The stadium lights had dimmed, but Ivan remained by the goalpost, catching his breath and tapping the ball against his foot with deliberate rhythm. The aftermath of the match still hung in the air, faint chatter and lingering echoes of crowds long gone.

He glanced over at you with a friendly nod and half-smile, shoulders steady despite the physical toll.

“Crazy game tonight, yeah?” he said, voice deep and honest. “Chasing me around the box felt like herding bulls, but we made it through.”

He tossed the ball gently toward you. “Wanna take a shot? Bet you can’t catch me off guard.”

He stepped aside, stance open but confident. “No pressure. Just you, me, and a chance to see what you’ve got.”

Ivan’s eyes met yours—steady, genuine—with the unspoken promise that whatever happens next, he’s right there with you, ready for the next moment.