Rain poured down on the training pitches in thin sheets, whipped sideways by the early September wind blowing in from the Atlantic. The Tenerife first team jogged out, clad in waterproof jackets, their boots splashing droplets as they warmed up.
Despite the dreary weather, a spark of curiosity buzzed among the players. They kept stealing glances at a figure trailing behind Mauro Pérez and Laurence Gonzales.
Wilfried Bony.
He had arrived late the night before, weary from the long journey and the whirlwind of negotiations. Now, he stood in the rain, broad-shouldered and composed, taking everything in with quiet observation.
Laurence clapped his hands to gather the team. "Alright, everyone. This is Wilfried. You all know why he's here. He'll be competing just like the rest of you. Let's help him settle in. The rest will come with hard work."
Nods of agreement followed. Neymar was the first to step forward, extending a hand with a friendly smile. Griezmann chimed in next, switching to French. Bony responded simply, but their handshake was firm and respectful. Even the quieter players—De Vrij, Casemiro, Luna—watched closely, eager to see how this newcomer would mesh with a squad that increasingly relied on chemistry.
The first rondo of the day was quite revealing. Bony might not have been explosive over five meters, but his decision-making was spot on. He skillfully shielded the ball with subtle movements, effortlessly passing it to the open man. During the pressing drills that followed, he used his body effectively, guiding the play into the traps Laurence had set up. A
nd when it came time for finishing exercises, his headers hit the crossbar often enough that Aragoneses started muttering under his breath.
Laurence observed everything with a sense of quiet satisfaction. He wasn't after perfect touches—he wanted to see how Bony connected with the wide players and how quickly he grasped the patterns they had been working on since July. Neymar and Joel moved around him with ease, while Quaresma tried out various combinations, some hitting the mark and others not so much. Griezmann flitted between the half-spaces, sometimes linking up smoothly and at other times just a bit out of sync.
By the afternoon, the players were soaked, with the rain showing no signs of letting up. Still, the intensity of the session only ramped up. The inter-squad match was a bit of a mess, filled with late tackles softened by the muddy ground.
Bony took a heavy shoulder challenge from Koulibaly, stumbled but managed to stay on his feet and rolled the ball out wide. Neymar jogged over after the play and flopped down beside him on the grass.
"You're strong," Neymar said, catching his breath.
Bony shrugged. "You're quick."
Laurence called an end to the match and gathered the squad. "Good work, everyone. Tomorrow we'll finalize the system for Thursday. Bony, you'll be coming off the bench this time. Focus on adapting. When your moment comes, show them why you're here."
As the players headed off to the showers, Laurence made his way back to his office. He brushed the rain from his hair, settled in front of the monitors, and pulled up the Rapid Wien clips he'd been analyzing since the transfer went through.
Their style was just as he'd anticipated—full of energy, aggressive, and straightforward. They pressed in bursts, took chances on second balls, and were far more dangerous during broken plays than when they had structured possession. The left-back often pushed too high, and the holding midfielder occasionally drifted late. Those were the details he kept circling over and over.
Victor walked in with two steaming cups of coffee. "So? How did he look?"
"As expected," Laurence replied, still focused on the screen. "Nothing too flashy. But he knows how to read space. And he doesn't get pushed around."
"He'll be a big help for Antoine."
"Exactly." Laurence paused the clip and leaned back in his chair. "Griezmann has been shouldering too much of the central load. Neymar can't slice inside every match. Bony gives us the pivot we've been missing."
Victor took a seat. "Are you thinking about trying the three-centre-back setup?"
Laurence nodded. "Tomorrow's the final call, but yes. Rapid presses in waves. If we maintain a solid base with Koulibaly, De Vrij, and Luna, we can absorb their initial surge and play through their full-backs."
"And what about midfield?"
"Kikoto and Casemiro. Kanté's settling in well, but I need some stability for this one."
Victor smiled slightly. "It feels like the squad is finally starting to come together."
"For now," Laurence said, pushing the laptop away. "Europe brings a different pace. They'll test us."
------
When Thursday rolled around, the skies had finally cleared up, although a gentle coastal breeze still swept through the Heliodoro Rodríguez López. The atmosphere in the stadium was thick with anticipation—this was a whole new experience for Tenerife.
