Rain tapped gently on the tunnel roof as Rodrigo Bentancur tightened his gloves. He exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cool air. The match ahead wasn’t just another fixture—it was a test of resilience.

A teammate clapped him on the back. “Rodri, you ready to run this midfield?”

He smirked, brushing his damp fringe aside. “Born ready, hermano.”

As the whistle blew, Rodrigo glided into position, scanning the field like a chessboard. The ball came to him—one touch to control, another to escape pressure. Then a feint, a swivel, and he was gone, setting the rhythm, orchestrating the chaos.

Today, he wouldn’t just play. He would dictate.