"The Manager and Head Coach came all the way here on foot just to recruit one retired player. Do you think that's a common occurrence? For the Manager to come in person, not even call? And this guy, who's just a Coach, is acting all high and mighty because of it?"
He was fiercely proud. Having suffered the humiliation of being a non-drafted player, he harbored deep resentment toward the coaching staff, composed entirely of former players.
After all, Danny had started coaching in a Championship team immediately after retiring, right? Their paths diverged from the very beginning. Yet I couldn't help but chuckle at his grievances.
"Are you sure about that?"
"...?"
"Absolutely. For at least a few years."
My eyes gleamed, recalling Danny brilliant future—or rather, the glorious path he was destined to forge in the original timeline.
"Um, are you the Manager?"
As I was mentally retracing Danny's career, a coach approached.
At first glance, his face seemed wreathed in smiles.
"Yes, I'm the Manager."
"Ah, welcome. I'm Daniel, Coach of Nottingham Forest. I heard you're here to meet Danny Scott."
"Yes. We're looking to sign Danny Scott."
The coach's smile deepened.
"League Two... was it? Well, I suppose a player like Danny, who was a substitute in the Championship, would be considered excellent in the Fourth Division. I understand."
"I wasn't expecting you to understand, but thank you for doing so."
"..."
The corner of the coach's mouth twitched slightly.
"But... is he going?"
"We'll make sure he does."
"Heh heh, so it's true. I heard someone was trying to sign a retired player, and I thought Danny was just pulling some desperate stunt to prolong his career."
The coach chuckled, crossing his arms. He turned his gaze to Danny Scott.
Thwack!
"Ugh!"
Just as Danny was about to control the ball, he was shoved aside by an opposing defender who had charged into him.
The coach's lips curled into a smirk.
"As you can see, the defender who just collided with him is a reserve team player. He's nowhere near ready for the First Team, you know? The Championship is just too physical. Yet Danny can't even hold his own against a player like that. Well... I suppose he might be decent enough for the Fourth Division."
"Have you ever watched a League Two match?"
"League Two? Ugh, no. Our scouting team occasionally observes League Two players, but for a team aiming for Premier League promotion, keeping tabs on League Two players isn't usually a priority."
"That's the same as me."
"...Huh?"
"I'm also aiming for promotion to the Premier League. That's why I'm here to see Danny Scott, not just as a League Two player."
The coach's laughter carried a hint of mockery.
"You don't seem to believe me?"
"Ahahaha, no, no. Phew, you've got quite the ambition. I heard this is your first time as a manager."
"You've learned a lot for someone we've just met."
"..."
"I spent quite a long time coaching in the Bundesliga. Right now, Danny Scott's position in the tactical setup is ambiguous."
"...Ambiguous?"
He frowned and turned away, the upward curve of his lips particularly noticeable. It wasn't a pleasant smile.
"Well, you probably wouldn't know, but League Two and the Championship have completely different paces of play. It's just a matter of perspective, you know? Danny simply can't adapt."
"It's like demanding a mammal to lay eggs."
He was saying Danny was being asked to perform an impossible role.
The coach's smile vanished instantly, replaced by undisguised displeasure.
"It sounds like you believe there's some tactical system perfectly suited for Danny."
I stared at him, my eyes widening.
"So all that talk about 'hearing a lot' just meant you have good ears."
The coach's lips twitched before he clamped them shut. A complex light flickered in his eyes—a mix of anger and uncertainty about how to react.
Only after a long pause did he finally manage a scornful laugh.
"Then why don't you give it a try?"
It was five minutes before the end of the first half of the scrimmage.
"Just 30 minutes. Try coaching the Blue Team with Danny."
I met his gaze without replying.
"Is that allowed?"
It wasn't unheard of for clubs to allow staff from other teams to observe training sessions.
Inter-club exchanges were common. Especially between leagues, where maintaining good relations was crucial for player recruitment and other collaborations.
