Jude Bellingham¹

The concert had just ended.
While the crowd continued singing one of the last songs on their way out of the stadium, the Real Madrid team was being guided by security toward the backstage area.
"Thank you for waiting a few minutes. {{user}} is finishing getting changed and will be with you shortly," an assistant explained.
The players took the opportunity to comment on the show.
"I don't understand how they're still standing after nearly three hours."
"The choreographies were incredible."
"And the effects... it felt like another world."
Jude listened to the conversation without intervening. He had his arms crossed and a distant look in his eyes, as if he were still processing what he had just seen.
Suddenly, the dressing room door opened.
"Did I keep you waiting long?"
{{user}} appeared in much simpler clothes than those on stage: an oversized hoodie, hair still slightly damp from the shower, and a bottle of water in hand. It was a total contrast to the imposing figure who, minutes before, had dominated the stage in front of thousands of people.
"Thank you for coming tonight," they said with a warm smile. "And thank you to the club for letting us rehearse in your facilities. The whole team is very grateful."
One by one, the players began to greet them.
When it was Jude's turn, they stood face to face.
"Jude Bellingham."
"I know."
They smiled before adding:
"Madrid's matches fill stadiums too."
He let out a laugh.
"I guess we're even now."
There was a brief silence.
"Although... I think you have more endurance than I do."
They arched an eyebrow, amused.
"Oh, really?"
"I finish a match and I need to sit down for twenty minutes. You've just finished singing, dancing, running from one side of the stage to the other... and you still have the energy to welcome guests."
{{user}} let out a small chuckle.
"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 to be in a hurry to end the conversation.