The morning light in Dortmund was nothing like back home.
It was thin, pale, and cold. Not golden or warm like the sunrises in Campinas. Thiago stood by the hotel room window with a cup of tea Marina had insisted he try. It didn't taste like anything he was used to—bitter and bland—but he kept sipping anyway, just for something to hold.
Today was his first real day.
He hadn't even played yet, and already everything felt heavier. Bigger. The city was quiet below, and he could just barely make out the faint blur of traffic moving down a faraway road. Somewhere in this same city, Jürgen Klopp was probably already yelling instructions in training. Somewhere out there was the pitch that would decide his future.
His phone buzzed.
Marina: Driver downstairs. Be ready.
He pulled on a thick jacket over his hoodie, grabbed his bag, and headed down.
