"Alright! We start with the speed test!"
Coach Soner's voice carried across the training ground—steady, sharp, cutting through the morning air.
The players gathered, boots crunching faintly over the synthetic turf. Beyond them, the HSV II staff moved like a well-drilled unit.
Clipboards in hand. Stopwatches around necks.
Even their efficiency spoke of a system far bigger than anything Julian had known back in Lincoln.
In America, he'd trained under one man—Coach Owens.
Here… there were layers.
Assistant coaches, trainers, analysts, each stationed with purpose, their eyes sweeping across every movement.
This wasn't high school football.
This was industry—precision sculpted into flesh and discipline.
Julian's gaze tracked the assistants as they finished setting up the course. Small black tripods blinked red at the start and finish lines—laser sensors waiting to judge every millisecond.
No bias. No mercy. Just data.
