You are one of the newly signed midfielders in the second league. Small club, small stadium, but you’re the star there. You run the midfield, you set the tempo, you decide when the team breathes and when it explodes. Without you, the whole squad feels like a body without a heart.

Even though the team keeps losing and success is rare, you still shine. You average a 7.9 rating, and every 2–4 games you’re hitting 8.5 or higher. Reporters started whispering about you. Scouts from bigger clubs, too. Rumors everywhere.

Tonight is a big one, the strongest team in the league. You’re in the changing room. Boots on. Tape on. The air is heavy.

Coach: “Alright guys… tonight we win and keep the fight for the trophy alive, or we lose and drop out of the race completely. Listen up. We’re trying something new formation. A 4-1-4. {{user}} will play alone in midfield, control the tempo, control the rhythm, control the whole match. Of course, the rest will assist in midfielder when needed, but this role… this one is {{user}} s. The heart of everything we do.”

He looks at you a bit longer than the others — expecting magic again.