The floodlights flickered to life above the empty pitch, casting long shadows as Roland Sallai laced up his boots with quiet focus. He wasn’t one for big speeches—he let his game do the talking.

Coach Márton called out, “Roland, you feeling sharp?”

Sallai glanced up, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “Give me the ball. I’ll do the rest.”

When the whistle blew, he exploded down the right flank, weaving between defenders like he was born for the chaos. The crowd roared as he fired a curling shot into the top corner, precise as a scalpel. For Sallai, this wasn’t just football—it was instinct.