Limitless Pitch-Chapter 117 The List on the Wall
By the time training wrapped, the sun had burned off the morning fog, leaving the air warm and dry. Thiago’s jersey clung to his back, soaked through, his lungs still recovering from the relentless pace of the final small-sided match.
He sat on the edge of the pitch with a few others, legs stretched out, cleats half-untied. Around him, the team’s usual chatter hummed—tired jokes, light complaints, teasing between duos who’d ended up on the losing side. No one took it too seriously. Everyone knew the real competition came tomorrow.
Udinese.
The first leg. The Europa League. At home.
This was where the stakes shifted.
Thiago leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the sky. His chest still rose and fell in shallow rhythm. It had been a good session. Maybe one of his best. He hadn’t tried to be flashy. Just clean. Sharp. Reliable.
He didn’t know if it would be enough.
Klopp hadn’t said anything during training, but Thiago had felt the glances. The subtle way the coach had lingered during drills. The small nods when a pass split the lines. There had been no praise—not out loud. But Thiago had started to learn that Klopp’s silences were sometimes louder than words.
"Alright, bring it in!" Klopp’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.
No hesitation. The players moved instinctively toward him, forming a rough semicircle on the pitch, boots rustling in the grass.
He didn’t hold a clipboard. No tactics board. Just him, standing with his hands on his hips, eyes scanning the group. Calm, but focused. The way he always got before a real match.
"I won’t keep you long," he said. "You’ve earned your showers." That got a few small chuckles. "But we’ve got business."
He paused.
"Udinese play a low block. Disciplined. Aggressive on the counter. They’ll sit deep and wait. They’ll try to frustrate us. Bait mistakes. Win ugly. And they’ve got the legs to punish you if you get lazy."
He started pacing slowly in front of them.
"That means we don’t force it. We don’t go looking for highlight reels. We grind them down. Minute by minute. Phase by phase."
The tone in his voice hardened.
"The matchday squad will be posted after lunch. I want full focus from everyone until then. But a few of you need to know early."
His assistant stepped forward and handed him a folded sheet. Klopp unfolded it, cleared his throat.
"Starting: Weidenfeller. Subotić. Hummels. Schmelzer. Owomoyela. Bender. Sahin. Kuba. Großkreutz. Valdez. Barrios."
No surprises.
"On the bench: Ziegler. Santana. Götze. Feulner. Kehl. Le Tallec..." He paused. "Thiago."
The name landed like a soft punch to the gut.
Not a shock. But it hit anyway.
There was a beat of stillness before it registered. Then a few pats on the back. A shoulder bump from Barrios. Götze flashed him a small grin. Even Großkreutz gave him a quick fist bump.
Thiago said nothing. He just nodded once.
"That’s the group," Klopp said. "The rest of you, stay sharp. We rotate for the second leg. Training matters. Eyes forward."
The meeting ended just as quickly as it had begun. Some players jogged lightly toward the tunnel. Others lingered, stretching, downing water. Thiago remained where he was, kneeling in the grass, head bowed.
He had made the bench.
Europa League.
The moment should have felt bigger. Louder. But it settled over him like a quiet weight. Not joy. Not pride. Just responsibility. If the call came, he had to be ready. No nerves. No panic. Just execution.
⸻
The locker room carried a different kind of energy now. Still relaxed, but with a sharp undercurrent.
"Italian teams," Valdez muttered, tossing his boots into his locker. "They love pain. They’ll defend for eighty minutes and score one shit goal on a counter."
"Not if we pin them in," Kuba replied, peeling off his training top. "They can’t break if they can’t breathe."
"They’ll breathe just fine if we keep missing the final pass."
Sahin chuckled nearby. "Then don’t miss it, genius."
Thiago sat quietly, untying his boots. His locker was still mostly empty. A few folded training kits. Clean socks. A bottle of shampoo someone had left behind. He still felt like a visitor sometimes. But today... less so.
Götze dropped onto the bench beside him, hair damp with sweat.
"Bench boys," he said lightly.
"For now," Thiago replied.
"Damn right."
He grinned. Then looked at Thiago seriously.
