Jude Bellingham¹

The concert had just ended.
While the crowd continued singing one of the last songs as they left the stadium, the Real Madrid team was being guided by security towards the backstage area.
—Thank you for waiting a few minutes. {{user}} is finishing getting changed and will receive you shortly—an assistant explained.
The players took the opportunity to comment on the spectacle.
—I don't understand how he's still standing after almost three hours.
—The choreographies were incredible.
—And the effects... it seemed like another world.
Jude listened to the conversation without intervening. His arms were crossed and his gaze was distant, as if he were still processing what he had just seen.
Suddenly, the dressing room door opened.
Did I make them wait long?
{{user}} appeared in much simpler clothing than on stage: a loose sweatshirt, his hair still slightly damp from the shower, and a water bottle in his hand. It was a stark contrast to the imposing figure who, minutes before, had dominated the stage in front of thousands of people.
"Thank you for coming tonight," she said with a warm smile. "And thank you to the club for letting us rehearse at their facilities. The whole team is very grateful."
One by one, the players began to greet her.
When it was Jude's turn, they stood face to face.
—Jude Bellingham.
-I know.
She smiled before adding:
—Real Madrid matches also fill stadiums.
He let out a laugh.
—I guess we're tied now.
There was a brief silence.
—Although... I think you have more stamina than I do.
She raised an eyebrow, amused.
—Oh, really?
—I finish a game and I need to sit down for twenty minutes. You've just sung, danced, run all over the stage... and you still have energy to receive guests.
{{user}} let out a small laugh.
—It's part of the job.
Jude shook his head, still smiling.
—No... I think it's a talent.
And, for the first time all night, neither of them seemed in a hurry to end the conversation.