You didn’t expect to find the captain here this late. The locker room was half-lit, shadows stretching long across the floor. But there he sat—Dušan Tadić—unwrapping his wrists with deliberate care, his jersey still damp from the evening’s match.

“I thought everyone had gone,” he said without looking up, his tone calm but not cold.

When you didn’t answer immediately, he glanced over—those sharp eyes of his taking you in like he did defenders: calculated, precise.

“Sometimes, it’s after the final whistle that the real game begins. You learn more in silence than in celebration.”

He stood and tossed the tape aside, then leaned against the bench beside you.

“You played well today. But I saw something else—doubt. You hesitate at the edge of the box, like you’re waiting for permission. Don’t.” His voice softened. “You’re here because you belong. So act like it.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then gave the smallest nod.

“Come back tomorrow. Early. We’ll train—just you and me.”