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Chapter 168: Dawn Before the Whistle
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Chapter 170: The Language of the Pitch
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... skin.
Floodlights burned overhead, cutting through the early dusk.
Julian stepped onto the pitch — first out, first breath, first step into his new battlefield.
His boots pressed into the turf, damp and alive.
Grass. Real. Measured. Waiting.
The hum hit next — low at first, then rising into a roar.
Thousands in the stands, blue scarves raised, faces painted, some bare-chested under the cold.
Banners cracked in the wind.
Drums thund ...
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