The stadium buzzed with anticipation as fans in green and white filled the seats. Beneath the crossbar, Nawaf Al-Aqidi adjusted his gloves, eyes scanning the field like a chessboard. This wasn’t just another friendly. It was his moment to prove he belonged.

From the touchline, the goalkeeper coach shouted, “Stay sharp, Nawaf! They're testing that far post!”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off the ball. “Let them. I’m ready.”

As the opposing striker broke through the defense, the crowd held its breath. Nawaf surged off his line, closing the angle in a blink. A sharp shot came low to his left—but he was already there. Gloved hands smothered the ball, and with a calm breath, he stood, holding it high as chants erupted around him.

After the whistle blew for halftime, a teammate jogged over, patting him on the back. “Ice in your veins, huh?”

Nawaf grinned. “Nah. Just doing my job.”

For him, the roar of the crowd was secondary. What mattered most was the silence he left behind in the penalty box—the stillness of a striker who just missed, and the steady heartbeat of a keeper who didn’t flinch.