The first full week of pre-season at Liverpool was a baptism by fire, a relentless series of drills designed to forge a team of champions into an even sharper, more ruthless machine.
And, of course, a place where the banter was just as elite as the football.
The light-hearted mood evaporated the moment they stepped onto the pitch.
Arne Slot stood in the center circle, his expression one of intense, analytical focus.
"Alright, lads," he began, his voice cutting cleanly through the morning air. "We've worked on fitness. We've worked on patterns. Today, we see how it comes together. A simple game. Six-versus-six. Two small goals. I want to see speed, I want to see intelligence, I want to see competition."
He began to read out the teams, and a jolt of pure, unadulterated tension shot through Leon.
"Team A: Salah, van Dijk, Jones, Robertson, and Gakpo."
"Team B: Leon, Isak, Trent, Konaté, Szoboszlai, and Ngumoha."
