Elismar woke up on Monday morning with a new and strange feeling.It wasn't the anxiety for the match, nor the joy of being with Clara. It was an acute awareness of his own body. He sat up in bed and looked at his own arms—thin and undefined. He remembered the hit from Betão, the pivot of the Concrete Dogs. He remembered their brute strength. Skill was one thing, but strength… strength was something else.I need to get strong.The thought planted itself in his mind like a dogma. A captain can't be a toothpick. I need a champion's physique.
Moved by this epiphany, he slid out of bed and onto the cold floor of his room. His plan was grand—worthy of a training montage."One hundred push-ups. Every day. Starting today."He got into position, hands flat on the floor, body straight. The first push-up was Herculean. His arms trembled, sweat broke out on his forehead, but he managed. His chest touched the ground and he pushed himself back up."One!" he gasped.
The second was an epic battle. He lowered himself, his whole body protesting, muscles screaming in unison. He pushed the floor with everything he had, his face turning red.He made it."Two..." he whispered, out of breath.
On the third attempt, gravity won. His arms gave out and he collapsed onto the floor with a dull thud, his chin lightly hitting the wooden boards. He stayed there, defeated by his own ambition, panting.A hundred push-ups felt as distant as the Moon.
"Elismar Valença, what's all that noise in there? Are you trying to break the floor with your forehead?"His mother's voice came through the door, full of comic concern."I'm… I'm training, Mom," he replied, his voice muffled by the floor."Train your body under the shower, you're already late. Breakfast is on the table. And don't forget: it's a school day, not interclass day. I want to see that same energy in your books!"
Dragging his sore body and wounded pride, Elismar obeyed. After his shower, he dressed slowly. Every muscle felt like a stretched rubber band. He stopped in front of the mirror. Flexed his bicep.Nothing happened. He sighed.The journey to the "physique" would be long.
"Good morning, my advisors," he said to the cats watching him from the bed. "Today, the focus is different. Today's enemy is the quadratic equation. And it's harder to dribble than Léo from the Serpents."He filled their food bowls, petted Fluffball, and waved goodbye to Lightpaw."Take care of the house."
He went out and met Clara on the corner, as usual. She was yawning, her blue eyes still sleepy."Tough night?" he asked, giving her a quick kiss."I dreamed I was the ball and the Concrete Dogs were playing dodgeball with me," she replied, shivering. "My whole body hurts just from watching you guys play. I can only imagine yours.""My body just declared independence from me," he joked, and they walked to school, conversation quiet and pace slow.
Near the gate, the rest of the team was gathered. The scene was a portrait of exhaustion. Markin was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, almost sleeping while standing. Piter yawned so wide it looked like he was going to swallow a pigeon. Lester was massaging his thigh, still sore from a block in the last match. And Ryan was reading a comic, the only thing keeping him awake.
"Look at us," Piter said when he saw Elismar and Clara approaching. "We look like the zombie futsal team. If the biology teacher sees us, he'll use us as class models.""I barely got out of bed," Markin confessed. "I've got a purple bruise on my belly the size of a dinner plate. My mom thinks I got hit by a motorcycle.""We need to rest," said Elismar, voice serious. "Tomorrow is the semifinal. And if we win, the final's the same day. Today, we focus on school. No thinking about the game. No wasting energy. Today we're nerds. Tomorrow, we're champions.""Nerds?" laughed Lester. "The only thing I can focus on today is my lunch plate."
The bell rang, and the group dragged themselves in—a small herd of tired bodies.The first class was math. The teacher, a short bald man with limited patience, filled the board with numbers and letters that seemed to dance before the sleepy students' eyes."The quadratic formula, everyone! Essential for life!" he said, with an enthusiasm no one on Earth shared."Let's go, Piter! What's the value of delta in this equation?"
Piter, who was dozing, jumped up."Delta? Uh… it's an airline, professor?"
The class laughed.The teacher sighed.The morning dragged on, a succession of lessons requiring mental energy the Tigers just didn't have. Elismar tried to focus, but his mind wandered between tactics for the semifinal and Clara's kiss.
In history class, things got more interesting.Professor Andrade, a tall man passionate about his subject, spoke about great battles.
"The Battle of Stalingrad, my young ones, wasn't won just with strength, but with resilience! The ability to endure the winter, to defend every street, every house, as if it were the last. Strategic defense was the key to victory!"
Elismar felt a chill. He exchanged looks with Piter and Markin.They understood.History class had turned into a tactical seminar.
"That's it!" Elismar whispered to Clara. "We were Stalingrad against the Concrete Dogs!""And tomorrow, who are we going to be?" she whispered back."Tomorrow… we'll be the Blitzkrieg," he replied with a smile.
The rest of the day passed in a fog of yawns and disguised naps. At recess, they didn't run to the court. They stayed in the shade, sipping water and quietly talking about tomorrow's opponent: the "Morning Rays," a team known for their speed.
When the final bell finally rang, it felt like liberation. Elismar walked Clara home, in a comfortable silence. No need for many words.
"Get real rest tonight," she said at her door. "No secret push-ups in the middle of the night.""Promise," he laughed. "I'll try not to dream of Betão."
He went home, his body begging for rest.His mother welcomed him with a hearty plate of food."Eat it all. Empty sacks don't stand, and tomorrow you'll need all the strength in the world."
He ate, took a warm shower, and got ready to sleep—even though the sun was still in the sky. In his room, he found his cats already lying on his bed.
"I think you guys had the right idea all day," he said, lying beside them. "Today was hard. My head's tired. My body's wrecked. But tomorrow… tomorrow is different."
He closed his eyes, and for the first time, he didn't think about tactics, Clara, or his "physique."He thought only about the blessed silence of sleep.The calm had come to an end.The storm was just hours away.