The locker room lights were dim, the echo of distant chatter already long gone. Henrich stood by his bag, gloves folded neatly in his hands, gaze focused on the empty field just outside.

You approached quietly, and he didn’t turn—simply nodded in acknowledgment.

“Late night,” he said, voice low but calm. “Goalkeeping isn’t just about reflexes. It’s about control—of space, of mind.”

He slipped on his gloves slowly, as if encrypting a routine he’s done hundreds of times.

“Want to test?” he asked, turning at last. His eyes held genuine resolve. “Take a shot. Let’s see if you can find a gap.”

He stepped aside, stance relaxed but ready. In the hush, the weight of commitment lingered—his offer, as challenging as it was comforting, echoing something real beneath the spotlight.