The day of the second round of the interclass tournament began with a different aura.The anxiety was still there, but it was seasoned with something new: anticipation.Elismar woke up feeling less pain and more purpose.The push-up journey was temporarily postponed—today, the strength he needed was mental.
"Good morning, tactical council," he greeted his cats as they stretched at the foot of the bed. "Today's opponent is fast, but we've learned to be smart. The turtle might not be faster than the hare, but it has a hard shell and knows where it wants to go. And today, our shell is made of steel."
The morning routine was carried out with the precision of a pre-match ritual. Every gesture, from showering to breakfast, was done with focus. When he saw his mother, she simply smiled and slipped an extra sandwich into his backpack."For the break. Champion energy."
On the corner, Clara was waiting, already wearing a makeshift "TIGRES" T-shirt. There was electricity in the air between them—a silent understanding of the importance of the day.
"They're fast," she said, instead of "good morning.""But we're resilient," he replied, instead of "I know."
The morning kiss was quick, almost like a jolt of energy.They walked to school, where the festival atmosphere had only intensified.The fame of the Gentle Tigers had spread. They were no longer the anonymous underdogs—they were "the team that stopped the Dogs."
They met the rest of the team already gathered, and the difference in posture was stark. No one looked tired or scared.Markin stretched his arms with monk-like concentration.Piter discussed positioning with Lester.And Ryan—surprisingly—was doing jumping jacks.
"Look at us," Piter said with a wide grin. "A week ago, we were arguing about what snack to buy. Today, we're talking about wing coverage and false pivots."
"If we survived the Concrete Dogs, we can survive anything," declared Markin, his voice deep and full of a new confidence."Bring it on!"
The teacher-coach approached with his all-powerful clipboard."Tigers! I see you're ready! Your first match today is against Raio Azul Futsal Clube!"
It was a strong name.The Blue Lightning had been last year's runner-up, losing only to the Concrete Dogs in the final. They were known for their blistering speed and deadly counterattacks. A team that, on any other day, would have made the Tigers tremble.Not today.
"Blue Lightning?" Elismar said loudly enough for the other teams to hear."Perfect. Lightning strikes fast, but fades just as quickly. We're the whole storm."
The phrase—half cheesy, half epic—worked. His teammates laughed but puffed up their chests. They had an identity now.
Before stepping onto the court, Clara gathered them as usual."Okay, listen up," she began, her voice low and focused."They're fast. They'll try to win in the sprint. Don't fall into that trap. We don't need to be faster than them. We need to be smarter. Pass the ball. Let the ball do the running, not you. Wearing them down is our weapon. Markin, watch out for surprise shots—they like to shoot from midfield. Piter, use your body, be the eye of the storm. And Elismar…"She paused, looking at him."Today, you're not just the heart. You're the brain. Set the pace. This game is yours."
They stepped onto the court to the applause of a growing crowd.The Blue Lightning, in their electric blue uniforms, were already in position, jumping and warming up with seemingly endless energy.
The whistle blew.
As expected, Blue Lightning launched forward like a pack of cheetahs.The ball flew from foot to foot.Their captain, a short and incredibly fast boy named Kiko, got the ball and sprinted down the wing. He flew past Lester like a blue blur. Reached Elismar. Instead of dribbling, he fired a powerful, diagonal shot. The kind that would catch 99% of goalkeepers off guard.
But Markin was ready. He stepped to the side and caught the ball safely. No rebound.With a calm he had never shown before, he looked at the team, already dropping back into position, and rolled the ball to Elismar.
"Easy! It's ours!" Elismar shouted.
They started to pass. Sideways. Backwards. To Elismar. To Piter, who held it and returned.Blue Lightning ran, pressed, tried to steal the ball—but the Tigers, patiently, simply held onto possession.The crowd started chanting "Olé!" with each accurate pass.Blue Lightning's frustration was visible.
The first big chance came at seven minutes.Tired of chasing the ball, one of their players slid recklessly into Piter.Foul. Near the box.
Elismar grabbed the ball.He looked at the goal, looked at Piter, at Lester.Set play.He rolled the ball sideways and Piter came running in to strike. But it was a fake.Piter ran past the ball, and Elismar, with a genius touch, gently laid it off for Lester coming from behind.Lester didn't shoot. He passed it sweetly to the far post, where Ryan appeared like a ghost.With the goal wide open, Ryan simply tapped it in.
GOOOOOAL! 1–0 GENTLE TIGERS!
The goal choreography was perfect.Brains over brawn.Blue Lightning was stunned.They hadn't been outpaced—they'd been outsmarted.
They tried to answer immediately.Kiko got the ball, dribbled past one, two—but when he reached Elismar, the Tigers' captain didn't lunge.He just closed in, forcing him to the wing, narrowing the angle.Kiko's shot came out weak and Markin saved it easily.
The second goal was a masterpiece of defense.Blue Lightning had a corner.The ball was launched into the box.Markin leapt out like a lion and punched it away.It landed at Elismar's feet—just outside his own box.He didn't just clear it.He looked up. Saw Piter already bursting through the middle.The pass was long, precise—a perfect arc flying over the entire court.
Piter brought it down on his chest, already in stride.The only defender left rushed toward him.But instead of shooting, Piter saw the keeper charging out in desperation.With killer coolness, he chipped it lightly.The ball floated over the goalie and fell gently into the net.
GOOOOOAL! 2–0! A STUNNING GOAL!
The court exploded.Piter ran to the bench and hugged Clara, who was in shock at the beauty of the play.The Tigers were putting on a show.
The third goal sealed the deal.Completely demoralized, Blue Lightning lost the ball in attack.Lester stole it and passed to Elismar.Elismar pushed forward, head up.He saw the opposing keeper out of position, expecting a pass.With absurd confidence, Elismar took the shot—from midfield.The ball traveled high, in a deadly arc, sailing over the goalie and landing perfectly in the back of the net.
GOOOOOAL! 3–0! THE GOAL PELÉ NEVER SCORED, ELISMAR DID!
The final whistle blew soon after.Blue Lightning's players could hardly believe it.They'd been completely dominated—not in speed, but in futsal.
The Tigers hugged, overflowing with joy.They were no longer a joke.They were one of the favorites.In just a few days, they had gone from underdogs to nightmares for their rivals.
And Elismar—the captain, the brain, the heart—knew that the journey, however hard, was worth every second.