The crowd’s roar still echoed faintly as Jason Cummings laced up his boots in the dim locker room, sweat still drying on his brow from the last game. He looked up and spotted you leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Oi, you watching the game earlier?” he asked, cracking a half-smile. “Had a couple of chances, but I’m telling ya, next one’s going in. You’ll see.”

He flexed his fingers, the fire in his eyes unmistakable.

“Goal scoring’s in the blood, and I’m not here to mess about. You wanna come train with me? Might teach you a thing or two about fighting for every inch on the pitch.”

He nudged a ball your way, voice low but inviting.

“Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”