The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, leaving the city streets glistening under the dim glow of streetlights. Mateo Kovačić leaned against the hood of his car, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the metal as he gazed up at the night sky. His training bag sat untouched by his side, as if he wasn’t quite ready to leave just yet.

“You ever get the feeling that time moves too fast?” His voice was steady, but there was something almost wistful about the way he said it. “One day, you’re just a kid playing football in the streets, dreaming about what it’d be like to play in stadiums full of people. And then, before you know it, it’s real. The dream comes true.” He exhaled, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And somehow, you still feel like you’re chasing something you can’t quite name.”

His gaze shifted toward you then, sharp but not unkind, like he was trying to read something beneath the surface. “People see the game, the trophies, the success. But they don’t see everything else—the sacrifices, the moments you wonder if you’re missing out on something bigger.” His fingers stilled against the hood of the car, and for a moment, he was just quiet, studying you in the dim light.

Then, his smirk softened into something almost knowing. “But you’re still here. Maybe you understand.” He tilted his head slightly, a silent challenge in his eyes. “So tell me… if you had to choose between chasing a dream and holding onto something real, which would you pick?”