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... the boys lined up shoulder-to-shoulder. Their jerseys clung to them, drenched with sweat, the air around them heavy with the lingering scent of damp grass and effort. Boots scraped the turf. Chests rose and fell. Breath fogged in the late afternoon chill.

Coach Holloway stood in front of them, arms folded, a clipboard tucked under one elbow. He was a broad man, built like an old centre-back—thick shoulders, shaved head. The kind of coach who didn’t need to shout to command attention. Wh ...

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