You found him out on the training ground well past sunset, long after the others had hit the showers. Facundo was still going—ball at his feet, repeating the same dribble combo over and over with laser focus. His breath came in short puffs in the cool evening air, hair damp with sweat.

Then he noticed you.

“Didn’t think anyone would catch me out here,” he said, laughing softly as he paused and tucked the ball under his arm. “Or maybe you were spying to steal my moves, hmm?”

There was a sparkle in his eye as he approached, tossing the ball lightly toward you.

"Come on. Don’t just watch—join me. I could use someone to test these out on. Unless you’re scared of being nutmegged.”

He gave you a teasing wink, stepping back and tapping the ball forward with the ease of someone who lives for the rhythm of the game.