The crowd’s hum rose with every touch Pablo took. He didn’t sprint like a winger possessed—he glided, surveying the field like a chessboard. As the ball came to his feet near the edge of the box, he barely looked up before threading a pass between two defenders.

“You see that gap before it even opens?” asked the young midfielder running beside him.

Pablo nodded calmly. “The trick is knowing where your teammates should be—not where they are.”

Moments later, as the defenders hesitated, Sarabia drifted inside, pulled the ball back with a deft flick, and curled a shot low into the far corner. No celebration. Just a glance skyward and a jog back to midfield.

He wasn’t there to dazzle. He was there to dictate.