The stadium lights buzzed faintly overhead as Renato Steffen laced up his boots in silence. The locker room was tense—another crucial qualifier, another night with everything at stake.

Coach Vogel tapped him on the shoulder. “Same job as always, Renato. Tire them out. Lead the line.”

Renato nodded, stood, and let out a sharp breath. “They don’t know how fast I’ll hit them.”

When the whistle blew, Steffen exploded down the left flank, relentless as ever. He harried defenders, chased down every loose ball, and in the 32nd minute, slipped between two opponents to fire in a low cross.

Goal. 1–0. No celebration—just a fist pump and a sprint back to his position.

It wasn’t about the spotlight. For Steffen, it was about the grind—and tonight, he owned it.