The break wasn't really a break.
There were fewer meetings. Fewer two-a-days. A few of the older players flew home to see family. Some of the others disappeared to Munich or Berlin for a night out, returning sunken-eyed and groggy but with stories loud enough to echo through the halls of the training center.
Thiago stayed in Dortmund.
Not because he had to. Klopp had made it clear—"Take a few days. Breathe. Go wander if you want." But Thiago didn't want to wander. He didn't even feel like breathing much. He just wanted to train.
So he did.
The gym was emptier now, which meant he could take longer between sets without anyone yelling at him to move. The physio room didn't buzz like a beehive anymore. And when he jogged laps around the frozen outdoor pitch in the mornings, the only sound that followed him was the crunch of his own footsteps on frost.
Sometimes he ran with a ball. Sometimes without. Either way, he didn't stop.
Because the season was coming.
