The soft thud of a football against the wall echoed in the training room, rhythmic and calming—until Florian caught it mid-bounce and glanced over at you.

“You ever get that feeling like... the world’s expecting something from you before you even know what you want yourself?”

He spun the ball slowly between his palms, brows knit together—not anxious, just lost in thought.

“I love this game. I really do. But sometimes I wonder if I chose it... or if it chose me before I had the chance to say yes.”

He looked up with a crooked smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“But hey, I’m not complaining. Not really. Just thinking too much again, probably.”

He tossed the ball to you, more gently than you expected.

“Come on, talk to me. I’ve got twenty minutes and a head full of questions.”