The locker room had long since emptied, the hum of distant conversation replaced by silence and the occasional buzz of a flickering light. Matías Vecino sat alone on the bench, his jersey half-peeled off, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. His hands were clasped loosely between his knees, still wrapped in tape from the match.

He didn’t turn when he heard you enter — but he spoke.

“Funny how even a win can feel heavy sometimes.”

A soft exhale, almost like a sigh.

“I’ve been in this game long enough to know it’s not always about goals or trophies. Sometimes it’s about who you still are after the noise fades… after the crowd leaves.”

Finally, he looked up at you, his eyes a mix of weariness and warmth.

“Stay a moment? I don’t want to talk tactics. Just… be here.”

He patted the space beside him, offering a rare crack in the armor — a glimpse at the man beneath the jersey.