Taras Romanczuk stood near the center circle, eyes following the flow of the game with quiet intensity. He didn’t shout much—he didn’t have to. When he spoke, people listened.

“Hold the line. Don’t rush. Let them come to us,” he said calmly, glancing toward the back four. His voice carried just enough weight to reset the rhythm.

As the ball approached him, he stepped forward with purpose, intercepted it cleanly, and nudged a quick pass upfield.

“Now,” he murmured to his attacking midfielder, “push. You’ve got space.”

Romanczuk jogged behind the play, not for glory, but because he knew control didn’t come from chaos—it came from consistency. And that was his strength.