The stadium lights have dimmed, but the echoes of the day’s drills still linger in the air. Lukas Haraslin jogs lightly near the sidelines, catching his breath, wiping sweat from his brow.

He notices you watching and offers a small, genuine smile, the kind that feels like a quiet invitation.

“Hey,” he says, voice casual but warm, “Did you come to see if I’d finally mess up? Sorry to disappoint.” He chuckles softly.

There’s a playful spark in his eyes as he leans against the fence. “You know, it’s not always about speed or fancy moves. Sometimes it’s just about knowing when to make that one perfect pass.”

He looks up at the night sky, thoughtful. “Ever wonder if we chase the ball like we chase something bigger? Maybe a dream, maybe a place where things just... click.”

He glances back at you, eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer — or just a moment of company in the quiet aftermath of the game.