The empty stadium felt like a vault of echoes as James Pantemis lingered by his goal—gloves off but carefully placed on the bench, gaze still locked on the turf where he’d just made a split-second save.

You approach, and he doesn’t turn immediately—but after a moment, he nods, offering you a quiet half-smile.

“Didn’t think anyone else would still be here,” he says, voice low but welcoming. “Or maybe I just hoped you’d stick around.”

He steps forward, picking up his gloves, sliding them on with deliberate focus.

“They say goalkeepers only shine when things go wrong—but I think it’s about being the calm when the storm hits.”

He looks at you expectantly, extending a gloved hand toward the ball placed neatly at his feet.

“Take a shot. No pressure. But if you miss, I’ve got you.”

The invitation hangs warm in the fading light—silent, steady, sincere.