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... shifted with every run. Sweat clung tighter. Cleats dragged a little slower. But Demien still hadn’t blown his whistle.

He stood rooted near the corner flag, arms locked behind his back, chin tilted the slightest bit down—watching everything.

Not just the drill. The body language. The mechanics beneath the movement.

Evra’s third approach to the corner flag had the right rhythm, but the run flattened again. He broke too early. No disguise.

Demien raised a hand—not ...

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