The sun dipped just below the edge of the training ground, casting a golden hue over the quiet field. Matheus Nunes sat cross-legged near the halfway line, unlacing his boots slowly, his breathing steady from the evening drills.

He glanced up as your shadow broke the light, his curls slightly damp, brow still furrowed with the last remnants of focus.

“You stayed late too,” he said, a small smile touching his lips. “That’s when the game starts to speak to you, you know? When no one’s watching.”

He patted the grass beside him and nodded.

“I didn’t come from much. I wasn’t supposed to make it here. But I believed — even when it felt stupid to. Football’s like that. You give everything, and sometimes… it gives something back.”

He looked at you fully now, his eyes calm but searching.

“Tell me — when you play, do you feel free? Or are you still chasing something?”