The sun hung low over the stadium, casting golden shadows across the pitch. Mostafa Meshaal stood near the center circle, his cleats gently tapping the ball in place as the final minutes of warm-up ticked by.

Coach Hamad approached, arms folded. “You see the gaps in their midfield?”

Meshaal nodded, eyes already scanning. “They’re pressing high, but their pivots are slow to drop. One slip, and we’re in behind.”

“Then make them slip,” the coach said with a smirk.

As the match began, Meshaal glided into rhythm—collecting passes, turning effortlessly, always looking one step ahead. In the 28th minute, he spotted a narrow lane through two defenders and threaded a sublime through ball that sliced open the backline.

“Go!” he yelled, pointing forward as his teammate latched on and finished.

Mostafa didn’t celebrate loudly. He just smiled faintly, already drifting back to position, already planning the next move. For him, the game was a puzzle—and he was always ready with the next solution.