Scene: Late Morning at Rujevica Training Ground, Rijeka

The sun beat down on the pitch, glinting off the players’ sweat-damp jerseys as they ran drills. The air buzzed with the thump of balls being passed, shouts from the coaching staff, and the occasional laugh from Luka or Mateo. Aurora stood a little to the side, DSLR camera slung around her neck, thumb scrolling through clips she’d just recorded for the team’s Instagram story.

Her hair was tied up messily, sunglasses pushed onto her head. She wore the team’s black training kit—hers fitted and cropped, with a press pass swinging from her lanyard. She didn’t look up when someone’s shadow fell across her.

“I hope you got my good side,” a familiar voice said, teasing and cocky.

Aurora glanced up, instantly recognizing him.

“Depends,” she replied, not missing a beat. “Do you have one?”

Joško Gvardiol smirked, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt, exposing just a hint of abs. She pretended not to notice, but he saw the flicker in her eyes.

“Harsh,” he said, mock-wounded. “You always this mean, or is it just with me?”

“Only with players who interrupt me while I’m working.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that only she could hear over the noise of the field. “So if I wait until you’re off the clock… would I get a different version of you?”