionel Messi on the pitch, wearing his club's green and white jersey.
The stands were packed, and the roar of the crowd echoed around them.
Messi turned to him and smiled, that calm, knowing smile that every football fan recognized.
"Play freely," Messi had said, his voice soft but commanding.
"Don't wait for the moment. Create it."
Gabriel woke up seconds later, his heart racing, a strange fire burning inside him.
He sat up immediately, drenched in sweat, and whispered to himself,
"I'm going to train early. I'll start before everyone else."
That's how his morning began — not because of discipline alone, but because of that dream.
A dream that made him feel like destiny was calling his name.
The training ground was still cloaked in mist when Gabriel arrived.
The grass sparkled with dew, and the faint scent of the earth filled the air.
The field lights were still on, casting long shadows across the turf.
He jogged slowly at first, stretching his muscles, listening to the rhythmic thud of his boots against the grass.
Each breath he took came out in soft clouds of steam, and though his body felt stiff from the early hour, his spirit was alive.
After ten minutes, he increased his pace. His mind wasn't just focused on fitness — it was on improvement.
Every stride, every turn, every deep breath reminded him of that dream. Messi's words echoed in his ears like a melody:
"Don't wait for the moment. Create it."
By the time thirty minutes had passed, his shirt was soaked in sweat.
His legs burned, but he didn't care. He felt free.
Meanwhile, a few early fans had gathered outside the fence.
Palmeiras supporters often showed up to watch the morning sessions, waving flags or taking photos.
They were surprised to see a single figure running laps around the pitch.
"Is that Gabriel?" one fan asked, squinting through the mesh fence.
"Yeah, it looks like him. Why's he alone though? Training hasn't even started."
"Maybe he's trying to impress the coach," another joked.
"Or maybe he's just crazy about football," a woman said with a chuckle.
None of them knew the real reason — that a dream had lit a fire in him so strong that he couldn't stay in bed.
Around 7:30 a.m., the team bus rolled into the training facility.
The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air as players stepped out, carrying their boots, bottles, and music speakers.
Coach Abel Ferreira stepped out last, still holding a cup of coffee, his hair a little messy from sleep.
He looked across the field and stopped in surprise when he saw Gabriel running.
He raised an interested eyebrow.
"What on earth...?" he muttered, sipping his coffee.
The assistant coach followed his gaze.
"He's been running since we arrived, boss. Probably for a while now."
Abel chuckled softly.
"This boy," he said, shaking his head. "He told me at dawn he'd be here early. I thought he was joking."
He wasn't.
The coach watched Gabriel finish another lap and slow to a jog, wiping sweat from his forehead.
There was something about the young man's intensity — a quiet determination that spoke louder than words.
By the time the rest of the squad started their warm-ups, Gabriel was already loose and breathing easily.
As the team began jogging around the field together, most players were still half-asleep, laughing, and teasing each other, but Gabriel moved with purpose.
> "Hey, Gabi!" shouted, Gomez his close friend. "You tryna win a marathon before training even starts?"
Gabriel grinned, breathless.
"Just getting a head start, bro."
"You're crazy," Gomez laughed. "Coach should make you the fitness trainer."
Abel Ferreira watched the interaction quietly, making mental notes.
He admired hard work — and Gabriel's attitude that morning told him something had changed.
After fifteen minutes of jogging and stretching, the real training began.
The energy shifted. The players stopped laughing and focused on the drills ahead.
The pre-season match against Inter Miami was just days away.
Unlike the friendly against FC Brasília — a lower-division team they easily defeated — this one would be serious.
Everyone knew Inter Miami had star players, including Lionel Messi, and the thought of facing him filled the locker room with both excitement and nerves.
Abel clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.
"Alright, team. Today, we're working on intensity.
I want to see focus, control, and intelligence. We have to be ready for Inter Miami — this is not a casual game."
His voice carried across the field with authority.
The players nodded, forming into groups.
The coach started by separating defenders and midfielders.
Weverton, the experienced goalkeeper, took his position between the posts. Abel set up a one-on-one drill.
"When you receive the ball," he explained to the attackers, "you're facing a defender.
I want you to beat him — not just with speed, but with vision. Think before you move. Finish strong."
Then he turned to the defensive midfielders.
"And you — take your shots from outside the box. Don't hesitate. If you see a gap, strike before they close it."
It was a simple drill — but intense. Each player's turn was a battle of pride and skill.
When Gabriel's turn came, he took a deep breath and stepped forward.
Abel threw him the ball. Gabriel controlled it with one touch and looked up.
