Rebuilding.
Completely overhauling a team's roster and creating a new foundation.
Before each new season, clubs analyze their previous performance and strategize.
Who should we sell? Who should we acquire? What tactics should we adopt to prepare for the next season?
When these changes reach the level of completely transforming the team, it's called rebuilding.
And the most crucial prerequisite for rebuilding?
"The release list, sir?"
"Yes. Given the club's financial situation, we can no longer sustain our current wage structure. We need to cut at least half of the salaries."
It begins with releasing surplus resources.
Coach Alensky couldn't hide his dismay.
"Half? Our First Team roster currently has twenty players!"
"Director, before you even took over, five players had already left due to contract expirations and transfers."
"You're saying enough players have already left!"
I watched Alensky, who looked like he might jump up at any moment.
"Who decides what's 'enough'?"
"Coach Alrop and I have been with this club longer than you! We have a clear understanding of the team's composition and capabilities."
"So you made that judgment?"
"...!"
Alensky paused momentarily. Undeterred by his rising anger and voice, I met his gaze and said softly, "Don't make that judgment."
"Director!"
*Bang!*
"!"
I cut him off by slamming my hand on the table, hard enough to make my palm sting slightly.
Alrop wore a grave expression, while Alensky seemed to have lost his voice, his lips pressed tightly together.
"Have you worked for other clubs before?"
"...I was with another team before coming here."
"Did that team's physical coach make decisions about the team's roster composition?"
"!"
"Mr. Alensky, we agreed to base our discussion on the contract. Didn't we?"
Alensky inhaled sharply, then closed his eyes tightly.
"That's correct."
"Then you should only perform the duties outlined in the contract."
There was no response.
His lips remained tightly sealed, the corners twitching slightly. I casually averted my gaze.
Alrop, his face darkened, seemed to have something to say as well.
When my eyes met his, Alrop forced an awkward smile and spoke.
"Tactically speaking, our players tend to be one-trick ponies," Coach Alop said cautiously. He didn't simply object; he quickly formulated a logical argument.
One-trick pony.
The term implied that a player excelled in only one area, rather than being versatile.
For example, someone might be exceptionally fast but otherwise lacking, or someone might be generally weak but possess a lethal shot.
"When devising tactics, there's nothing more appealing than having players who can handle multiple roles. Heh heh But unfortunately, our team is weak, and our roster is thin. To create diverse strategies, we need a larger pool of players capable of fulfilling various tasks, right?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"That's why I'm concerned. Of course, player acquisitions will follow the releases, but securing new talent won't be easy either. Ahem, it's embarrassing to admit, but not many players will want to join our team."
Alrop continued calmly, his words sounding like genuine concern, yet when you looked deeper, they were nothing short of veiled threats.
"If the releases proceed as you intend, Director, we'll struggle to even field an eleven-man starting lineup, let alone a 25-man squad."
"I'll worry about the starting lineup myself. Thank you for your concern."
Alrop's eyes widened, momentarily speechless.
The starting lineup is the manager's final decision. So don't interfere. Only I can make that judgment.
He dismissed Alrop's words with a quiet warning. Alrop, sensing the underlying message, his expression hardened.
"Each of you, submit a list of five players for release."
"!"
"Why separate lists?"
"There's no need to panic. I'm well aware of the factions that have formed among the players, each loyal to one of you two coaches."
"..."
A flicker of unease appeared in both men's eyes. Alensky bit his lip, looking utterly bewildered, while Alrop feigned composure, though a subtle shift in his complexion betrayed his discomfort.
"Each of you, compile a list of five players from your respective factions."
"Hmph."
"Why are you asking us to do this...?"
"Why not?"
The naturalness of the counter-question left even the usually glib Alrop and Alensky speechless.
"Player acquisitions and releases are solely the manager's responsibility. It's an absolute authority. At least within this club, no one can infringe upon it."
"!"
"Yet I've made a concession. Haven't I?"
"A concession...?"
"Exactly. I'm not saying I'll sell players arbitrarily. I'm saying I'll listen to your recommendations, Coaches."
"..."
"This demonstrates my commitment to trusting both of you. After all, as long-standing members of this team, you must have a more thorough understanding of the players than I do, right?"
It was a logical argument, leaving no room for rebuttal.
