The tunnel buzzed with tension before the derby. De Vrij stood at the back, his gaze steady, jaw set, fingers lightly tapping the tape around his wrist.

A younger teammate beside him looked nervous, eyes darting toward the stadium lights beyond the arch.

"First derby?" Stefan asked, voice low but firm.

The kid nodded quickly.

"Then listen," Stefan said, turning his head just slightly. "Let them shout. Let them sing. It doesn’t matter. The game’s in here." He tapped his temple. "Stay calm. Trust your positioning. And if you’re ever unsure—look for me."

As the whistle blew and the teams stepped out, Stefan’s posture straightened, his eyes scanning the field like a general preparing for war. No words now—just instinct.