"You looked good today."
Thiago met his eyes. "So did you."
"If you come on tomorrow," Götze said, voice low, "don’t think about the crowd. Or the jersey. Or Klopp watching. Just find the ball. Let the game talk."
Thiago nodded. Simple advice. But it mattered.
--------
By early afternoon, the squad list was posted on the bulletin board outside the physio room. Thiago stopped by briefly, staring at it for a moment longer than he needed to. His name. Printed clean and sharp. No typos. No surprises. But still new.
He turned and walked away before anyone else saw him reading it. Some things didn’t need an audience.
Later, back at the hotel, he lay on the bed, the late light filtering through the blinds. His body ached, but in a good way. He felt earned-tired. Not worn out. Not anxious.
His phone buzzed.
Marina: Owner says lease is good to go. Paperwork tomorrow.
He smiled, tapping back a quick thumbs-up emoji. Then turned the screen off and let the quiet settle in.
Thiago didn’t fall asleep right away.
After Marina’s message, he just stayed there — lying back in the muted quiet of the hotel room, shadows stretched across the ceiling. His body felt heavy from training, but his mind refused to settle. That quiet tension was still there, coiled behind his ribs like a stretched spring.
There had been moments earlier, during the training match, where he could swear the game had slowed down for him. Not literally — but something had clicked. His legs moved before his brain finished the thought. His first touch stuck, his positioning felt sharper, and even the older players stopped barking instructions at him and just... let him play.
It wasn’t magic. Wasn’t the System either. It was work. It was every hour he’d stayed behind on that empty pitch, every time he’d gone through drills alone while the others showered or joked around in the locker room.
And now he’d earned his place on the bench for a European fixture.
He sat up slowly. The stillness made him uneasy. Like the quiet before kickoff.
He reached for his backpack and pulled out his small black notebook — the one he’d used to jot down drills, notes, tactical diagrams Klopp had mentioned during video analysis. Pages were filled with scribbles, arrows, short instructions. Hold the second line. Drop with the press. Look for third-man runs.
He turned to a blank page. After a moment’s thought, he wrote:
"Europa League squad: 17 names. I’m one of them."
Then, beneath it:
"Barrios: ice in front of goal. Großkreutz: high motor. Kuba: relentless. Götze: calm in chaos."
He paused.
"Me: decision-making. Awareness. Control under pressure."
That last one mattered more to him than goals or assists right now. Anyone could score on a good day. But knowing why to make a pass, when to commit to a run, how to buy time — that was what earned you respect in a team like this.
Thiago closed the notebook and leaned back again, resting it on his stomach. Tomorrow would be his first time on the bench at Signal Iduna Park for an international match. Even if he didn’t get minutes, it would still be his first experience seeing the game unfold at that level; the pace, the emotion, the tactics under floodlights.
His chest stirred with quiet excitement. Not explosive. Not naive. Just... steady.
He called the system status
System Status
Level: 16
EXP: 95 / 800
Skill Points Available: 11
Attributes:
Pace – 72
Dribbling – 73
Shooting – 68
Passing – 71
Physicality – 67
Mentality – 67
Sub-Attributes:
Ball Control – 75
Trick Execution – 67
Stamina – 68
Vision – 71
Others:
Perk: Anchored Presence
He stared at the skill points section, nothing had changed much in the status screen but he could feel it, he could feel himself improving day in day out. It may not show on the system stats but he knew he’s far better than what he was after that final back in brazil.
"But just in case I think it’s time I use some of these skill points, system add 3 points into pace and two into shooting."
He could feel a cooling sensation inside his body for a few seconds after which the changes in the system reflected on the status screen.
"That should be good enough for now"
Outside, the city buzzed faintly. Dortmund was never completely quiet. A tram rumbled in the distance. Someone slammed a car door across the street. Life kept moving.
But in Room 507 of the hotel near Phoenix-See, one boy was still.
Waiting. Watching. Ready.
Tomorrow, the floodlights would come on. And if Klopp called his name... he’d step into the noise without fear.
He wouldn’t be just a shadow anymore.
He’d be part of the match.
