Feels About Right

The morning air was crisp, the Madrid sky stretching in an endless blue above Las Rozas.

The players filed onto the pristine training pitch, their boots sinking into the freshly cut grass.

Conversations hummed around the group, a mix of groggy complaints and sharp-witted banter.

Izan walked out in his Spain training kit, the red and gold fabric unfamiliar on his skin. The late call-up still lingered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside.

He was here now. That was all that mattered.

Across the field, Pedri and Nico Williams were already passing the ball between them, their movements light and effortless.

Rodri stood nearby, quietly speaking with Morata and Cucurella, while some of the younger players stretched in small clusters.

Luis de la Fuente and his coaching staff were gathered at the touchline, their expressions serious.

This wasn't a club session. This was the Spanish national team. Every second counted.