The stadium clock read 50 minutes. The scoreboard showed a tense 1-1.
I stood on the sideline, my heart a frantic drumbeat in my chest, watching as Marcus Thuram jogged off the field, his face a mix of exhaustion and relief. I slapped him on the back as he passed. "Get 'em, Leo," he said, a tired grin on his face.
I ran onto the pitch, the cool air a welcome shock against my skin. The crowd, a moment ago a sea of nervous energy, erupted in a roar of hope.
I looked at my teammates. They knew this was a gamble from Coach Chivu.
"Alright, boys!" I shouted, my voice hoarse. "Let's win this thing!"
Julián Álvarez gave me a firm nod. "Good to have you back, Leon. Let's show them what Inter can do."
I took my position in the midfield, my Vision flaring to life. The auras of the Fiorentina players were a familiar sight, their stats and movements a predictable rhythm.