"I want to lead the club alongside both of you. Let's consider yesterday's heated exchange as a necessary evil. I eagerly await your reports."
"..."
The two coaches exchanged silent glances, a palpable tension filling the room.
A stifling silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken words.
They clearly wanted to speak, but the right words and phrases eluded them, refusing to coalesce.
I decided to ease their discomfort.
"Go ahead and start writing your reports immediately. Conduct player interviews if you deem it necessary. Please deliberate carefully. I will follow your considered advice."
After dropping the bombshell of the release list on the two coaches, I didn't remain idle.
Rebuilding isn't just about letting players go. For every player who leaves, there must be replacements coming in.
My first target is...
I dredged up memories from before my return, countless players' names flashing through my mind before fading away.
Exceptional talents, once-in-a-generation prospects, hidden gems available for a bargain...
But they all had to meet one crucial condition:
Players with even the slightest chance of joining our fourth-tier club.
In an instant, most of the names were wiped away. Yet a few remained.
Among the resources our club could realistically acquire, I sought out names that had registered clearly in my mind—names that had only ever played in top-tier leagues.
Danny Scott.
A late bloomer in the Premier League.
But now, forgotten by everyone, even herself.
A player on the verge of retirement.
I couldn't rush in immediately.
As my mother often told me, to enjoy perfectly cooked rice, you need to let it steam properly.
Instead, I observed the situation, visiting the hospital regularly.
"Here's the local paper and the business section."
"Thank you."
Lucy, lying in her hospital bed, greeted me with a smile.
As I handed her the newspapers I'd bought from a street vendor on the way, I blurted out, "Your surgery is the day after tomorrow, right?"
Lucy stretched languidly.
"Ugh! It's already tomorrow? Thanks for bringing the papers during my stay. Even though I'm here, I still need to keep up with the news—I'm a businesswoman, after all."
"I won't be able to bring them tomorrow or the day after."
"Huh?"
"Business trip."
"..."
Lucy spread the newspaper wide, her expression hidden behind it, leaving only her eyes visible. Her pupils remained fixed, indicating she wasn't actually reading the words.
I sighed softly and said, "About that player recruitment meeting I mentioned earlier... I finally managed to secure an appointment, but it's only for tomorrow."
"Of course you should go. Is he a good player?"
"He's our top recruitment target."
"Then you have to go. Don't worry about the surgery; it'll be over quickly."
Even in her reassuring tone, a hint of disappointment lingered.
I nodded. "I won't worry. Oh, and here's the report."
"Report?"
"Max put it together."
"But it's due tomorrow?"
"Actually, it was finished yesterday."
"Yesterday?!"
Lucy's eyes widened as she hastily pulled out the thick report and began reading.
There wasn't time to read it all, nor was it necessary. The first few pages alone revealed its exceptional quality.
"Passed?"
"He's a monster. He made this in just a week?"
"I didn't see him sleep at all that week."
"Whoa."
Lucy nodded absently as she continued reading the report.
"There must have been a reason the Director wanted to bring him in."
"Hmm. Now that he's the Head Coach, maybe the Head Coach should attend the Recruitment Meeting?"
I didn't answer, staring intently at Lucy. She shifted her gaze back to the report and said,
"No, Director, you have so much to do. I heard you even left the release list to the coaches last week? Shouldn't you be handling that yourself?"
"I'll go tomorrow. Get your surgery done well."
"...I knew going to Germany would change you, but some things never change. Alright, have a good trip. Since you're leaving on the day of my surgery, you'd better make sure to sign him! And if the player you sign turns out to be a dud—!"
"That's why I wanted to talk to you."
"Huh?"
"What's the maximum weekly wage we can offer?"
"..."
Lucy's shoulders slumped.
There was no need for her to answer. I nodded.
"I'll lowball him as much as possible."
As Danny Scott prepared to retire and wrap up his career as a player, he was dumbfounded by the sudden request for a meeting.
They want to recruit me?
Had they not heard he was retiring? Or were they confusing him with some other younger player who shared his name? Danny Scott sighed deeply as he stared at the man across the table. He was already swamped with work, and this meeting seemed like a complete waste of time.
"I'm thirty-six years old," Danny Scott stated.
"I know," Eric replied nonchalantly. A frown creased Danny Scott's forehead.
"You're not mistaking me for a goalkeeper, are you?"