The banners waved, the anthem played, and the Europa League branding adorned the pitch, creating a slightly surreal vibe. For years, the club had operated under a modest ceiling. But now, with Laurence at the helm, guiding a young squad brimming with potential, they were stepping onto a stage that required composure.
In the tunnel, Laurence stood at the front, arms crossed, soaking in the buzz of chatter behind him. The players from Rapid Wien were chatting away with confidence, while Tenerife's squad remained quiet.
Griezmann was busy tying and retying his boots, Cancelo was lightly bouncing on his heels, Kikoto was staring straight ahead with a determined jaw, and Bony lingered at the back, observing everything with a stoic expression.
As they made their way out, the crowd erupted in a collective cheer that felt more hopeful than thunderous. Tenerife had never claimed to be giants—they simply wanted to show that they belonged on this stage.
The opening minutes unfolded just as Laurence had anticipated. Rapid Wien came out swinging, sometimes sending four players to corner the ball near the touchline. Aragoneses found himself making three awkward clearances in the first five minutes, causing the home fans to murmur with unease.
Laurence kept his voice steady but assertive. "Stay calm. Stretch them out. They can't maintain this for ninety minutes."
Casemiro dropped back alongside De Vrij, giving Tenerife an extra angle to work with. Koulibaly pushed wider to draw a forward with him. The first clean opportunity to break the press came in the eighth minute.
Casemiro threaded a ball to Cancelo, who had slipped into the half-space. The young wingback took a single touch forward and passed it to Quaresma, who had found a soft pocket between the Austrian midfielders.
Quaresma turned with finesse, aiming for the far corner. The goalkeeper made the save, but you could feel the crowd's energy shift.
Tenerife found their rhythm.
The defensive trio grew more confident in handling long balls. Kikoto and Casemiro worked seamlessly across the pitch, winning loose balls and quickly redistributing. Neymar drifted wide, forcing Rapid's right-back to make a tough choice between pressing him or tracking back. Grimaldo pushed higher with each passing minute, spurred on by Laurence's gestures.
The breakthrough arrived in the twenty-first minute.
Casemiro switched the play to Grimaldo once more, this time early enough to catch Rapid's midfield off guard. Grimaldo surged forward, delivering a low, bending cross toward the edge of the box. Griezmann dropped deeper, pulling one of the center-backs with him. Bony charged into the newly opened space.
The pass wasn't perfect—just a bit behind him—but Bony adjusted, using his strength to fend off the defender before striking cleanly with his left foot. The ball skimmed off the wet surface and zipped past the goalkeeper.
1–0.
Bony rushed towards the home sections. He put one arm on the pole and gestured that he is here. Rest of the teams joined him in celebrations, patting him and congratulating on first goal for the team.
Laurence let out a small sigh of relief. "That's the pattern," he said quietly to Victor. "One forward shows, one goes. We need width from both sides. It's not complicated."
The crowd could feel that Tenerife was in control now. The players moved with newfound confidence. Quaresma drifted inside with more freedom, becoming an unpredictable threat. One moment he'd ignore the ball entirely, and the next he'd shimmy past two defenders, almost releasing Griezmann on a diagonal run.
Bony hit the crossbar with a header around the half-hour mark. Grimaldo stepped into midfield like a seasoned wingback, not just a teenager in his first European game.
Rapid Wien still posed a threat with their long balls and quick transitions, but Tenerife's defense held strong. Luna, who had been inconsistent earlier in the season, played with a surprising calmness that even caught his teammates off guard.
Laurence didn't get carried away with the improvement. He kept reminding them: "Stay in shape. Don't rush. Let them do the chasing."
As halftime drew near, Rapid enjoyed a brief moment of possession. They took a shot that Aragoneses managed to tip over the bar, causing the crowd to collectively hold their breath. Laurence seized the opportunity to remind his players of what was at stake.
When the whistle finally blew, the team jogged off with a mix of relief and quiet satisfaction. They weren't dominating Europe or blowing anyone away, but they were competing, executing their game plan, and gradually adjusting to a higher level of play.
In the tunnel, Laurence gathered the team before they split up.
"This is good," he said, his voice steady. "Keep the passes clean. Use the width. If they push up, we exploit the space behind. The away leg will be tougher, so every opportunity counts here. Stay focused, and be patient."