PREVIEW
... profound. Bodies bent, hands on knees, chests heaving. The scoreboard read 2-1 on the night, 3-3 on aggregate. But Jake Wilson didn't let the moment linger.
He stormed onto the pitch like a commander retaking ground. No clipboard. No diagrams. Just presence—magnetic and urgent. He pulled the players into a tight huddle, arms slung around shoulders slick with sweat.
He didn't shout. He didn't need to.
"This is ours now," he said, voice low and loaded with certainty. "You d ...
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