Gemotions

The weight room, filled with the clanging of metal and the grunts of exertion, was a world away from the park. But for Ethan, seated on a bench, it felt like a haven. He was carefully adjusting the straps of his wrist guards, his movements slow and deliberate. The methodical preparation was a ritual for him, a way of grounding himself amidst the chaos. The dim light, the smell of sweat and iron, these were familiar comforts.

His trainer, a man known for his impatience, stood before him, his face a mask of concern. "Ethan, our main forward is sidelined with an injury."

Ethan paused, the last strap of the guard undone. He looked up, his expression unreadable.

"We need you to try the forward position. You're our best bet."

Ethan closed his eyes for a moment, and the thought of change didn't immediately upset him. He opened his eyes and gave a slight nod.