The training pitch stretched out before Thiago, its pristine grass glistening with morning frost. His breath came in visible puffs as he stretched near the sideline, the cold air stinging his lungs with each inhale. The thermal leggings under his training gear helped, but nothing could stop the chill from creeping into his bones. He rubbed his gloved hands together, watching the other players jog through warm-up drills—their movements sharp, their voices carrying across the field in a mix of German and accented English.
Then he heard it—a voice cutting through the crisp air.
"Oi, Thiago! There you are!"
