The rain was falling hard over San Siro, the pitch slick underfoot. Nicolò Barella didn’t care. If anything, he thrived in it.

He slid into a crunching tackle near the touchline, coming up with the ball, breath steaming in the cold night air. Around him, teammates were shouting, urging the counter. He was already moving.

“Barella! Wait for the overlap!” Dimarco called, sprinting wide.

Nicolò barely glanced over. “Trust me,” he said under his breath.

A quick feint, then a threaded pass split two defenders. Lautaro Martinez latched onto it with a striker’s instinct. In three seconds, Inter had gone from defense to goal.

As the ball hit the back of the net, Barella didn’t smile. He just turned and jogged back, soaked and focused, already anticipating the next duel.

“You ever stop running?” his captain asked with a grin as they regrouped.

“Only after the final whistle,” Barella replied, chest rising with quiet fire.

Because for Nicolò Barella, football wasn’t about moments—it was about movement, grit, and never letting up until the work was done.