"Do you think I'd come to scout you without knowing your position?"
"I've only ever played as a midfielder. I've never played defense."
"I have no intention of using you as a defender. I'm well aware your defensive skills are... lacking."
Danny Scott silently sipped his tea. The hot black tea tasted slightly bitter.
His counterpart maintained an inscrutable expression.
A face strongly marked by Asian heritage, exotic and captivating. It possessed a peculiar allure that would draw attention anywhere, whether in Europe or Asia. Though not conventionally handsome, it was undeniably charismatic.
With such a striking appearance, even the most absurd claims sounded plausible.
"You're not a con artist, are you?"
"What kind of club would need to resort to scams?"
"It's still suspicious. You want to scout me? Someone retiring next month?"
"Retirement can always be postponed, can't it?"
"..."
"I think postponing it for about four years would be ideal."
"Four years?"
"Yes, we'll need that much time."
Danny Scott fell silent, quietly lowering his gaze.
A small business card lay beside his tea.
Eric Reynolds, manager of Mansfield Town.
The new manager of a team that had fallen into administration and plummeted to the Fourth Division.
"Four years? That would make me forty."
"Back in the day, Zlatan played for AC Milan until he was forty-one before retiring. You're still in your prime."
Danny Scott finally understood why he was so drawn into this conversation, the source of the strange sensation he felt.
*What a way with words...*
What Eric Reynolds was saying wasn't deduction, prediction, or even anticipation.
It was conviction.
At thirty-six, he was considered an old-timer as a footballer, but still young in societal terms. Yet he already possessed a growing insight into the world. To Danny Scott, this conviction was a complete and unwavering belief, leaving no room for doubt.
As if he's seen the future?
He, Danny Scott, known for his wisdom and caution, found himself instantly captivated by these words.
His tone was even more certain than the prophecies of Cassandra, the prophet who had seen the future. No, it was more terrifying. There were no abstract phrases, only concrete details.
Danny Scott let out a hollow laugh.
This guy's a lunatic.
Or a con artist.
Eric raised his hand, as if he knew everything.
"We don't have much money. We can't offer much. It's unavoidable. The club's on the verge of collapse. But we can offer one thing."
Danny Scott stared intently, curious to hear what he had to say.
"We can guarantee you'll win a trophy before you retire."
"Aren't you a team that has to worry about relegation even in the Fourth Division? A Fourth Division trophy?"
"No."
Eric smiled and held up three fingers.
"The Premier League, the FA Cup, and the European Champions League."
Danny Scott burst into laughter.
"Do you think that's as easy as saying it?"
"It's tough. I know because I've done it. It's damn hard."
"You've done it?"
Danny Scott had already been staring at Eric Reynolds like he was crazy, but now he burst into a hollow laugh.
He's done it? This young, inexperienced manager?
But Eric Reynolds simply shrugged, his voice ringing with unwavering confidence, as if he were incapable of telling a lie.
"I've done each one individually, but never all at the same time. Still, with my experience, we should aim for at least a treble this time."
"...Aren't you currently managing a Fourth Division team? What was your previous experience?"
"Ah, before getting this new opportunity, I managed all the big clubs—Man U, Milan, Dortmund... you name it. But now, I only have one coaching stint under my belt."
"..."
Danny Scott couldn't make heads or tails of what the man was saying.
He's clearly a madman, he thought. A con artist spouting nonsense.
Yet even knowing this, Danny Scott couldn't bring himself to stand up and leave.
What is this feeling?
Something tickled in his chest.
He had been running for so long. Now he was tired. His knees ached, and his back pain was severe. He was getting old. Though his career as a footballer had been without trophies, it had been a decent one.
Or so he thought.
Did I still want to play more?
A sudden question surfaced in his mind, anchoring him to his seat.
Danny Scott struggled to maintain his composure as he asked, "You want to sign an old footballer like me?"
"Oh, you're actually on the younger side," Eric replied.
"What did you say?"
"Among my scouting targets, you're relatively young."
"What does that even mean...?"
"We're broke. The club has no money."
Danny Scott stared blankly at Eric, whose natural expression suggested he was completely unaware of how absurd his words sounded.
This guy's insane, Danny Scott thought.
But...
Danny Scott fingered the business card.
Eric Reynolds, Manager, Mansfield Town.
"...Where exactly is Mansfield?"