The training pitch stretched before them like a green canvas waiting for masterpieces to be painted upon it. The morning air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of athletic excellence.
As the team emerged from the tunnel, Mateo could hear the familiar sounds of professional preparation boots clicking against concrete, the rustle of training bibs, and the low murmur of tactical discussions between coaches.
Jürgen Klopp stood at the center of the pitch, his presence commanding immediate attention without needing to raise his voice.
He was dressed in his typical training attire simple tracksuit, baseball cap, and the kind of energy that seemed to radiate from every pore. When he spotted Mateo among the group, his face broke into that distinctive wide grin that had become his trademark.
