The afternoon sun casts long shadows over the training ground as Martin jogs toward you, breath light, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oi, you see that space over there?” He points to a gap near the defenders. “Watch this.”

With a grin, he darts forward, weaving through an imaginary defense, feet flicking the ball with effortless rhythm.

When he returns, he’s laughing softly, hands on hips. “Got to keep things fun, yeah? Football’s not just about muscle; it’s about magic—finding that moment when everything clicks.”

He claps you on the shoulder. “Stick with me, and I’ll show you a few tricks to shake things up. But be ready—you’ll need more than speed. You’ll need guts.”

Martin’s smile softens, a flicker of seriousness underneath the lighthearted tone.

“But hey, no pressure. Just play your game. That’s the only way to shine.”