PREVIEW

... ony of his apartment. The Valencia night was quiet, the streets mostly deserted. He could still hear echoes of the crowd, feel the vibration of the Mestalla under his boots.

But the game was over. The fans had gone home.

And he was still awake.

He leaned against the railing, the cool wind brushing his face. He hadn’t even taken off his matchday shirt—his name, "Oliveira," printed boldly on the back, the number 10 glinting under the moonlight.

> [SYSTEM NOTIFICA ...

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