Firdaus stood at the center of the meeting room, arms folded, as his coaching staff studied the lineup draft projected on the wall. The air was tense, quiet except for the soft hum of the projector. Joe Ralls' name was absent from the starting eleven.
"Are you sure about this?" Omer Riza finally asked, breaking the silence. His voice was cautious, not confrontational, but heavy with concern.
"He's on red alert," Firdaus replied calmly. "One wrong sprint and he's out for weeks."
"He's the captain," another assistant coach chimed in. "He's the spine of this squad."
"Which is why I'm protecting him."
The other coaches exchanged uncertain looks. They had all seen the match report. They had all heard the crowd chanting Ralls' name in the previous match. But Firdaus wasn't budging. His tone wasn't angry, just flat, like a man stating a weather report.
Firdaus turned away from the screen and looked directly at them. "I don't care if I'm booed. I care if we win and keep everyone fit."
Omer hesitated. He scratched the back of his neck, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But prepare for noise. From fans and maybe even the dressing room."
Firdaus didn't reply. His mind was already three moves ahead. He walked out of the room, leaving the coaches exchanging glances of disbelief and cautious respect.
Back in his office, Firdaus sat in silence before his desk. He whispered, "System."
The interface shimmered to life, clean and efficient as always.
[NEW MODULE: PLAYER PSYCHOLOGICAL MATRIX – UNLOCKED]
Map your team's internal dynamics, loyalty lines, and influence circles.
A 3D graph bloomed before his eyes, webbing each player to others in terms of emotional connections, leadership weight, trust, and susceptibility to conflict. Names hovered in digital ink, tethered together by glowing lines of red, green, and yellow.
Ralls glowed at the center—a high-trust, high-influence player. Taking him out of the lineup created mild instability in three others: Meite, Ng, and Tanner. A red flag pulsed faintly next to Ng's connection line—his loyalty was strong to Ralls, but still neutral toward Firdaus.
Firdaus zoomed into the cluster.
Aaron Ramsey held medium influence but high adaptability. Rinomhota, who would be Ralls' replacement, showed lower loyalty bonds but had a "proving potential" status. The system projected a chance of Rinomhota growing into a stable influence node if supported properly.
The system provided an analysis:
"Ralls' absence will trigger initial morale disturbance but create long-term trust if result is positive. Recommend private 1-on-1 with Ralls before match. Monitor O'Dowda's mood post-lineup reveal."
He closed the interface and leaned back. He didn't need to guess the emotional fallout. Now he could quantify it. His fingers tapped against the table slowly. Another risk, another reward.
Later that afternoon, Firdaus made his way to the physio room. He knocked gently on the door, then entered. Joe Ralls looked up from the treatment table, a resistance band wrapped around his leg.
"You've seen it?" Firdaus asked.
Ralls nodded. "Not starting. I figured when I wasn't in the tactical groups."
Firdaus leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "This isn't punishment. It's preservation."
"You think I can't push through it?"
"I know you can. And that's exactly why I won't let you."
Ralls studied him, his brows furrowed. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"
Firdaus gave a rare hint of a smile. "Dead serious. You're too important to risk in the second week I'm here."
A pause. Ralls extended a hand.
"I'll be ready if you need me."
Firdaus shook it firmly. "That's why you're still captain."
As Firdaus left the room, Ralls leaned back on the table, staring at the ceiling, silently replaying the conversation. Not many managers had put his well-being before optics. That, he noted.
The next morning was media day. Firdaus sat before a row of reporters, cameras flashing like strobes, microphones angled toward him like weapons.
"Coach Firdaus," one began, "any injury updates ahead of the Sheffield Wednesday match?"
"No injuries," Firdaus replied, his expression unreadable. His voice was even and unemotional.
"Can we expect Joe Ralls to lead the team again?"
Firdaus looked at the reporter. "The team will be led by eleven who are ready to fight."
The room buzzed. Reporters typed furiously. Someone whispered, "That's a no."
Another asked, "What's your take on Sheffield's form? They're unbeaten in three."
Firdaus paused, then said quietly, "Unbeaten runs are habits. So is ending them."
A third reporter tried to bait him. "Some fans think you were lucky last time. Do you think your methods are sustainable?"
Firdaus leaned forward just slightly. "Luck is when people don't understand what they're watching."
The press conference ended with a flurry of tweets and hot takes. One pundit called him ice-cold. Another said he was bluffing confidence. Firdaus ignored them all. He didn't play to the cameras.
Matchday.
Cardiff City Stadium buzzed with electricity. The fans in blue sang loudly, waving flags and scarves. Vendors shouted out snack deals, kids wore full kits, and the drum section was already warming up.
Firdaus stood near the entrance to the dressing room, arms behind his back. Inside, the players were going through rituals—some silent, some joking, some blasting music through their headphones.
He stepped to the center and clapped once.
"Final XI is up."
He flipped the magnetic board.
GK: Alnwick
DEF: Ng, McGuinness, Goutas, Collins
MID: Rinomhota, Ramsey, Tanner
FWD: Meite, Colwill, Robinson
The room fell silent.
Ralls was on the bench.
Firdaus looked up slowly. He scanned the room for reactions.
Ralls sat still, expression calm but unreadable. Meite blinked but said nothing. Tanner gave a nervous glance at Rinomhota.
"This isn't about favorites. It's about readiness. Every one of you is here to win. If you're not starting, you'll finish it."
Ralls gave a firm nod. "Let's do this."
Firdaus turned back to the room. "Any doubts?"
No one spoke.
Not even O'Dowda, who had begun to show subtle respect.
As the players stood to change, Firdaus approached Rinomhota quietly. "You've earned this. Just be steady. Nothing flashy. Just honest football."
Rinomhota nodded, jaw tight. "I won't let you down."
As the players lined up in the tunnel, the noise from outside grew louder. Firdaus stood just behind Ramsey, his heart calm but mind wired.
The stadium announcer's voice boomed over the speaker system.
"And now, the Cardiff City starting eleven…"
One by one, names were read out. As Joe Ralls was announced as a substitute, a distinct gasp echoed through the crowd.
Murmurs. Confused expressions. A few boos.
Firdaus stepped onto the pitch behind his players.
He didn't flinch.
His decision was made.
To be continued...
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