The training ground hummed with its usual morning energy, the crisp autumn air carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and damp earth. Cones dotted the field in neat patterns, their bright orange color standing out against the green. Training mannequins stood like silent sentinels, waiting to be knocked over by powerful shots. Footballs lay scattered across the dew-covered pitch, their black and white panels glistening in the pale morning light.
Thiago stepped out of the locker room, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his training jacket to ward off the chill. His muscles ached pleasantly - the kind of deep soreness that reminded him he'd left everything on the pitch yesterday. The kind that felt like an accomplishment rather than just fatigue.
