The stadium had been electric just days ago — roaring fans, flashbulbs, the scent of freshly cut grass still sharp in Tobi's memory. His name had been chanted from the stands like a hymn. "Oliveira! Oliveira!" That one match — one glorious goal and an assist — had made him a rising name in La Liga.
But glory was fleeting.
Now, under the harsh fluorescent lights of the training ground, Tobi felt like a shell. His calves burned. His passes were half a second late. Even his usually sharp vision seemed clouded. The energy that had propelled him so high now seemed to have drained from his body.
"Again," Coach Ramos ordered, his voice clipped.
Tobi grunted and jogged back to the start of the passing drill. Sweat dripped down his temples. He bent over slightly, trying to catch his breath, but the assistant coach clapped sharply beside him.
"Upright, Oliveira! We don't lean on fatigue."