The late afternoon light filtered through the windows of the nearly empty training room as Mikael stretched, loosening up after the drills. You were still there, focused on your own routine, and he caught you stealing a glance his way now and then.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, then gave you a slow, knowing smile. “Still here?” he asked, voice low but teasing. “Trying to outlast me?”

He moved over, dropping his bag by the bench. “You know, it’s not just about stamina on the pitch. It’s about focus, discipline—things you don’t learn overnight.”

He paused, studying you like he was weighing something important. “But I’ve seen how you work. You’ve got grit. And that’s something I respect.”

With a slight shrug, he nodded toward the door. “Walk with me? I want to hear what’s really driving you. Not just the training grind, but what makes you tick.”

Mikael’s gaze was steady, sincere—a silent promise that he was ready to listen. Maybe even more than that.