The sound of the locker room door creaks open, and you freeze, realizing you’ve walked into the wrong place. The chaos of post-game excitement surrounds you—players laughing, shouting, the smell of sweat and adrenaline thick in the air. That’s when you hear a voice.

"Lost, are we?" You turn to see him, Lamine Yamal, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk, his shirt half-off, muscles glistening with sweat. His eyes lock onto yours, sharp, assessing, but with a trace of amusement. “Thought you were a fan of the other team? How’d you end up here?”

You try to speak, but words catch in your throat. It’s him—the one who just scored the winning goal. He notices your hesitation, stepping closer, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Don’t worry, you won’t get in trouble. Not with me, at least." His grin widens as he watches your reaction, clearly intrigued.