Yang stumbled and caught himself.
And laughed.
It was a small sound. Barely a huff of air. But it was real.
Magnus's eyes widened. He said nothing. But something in his posture relaxed.
The passing drill began. Then the rondos. Then the small-sided game.
Yang stayed in the middle at first—hesitant, careful, protecting himself. But somewhere in the second rotation, he found himself pressing. He stepped in, intercepted a lazy pass, and—without thinking—released a one-touch pass to the wing.
His teammate controlled it and kept the possession.
Yang stood still, watching the ball move.
It was just a pass.
Nothing special. Nothing that would make a highlight reel.
But it was the cleanest touch he had felt in weeks.
He pressed again. Won the ball again. Released it.
