Limitless Pitch-Chapter 96 – First Steps

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.

The ride to the training center was shorter than he expected. Jens, the same driver from yesterday, gave a polite nod but said nothing. Marina sat beside him, tapping away at her phone. Occasionally, she would glance at Thiago and ask something like, "Sleep okay?" or "You eat something this morning?" but mostly they rode in silence.

The BVB training complex loomed ahead—sleek, modern buildings in Dortmund’s signature black and yellow, surrounded by wide-open pitches covered in a thin layer of frost. There were a few players arriving already, some on bikes, others stepping out of nice black cars.

As they pulled up, a club staff member was already waiting at the entrance. He wore a Borussia Dortmund windbreaker and smiled like he’d practiced it.

"Thiago, right? Welcome," the man said in slow, clear English. "I’m Henrik. I’ll be guiding you through the day."

Thiago shook his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Let’s start with the medical check. Everything else comes after."

The clinic was clean and cold. Not in a bad way—just sterile. Like a place where no one made mistakes.

Over the next hour, Thiago was poked, scanned, measured, and stretched. He stood shirtless under bright lights while machines checked his posture. He ran on a treadmill with wires taped to his chest. A doctor took blood, and another tested his reflexes.

Everything was explained in English, with the occasional German murmured between staff. Sometimes they nodded at each other, other times they scribbled quick notes on a clipboard. It was hard to tell if they were impressed or concerned.

Eventually, one of the doctors smiled. "Healthy," he said. "Very good recovery markers. You’re in top shape for seventeen."

Thiago gave a small, relieved nod. "Danke."

He said using the only german word he learnt yesterday

Marina, waiting just outside the exam room, gave him a thumbs-up when he emerged. "First hurdle done."

Henrik brought them into a different building after that. The walls were lined with photos of Dortmund legends—Matthias Sammer, Michael Zorc, Roman Weidenfeller Each picture seemed to look down at Thiago like it was measuring him.

"This will be your locker room eventually," Henrik said, opening a door to a quiet hallway. "But for now, you’ll train with the transition group."

Thiago nodded, trying not to let it get to him.

It made sense. He wasn’t expecting to just walk into a Bundesliga locker room on day one. But even still, seeing the polished boots, the yellow jerseys hanging on hooks—it made something stir in his chest. Want. Hunger.

They passed a gym full of players lifting, stretching, laughing. One of them looked up as Thiago passed and gave a quick nod. He recognized him from a Champions League match, but couldn’t place the name.

"Most of the guys know you’re arriving," Henrik said. "No pressure. They’re curious more than anything."

They ended the morning with a walk around the facility. Henrik showed him the recovery rooms, the indoor turf pitch, the canteen. Marina asked a few questions along the way, mostly about schedules and nutrition.

Everything felt big. Organized. Clean. Thiago couldn’t stop thinking how different it was from Palmeiras’ setup back home—where the hot water didn’t always work, and some gear had to be shared between academy players. Of course things were alot better when he when he got to the senior squad but still lackluster to this.

Here, everything had his name on it. Literally. When they reached a small side room where academy players kept their temporary lockers, there it was.

"Thiago Santos – 17" printed clean and bold.

He stared at it for a second longer than he probably should’ve.

Lunch was in the player canteen—grilled chicken, rice, vegetables, and water. Nothing fancy. But still, it was all tailored for athletes. Measured, balanced. No feijoada. No guaraná. Just fuel.

Thiago ate quietly while Marina scrolled through her emails. A couple players nodded at him from other tables. Some whispered. One waved. He waved back, shyly.

"You’ll get used to the stares," Marina said.

"I know," he said.

"You’ve got a light session tomorrow," she added. "Mostly ball work, movement. They’ll want to see how you handle cold weather."

Thiago took another bite. "And after that?"

"Depends on you."

By the time they got back to the hotel, the sun had already started to set—even though it was only a little past four. The light faded early in Germany. That was something he’d have to get used to too.

In his room, he sat on the edge of the bed again and opened the Dortmund welcome folder. Inside was a list of club values, training expectations, and a schedule for the week.

It all felt very real now.

He glanced at his phone. A few new texts. Clara had sent him a goofy photo of herself wearing a Dortmund scarf she must’ve printed online. João had sent a voice message: "Oi, German boy! Hope you didn’t freeze your ears off today!"

Thiago smiled and replied to both of them.

He put the phone down and walked over to the desk. The training shirt from yesterday was still folded where he left it. He picked it up and slipped it on.

It fit a little better now. Like the day had shaped him, even if only slightly.

That night, after a long shower and a failed attempt at German television, he lay back in bed with the lights off.

And he mentally called for the system status.

SYSTEM STATUS

Level: 15

EXP: 545 / 600

Skill Points Available: 11

Attributes:

- Pace – 72

- Dribbling – 73

- Shooting – 68

- Passing – 71

- Physicality – 67

- Mentality – 65

Sub-Attributes:

- Ball Control – 75

- Trick Execution – 67

- Stamina – 68 freēwēbηovel.c૦m

- Vision – 71

Perks: Anchored Presence

Thiago didn’t feel the same nervousness he used to when the System appeared. He didn’t feel like it was a game anymore. It felt like... something that belonged to him.

He turned over, pulled the covers higher, and went to sleep.

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