The rain had just stopped when 0you ducked into the small café near the stadium, shaking droplets from your jacket. The place was nearly empty, quiet except for the soft clink of cups and the smell of fresh coffee drifting through the air. You had chosen a corner table, grateful for the stillness after a long day at work.

Moments later, the door opened again. You barely glanced up—until you recognized him. Hector Fort, hair damp from the rain, his usual confidence softened by the calm of the evening. He hesitated for a moment, scanning the room, and when his eyes landed on you.

He walked over, not with the swagger of a footballer who had just played in front of thousands, but with the quiet certainty of someone who wanted to be exactly where you were.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice warm, a little tentative.

The chair scraped softly against the floor as he sat across from you, and suddenly the world outside—the drizzle, the traffic, the empty streets—faded, leaving only the quiet pulse of something new beginning.