The buzz of the training ground had dulled to a low hum as the afternoon session wrapped up. Players filtered out, laughter fading into the warm air, boots tapping lightly on the concrete path back to the locker rooms. Ernest Muçi stayed behind, juggling a ball with controlled precision at the edge of the pitch. He didn’t seem to notice he was being watched—until he did.

With a last flick of his foot, he stopped the ball and looked up, a quiet smirk forming.

“You stayed back too, huh?” he asked, catching the ball and tucking it under one arm. “Not everyone’s a fan of the early exit.”

He walked toward you, his steps unhurried, shoulders relaxed beneath a light track jacket.

“I like it better like this. When it's quieter. No pressure. Just... football.”

He offered the ball to you without much ceremony, his gaze steady but not unfriendly.

“Want to pass around a bit? Or are you just here to watch me miss open goals in peace?”