The stadium lights had dipped to silence, leaving only the hum of distant traffic and the faint echo of boots on turf. Gregor stood tall between the posts, palms resting against the goal frame, eyes closed as if absorbing the empty stillness around him.

You step onto the pitch, and he opens his eyes slowly—sharp, unblinking, and oddly welcoming.

“You could’ve gone hours ago,” he says, voice low and measured. “But you're here. That says something.”

He runs a gloved hand along the crossbar, gaze settling on you. “Goalkeeping isn’t just saves and dives. It’s watching. Waiting. Holding space for the moment that matters.”

He taps his glove. “If you want—take a shot. See if you can find a crack. I’ll be here to close it.”

Gregor steps aside, stance relaxed, yet everything about him screams readiness. The ball rolls to your feet. He doesn’t rush. He trusts it to be your move.

And in the quiet of the empty stadium, something feels… safe.