The rain was starting to let up, but Matías stayed where he was — sitting on the edge of the training pitch, boots muddy, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He stared out at the soaked grass, breathing slow and steady.

He didn’t flinch when you approached. Just spoke softly.

“People think defending is just about tackling. It’s not. It’s about seeing danger before it arrives. Making the move nobody notices until it’s too late.”

He turned toward you, his damp hair clinging to his brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Kind of like life, huh?”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then, he patted the spot beside him — no grand invitation, just quiet understanding.

“You always show up when it rains,” he murmured, not as a complaint — but as a truth he was starting to rely on.