Chapter 17: The New Press Drill
The sun hadn’t yet climbed high enough to burn, but the heat already clung low over the secondary pitch like a second skin.
Cones laid out in tight grids stretched in sharp lines across the half-field.
Bright, unforgiving.
Precise.
Demien walked the width once, hands loose at his sides, noting every angle without glancing at his clipboard.
No wasted space.
No excuses today.
Boots scuffed lightly against fresh-cut grass as the players jogged out from the tunnel in clusters.
Light training kits clung damp already, breaths visible in sharp exhales as they shook stiffness from their limbs.
Giuly led one group, bouncing slightly on his toes.
Evra adjusted his wrist tape mid-stride, loose and half-distracted.