The door swung open, and the silence in the room shifted.
Dressed in his usual black coat, adorned with his red tie, Diego walked in with an assistant coach behind him carrying a tray of orange slices.
He didn't look at the tactics board. He didn't look at the scoreboard replay playing silently on the wall monitor either. He simply stopped in the middle of the room, folded his hands behind his back, and let his eyes travel slowly across the bowed heads and wet towels.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he said calmly. "I see we are holding a wake. May I ask who has died?"
Hiro couldn't help but stare at him. This wasn't the Diego he knew. But then again, he was a rather eccentric man.
In that tense silence, his voice was like a spring breeze. Even so, it failed to break the silence in the room.
But that didn't stop him from speaking further.
"No one? Then why does it look like we lost 5-0 at the Etihad?"
