The training pitch was empty that evening.
Most of the squad had already gone, scattered to the recovery rooms or their quarters after Jason's brutal speech. Only the faint hum of the floodlights remained, casting long shadows across the turf.
Dante stayed behind, juggling a ball alone. Each touch was clumsy, raw, forcing him to chase after it. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he refused to stop. The sting of their loss and Jason's words burned hotter than exhaustion.
"You push yourself harder when you're angry," Jason's voice came from the sideline.
Dante froze, the ball rolling away. He hadn't realized the coach was still here. Jason walked toward him slowly, carrying a slim holo-projector in one hand.
"I thought you'd left," Dante muttered, wiping his forehead.
Jason shook his head. "Not yet. There's something you need to see."
He placed the projector on the turf, knelt, and activated it. A soft light bloomed, shaping into a flickering holographic video.
