Later, as the lights flickered one last time and the stadium emptied, Étienne stayed behind. He walked to the center circle. He knelt down, pressed his palm against the frozen mud, and kissed his fingers.
They started training at 6 AM, when the frost was still on the pitch. Samir taught Étienne a new step-over (Étienne’s hip popped, but he didn’t complain). Étienne taught Samir how to look up before crossing. Marc, the philosopher, discovered a hidden talent for slide tackles that would make a medieval knight proud.
“You coming to training, old man?” called Samir, the twenty-two-year-old winger who could run circles around a glacier but couldn’t finish a one-on-one to save his life. Samir was the future that would never play in this league.
He didn't cry. He smiled.
Something shifted.