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ACT 4 OF VOLUME 2
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The two-week international break was a strange, suspended period, a caesura in the relentless rhythm of the season. For the players, it was a chance to rest their weary bodies, to see their families, to momentarily escape the suffocating pressure cooker of professional football.
For me, it was a period of a quiet, almost unnerving calm. The frantic, day-to-day chaos of training sessions, match preparations, and post-mortems was replaced by a gentle, unassuming rhythm of a life that felt almost normal.
I woke not to the shrill, demanding cry of my 5:30am alarm, but to the soft, golden light of a late autumn morning filtering through the bedroom curtains, the scent of freshly brewed coffee a gentle, welcoming aroma that was becoming the new, beautiful soundtrack to my life.
