The tunnel buzzed with tension as Morteza Pouraliganji stood still, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed forward. Behind him, his teammates shifted nervously, the hum of the crowd outside growing louder.

“You ready for this?” asked the younger right-back, tugging on his sleeve.

Pouraliganji didn’t flinch. “I’ve been ready since the anthem played in my head this morning.”

As they walked onto the pitch, he glanced up at the Iranian flag waving above the stands. The whistle blew, and Morteza transformed into a wall. He met every cross with a thunderous header, every charging striker with an unshakable tackle. In the 83rd minute, with the score level and Iran under siege, he threw his body in front of a goal-bound shot—absorbing the impact like stone.

When the danger cleared, he looked at his teammates and shouted, “We hold. We don’t break. Not today.”

And they didn’t. With Morteza leading the line, they saw it through.