The rain had just begun to fall, dotting the grass with a thin sheen as Denis Zakaria rolled his shoulders and stepped onto the pitch. The hum of the stadium swelled behind him, but his focus narrowed to the ball at his feet.

"Let’s set the tempo," he murmured to himself, glancing over at his teammates.

The whistle blew.

Within seconds, Denis was in motion—a blur of long strides and sharp turns. He closed down space like a predator, dispossessing the opposing midfielder with clinical timing and turning to drive forward. His eyes scanned ahead, calculating angles and options. There wasn’t time to hesitate.

"With me," he called out, nodding toward the wing as he threaded a pass through two defenders.

There was fire in his chest—controlled, measured, but burning bright. And as he moved, strong and sure, there was a sense that Zakaria wasn’t just playing the game—he was shaping it.