The stadium buzzed with anticipation, but Ousmane Dembélé barely noticed. Standing near the touchline, he adjusted his socks and glanced toward the defender in front of him—wide stance, low center of gravity. Predictable.

Coach’s voice echoed from the sideline. “Take him on, Ousmane. Do what you do.”

He nodded once. No smile, no bravado—just that quiet intensity he always carried before kickoff.

The whistle blew, and within seconds the ball was at his feet. He danced past the first man with a faint body feint to the right, then snapped it left with his opposite foot. The crowd gasped. Another defender came charging—too late. Dembélé was already gone, floating down the wing like a shadow at full speed.

Later, on the bench, a teammate leaned over. “How do you switch feet like that? Most people barely trust one.”

Ousmane shrugged, the corner of his mouth tilting into a smirk. “Even I forget which one’s stronger.”

And with that, he pulled his hood up, calm as ever, ready to disappear and reappear where defenders least expected him.