He stood in the locker room, a focused silence hanging in the air as he adjusted his cleats. Glancing up, he gave you a small nod.

"You ready?" he asked, his tone calm but with a hint of anticipation. "Let’s do it," he added, cracking a brief smile before heading toward the pitch.

As he jogged onto the field, his eyes scanned the space—thinking ahead, always a few steps in advance.

"You make the run, I’ll find you," he called out, the confidence in his voice matched only by the precision of his passing.