His opponent was Gustavo Gómez, the team captain.
The field fell silent for a moment. Then came the laughter and teasing.
"Oh, the brothers meet!" shouted Raphael Veiga, laughing.
"Nah, more like father and son!" added Victor, grinning.
"Let's see who wins this family war!"
Gabriel and Gómez exchanged a knowing glance.
They were close — teammates, friends, almost like family. But now, for this drill, that didn't matter.
They pretended not to know each other. Gómez crossed his arms, smirking.
"Let's see what you've got, kid," he said.
Gabriel smiled back.
"You'll see, captain."
Abel blew the whistle.
Gabriel feinted right, then shifted left, the ball glued to his foot.
Gómez didn't bite. His eyes followed every movement.
Gabriel accelerated, trying to slip past, but Gómez extended his leg, blocking the ball cleanly.
"Nice try," Gómez said with a grin.
The players clapped and whistled. Abel nodded approvingly.
"That's the energy I want!"
They reset. Gabriel tried again — this time with a different rhythm.
He slowed down, then burst forward suddenly, using a quick step-over.
Gómez lunged, but Gabriel slipped past him and fired low into the bottom corner.
Goal.
The team erupted in cheers.
Gabriel smiled, panting, as Gómez patted his shoulder.
"Good one," the captain said. "You're learning."
The coach watched closely, nodding with satisfaction.
Gabriel's improvement wasn't just in skill — it was in confidence.
The drills continued for nearly one hour. One-on-ones, passing sequences, pressing traps, and finishing exercises.
The strikers were sharp, though some struggled with composure in front of goal.
Gabriel, however, seemed in rhythm. Every touch, every turn felt natural.
His movements were fluid — instinctive.
It was as if that dream with Messi had unlocked something inside him.
When Abel shifted the session to set pieces, the tone changed.
They practiced corners, free kicks, and defensive positioning.
But it quickly became clear that the defenders were struggling.
They mistimed jumps, left gaps, and failed to clear the second balls.
Abel frowned and blew his whistle sharply.
"Stop! Stop right there!"
The field went silent. He walked toward the group, his expression serious.
"This," he said, pointing at the defenders, "is where games are lost.
You can play beautifully for ninety minutes, but one bad set piece — one moment of laziness — and it's over."
The players nodded, catching their breath.
"We'll fix this," Abel continued. "
This evening, we'll dedicate extra time to defending and attacking set pieces.
I want no mistakes in Miami. Understood?"
"Yes, coach!" they all shouted.
He looked at his watch and nodded.
"Good. Morning session over."
As the players gathered their water bottles, Abel called out,
"Gabriel! Gómez! A word, please."
The two men walked over, sweat dripping from their faces.
Abel smiled, crossing his arms.
"That one-on-one earlier — I liked what I saw. You two acted like strangers, completely professional.
He turned to Gómez. That's what I expect from a leader
"You set the tone for this team, Gustavo. You challenged him without going easy — that's the right mentality."
Then he looked at Gabriel.
"And you, kid — that composure, that hunger, I can see it growing. Keep it.
You've got something special, but you need to keep learning.
Listen to your captain — he's your best teacher right now."
Gabriel nodded respectfully.
"Yes, coach. Thank you."
Abel smiled faintly.
"Good. Now go eat something before you collapse."
As they walked back toward the locker room, Gabriel and Gómez exchanged a laugh.
"You didn't make it easy for me," Gabriel said, shaking his head.
"I'm not supposed to," Gómez replied. "If I go easy on you, who's going to push you to get better?"
"Fair enough," Gabriel said, smiling. "But next time, I'm winning twice."
"We'll see about that," Gómez said, chuckling.
Inside the locker room, the atmosphere was relaxed again.
The players joked, sang, and talked about the upcoming game.
He didn't tell anyone the truth — that Messi actually had visited him in that dream.
It felt too personal, too special to share.
Later, at the hotel's breakfast buffet, the players filled their plates with fruits, eggs, and toast.
Abel joined them briefly, chatting casually about football and life.
Gabriel sat by the window, quietly eating and watching the morning sun rise over the city.
The golden light spilled across the floor, warming his skin. He felt peaceful.
He knew that the match against Inter Miami wasn't just another game.
It was a chance — maybe his chance — to stand on the same pitch as Messi, not in a dream, but in reality.
And when that moment came, he would remember every drop of sweat shed that morning, every stride he took before dawn, every lesson from his captain.
Because he wasn't waiting for the moment anymore.
He was creating it.