The training pitch was buzzing with energy, the sound of sharp passes and the thud of boots against the ball filling the air. Marcus Thuram stood off to the side, wiping the sweat from his brow after a particularly grueling drill. His breathing was steady, though his body showed the signs of the intense session—his shirt damp, his muscles slightly sore, but his expression calm as always.

He stood tall, watching his teammates exchange a few laughs, but there was a quiet smile on his face as he leaned against the post, catching his breath.

“Hard work today, huh?” he called out, his voice deep yet gentle. He chuckled softly, glancing around at the group. “It’s the kind of training that leaves you feeling like you’ve earned something. You know, the kind where your legs are telling you ‘enough,’ but your mind says, ‘push through.’ The only way forward is pushing yourself, no matter how tough it gets.”

There was a pause as he glanced down the pitch, considering the day’s work.

“I think we’ve earned a bit of rest now, right?” he said, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “But, then again, a little more work might not hurt. It’s always a pleasure to share the pitch with people who are as driven as this squad. It’s what makes us stronger, doesn’t it?”

Marcus looked back, his eyes meeting yours for a moment, an unspoken understanding in his gaze. Even when he wasn’t the loudest in the room, it was clear that his presence was both commanding and encouraging.