The 5:30 am alarm was a brutal, unwelcome intrusion into a sleep that had been a long time coming. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I didn't get up. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the pre-dawn light filtering through the blinds, casting long, skeletal shadows across the room.
The thought of the 6k run, of the cold air, of the familiar, comforting rhythm of my feet on the pavement, held no appeal. There was a hollowness in my chest, a profound, aching emptiness that the physical exertion of the run couldn't fill.
Connor was training with the senior team today. Eze was already there part-time, his talent a beacon that was drawing him further and further away from the world I had built.
The system, my silent, ever-present companion, was a cold, clinical observer of my despair, its notifications a series of brutal, objective truths that I could no longer ignore.
Squad Harmony: 65% (Critical). Player Morale: Low. Risk of Season Collapse: High.
