The referee’s whistle pierced the chill of the evening air, but Willi Orban was already in motion.

His eyes didn’t waver from the striker charging toward him—a younger, faster opponent with flashy boots and something to prove. But Willi didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to. He read the game like a chess master, already three moves ahead.

As the forward pushed the ball wide, Orban stepped in with clinical precision, shoulder meeting shoulder, and with a twist of his boot, the ball was his.

No foul. No theatrics.

Just quiet dominance.

He glanced upfield, scanning his teammates, and then launched a pass that split the midfield wide open. The counter was on, and he was already dropping back—calm, focused, unshaken.

Just another day controlling the chaos.