The man in the cap was named Valmir. He organized the tournament—the Torneio Bairro a Bairro, the kind of championship that never made the papers but decided people's futures. He pulled a clipboard from under his arm, and the words that came out were the heaviest words in the world for someone who had nothing.
“No documents, no playing.”
The list was as long as a sentence: ID card, taxpayer number, proof of enrollment, a guardian's authorization, a medical certificate. Without that, Rai couldn't be put on the roster. Without being on the roster, he couldn't step onto the field. If he played anyway, the team would lose the points.
“I'll give you until Friday,” Valmir said without emotion. “Friday, I close the list.”
He turned his back and walked away.
Sergião lingered for one more second. His voice changed, growing quieter, closer.
“You have any documents?”
Rai thought fast. In his first life, he had everything. An ID, a bank account, a taxpayer number. In this life, all he had was an expulsion and an empty table.
“Not with me.”
“Try to track them down. Just don't get into trouble.”
“Trouble already found me, Coach.”
Outside, Léo waited restlessly.
“What did the guy want?”
“Documents. ID, taxpayer number, school, a guardian.”
Léo blinked, not understanding.
“But... you don't have any?”
“I have a past,” Rai said. “I don't have documents.”
Silence fell heavily between them. It wasn't about knowing how to play soccer anymore. It was about existing on paper.
The neighborhood school had all the usual things: a high wall, a creaking gate, a line at the office. Nobody there cared what Rai could do with a ball. There, the only thing that mattered was a signed name.
“Full name,” the clerk said without looking at them.
Rai gave his name. The woman typed it into the old computer.
“There is no enrollment under that name.”
The Gift's hunger rose like nausea. He blinked. A yellow line appeared on the computer screen. It showed an old record, a typo in his last name.
“Try it with this spelling,” Rai said.
The woman eyed him suspiciously. She typed it in.
“Found it. But it's pending. Missing proof of enrollment, missing the guardian's documents... and missing the father's signature.”
The word “father” struck him like an old blow. His shin began throbbing again. And with it came a heavy presence in his mind. Firmino. Everything had a cost.
“If I get the signature, will you give me the statement?”
“Once you get everything in order, I'll give you the paper.”
Outside, Léo grabbed Rai by the arm.
“You're going to have to go to your house?”
“I'll have to go somewhere I didn't want to.”
Rai quickened his pace, but the dizziness hit him full force. The world darkened around the edges. He froze in the middle of the sidewalk, bracing his hand against the wall.
“Rai!” Léo caught his arm. “You're white as a sheet, man!”
Rai drew in a breath, trying not to pass out. The Gift wasn't free. Every vision stole a piece of his body's energy.
He opened his eyes slowly.
“I'm fine. Just give me a minute.”
When they reached Ms. Marta's house, she was already standing in the doorway, peeling vegetables into a basin. She saw them from a distance.
“I saw you two coming.”
“I need help,” Rai said. “I need documents. I need to exist.”
Her hand stopped for a second.
“Who was the genius who came up with this crap?”
“The world.”
“The world is full of men who love paperwork when it's time to deny other people things,” she grumbled. “Come in.”
On the kitchen table sat a thick, hardbound notebook. It wasn't a diary. It was the minutes from meetings back when Ms. Marta belonged to the Residents' Association. She opened the notebook and tapped her pen against the table.
“Without a birth certificate, the rest is just talk.”
She looked at Léo.
“Call Cicatriz. Now.”
Léo took off running. The house fell silent.
Ms. Marta stared at Rai. It was the look of someone measuring a nail before hammering it in.
“Are you going to tell me the truth, or are you going to waste my time? And your father? Your mother?”
Rai froze. He had two truths: the one belonging to a sixteen-year-old and the one belonging to a thirty-five-year-old. He chose the one that fit at the table.
“My father doesn't want to know. And my mother isn't around.”
Ms. Marta didn't ask anything about deaths or disappearances. Asking too many questions was a luxury. She shut the notebook with a bang.
“I used to be with the Residents' Association. I know where to apply pressure. But I'm not picking a fight over some kid who's just going to cause me trouble for nothing.”
“I won't,” Rai said, meeting her eyes. “I won't embarrass you.”
Ms. Marta stood and pulled out a folder stuffed with copies and old papers.
“Tomorrow morning, we're going to CRAS and the registry office. If you need proof of residence, I'll make it. If you need a witness, I'll find one.”
The gate creaked. Cicatriz came in with a hard look on his face and a thin cut through his eyebrow. Léo followed right behind him.
“Grandma, Léo said that...”
Cicatriz stopped and looked at Rai.
“You're the guy in the vest? The one who pissed Dudu off?”
“I am.”
“Enough,” Ms. Marta cut in. “This boy is going to play in the tournament, and he needs to exist on paper. And his father thinks you can just throw a child away.”
Cicatriz clenched his jaw.
“Who is the father?”
“That doesn't matter,” Ms. Marta said. “The name of the problem doesn't change the solution.”
She turned firmly toward Rai.
“You need a guardian. I'll be that person.”
The world fell silent for a second.
“Ms. Marta...”
“Are you going to call me Ms. Marta or Grandma, like everyone else?”
Rai chose honesty.
“Ms. Marta.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
Cicatriz stepped forward.
“Grandma, are you sure?”
“I'm not adopting anyone. I'm stopping a boy from being crushed by people who like crushing others. When I was with the Residents' Association, I signed for people who had no voice. Nothing's changed.”
The Gift gave a faint snap behind Rai's eyes. It didn't show him a passing lane. It showed him the weight of the choice. Now the fight was bigger than soccer.
“Now you're going to eat,” Ms. Marta ordered, pointing toward the stove. “Because whatever this Gift of yours is, it's making you weak. And nobody gets paperwork done by passing out in line.”
Rai went cold. She had hit the mark without knowing.
For the first time, the hunger came with something new: support.
The war against Dudu continued. But now, he wasn't alone.