The car fell quiet at once. A kind of palpable silence. Even the soft hum of the engine seemed to fade.
Javi kept his eyes forward.
"It was… an injury," he said eventually, voice low. "A reserve team match. I completely tore my Achilles. Actually—'tore' isn't even the right word. The doctor said it was like a shattered rope. A nasty one."
Lukas's chest tightened. He swallowed.
"I didn't know it was that bad," he whispered.
"It was," Javi said gently. "After rehab, I could walk fine, run a little… but not like before. Definitely not enough for professional football." He shrugged lightly, as though brushing off decades of a dream cut short. "But hey. It was a blessing in disguise."
"How?" Lukas asked.
Javi finally glanced at him through the mirror, his expression soft.