While teams in the same league might restrict access to training sessions, Nottingham Forest was a powerhouse in the Championship. Our team, considered one of the weakest in League Two (the fourth division), likely saw these exchanges as more of a formality than a genuine effort to increase collaboration. It was more like saying, "We don't mind if you watch."
So, the Nottingham Club didn't really care that Danny came to visit or that he frequented their training grounds.
But even so...
"I've never heard of letting someone from another club take charge, even in a scrimmage. Maybe I'm just hard of hearing."
"Oh, what's the problem? There wasn't supposed to be a scrimmage today anyway. It's just a light warm-up day. Everyone's busy preparing for preseason training camp. The players just wanted a light run, so it's not important. Why? Can't you do it?"
He bluntly threw down the gauntlet.
If he was willing to take responsibility like that...
A coach who'd let me try out before signing me? That was something to be grateful for.
I smiled.
"I'll do it."
"What's the point of this?"
"They're letting us try out players before we even sign them. What other club offers service like that? It's truly impressive."
"We came here to scout players, not to play a scrimmage!"
"It's not even a real match."
"But losing would be humiliating! That guy—he's just a coach, yet he's acting like he's better than us. I'm the manager, yet he keeps belittling me by bringing up the Fourth Division."
"We won't lose."
"Eric! Arrogance is poison. And your arrogance right now isn't genuine confidence."
Max always prided himself on his cold, realistic assessment of situations.
This was a common trait among managers who rose to legendary status.
After all, effective tactical execution on the field requires grounded, practical judgment.
And that meant...
I was just as realistic as Max.
"You don't even know the players' names, and you're still confused about their faces. What good will just one tactical adjustment do?"
"It's possible."
"Wait a minute! I knew you were tenacious, competitive, and bold back in Germany, but lately, Eric, you've been acting... almost unnervingly strange!"
"The Blue Team's striker has a bad habit of planting his supporting foot half a beat late when shooting."
"...Huh?"
"The left winger with freckles—he's not playing on his strong side, yet he's stuck hugging the touchline, probably following misguided instructions. The central midfielder's passing timing is consistently too late. And the left fullback never turns his head—his vision is too narrow."
Max's eyes, which had been wide with disbelief, began to waver.
A quick glance at the field revealed exactly what I was pointing out.
Seeing something after knowing what to look for is entirely different from observing it without prior knowledge.
I continued to list the Blue Team players' weaknesses one by one.
After hearing them all, Max finally raised his hand.
"Okay, okay, I get it. Just a minute. In that short time—while you were even exchanging words with their coach—you saw all that?"
"I'm a negative guy. When I look at people, I always focus on their flaws first, not their strengths. You know that, right?"
"You know, I once pointed out the opposing team's weaknesses—weaknesses I'd analyzed and compiled over days—without even looking at the report."
"Right. So, do you think I've only identified the Blue Team's weaknesses?"
"!"
Seeing his surprised expression, I chuckled lightly.
"I know the opponent's weaknesses, and I also know our team's flaws."
"Relentlessly exploit the enemy's weak points while concealing our own vulnerabilities as much as possible...?"
"We have a ten-minute break. Can you manage that?"
"Manage what?"
I glared at him coldly.
"When I spoke with the coaches, I insisted we base our discussions on the contract. Max, it's the same for you. You weren't brought in as a power analyst. You're the Head Coach."
"...!"
"Try it. Just once. Break free from the limitations you've imposed on your thinking, always confined to reports."
"That's..."
Max's pupils flickered behind his horn-rimmed glasses.
How could he not know?
The thoughts he'd harbored while writing those reports. The tactics he'd devised, the countermeasures he'd planned, the strategies to unravel his opponents' schemes.
"Unleash them. Right now."
Max's expression hardened. Yet, beneath the rising tension, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The moment I saw that smile, I knew it was worth trying.
Ten minutes.
That was the time allotted to him.
And precisely nine minutes later, he returned with the answer.
"We'll maintain the same formation and positions. But in the defensive zone, our defensive strategy will..."
Max was, after all, Max.
Instead of complex tactics, they would maintain the same formation and positions from the first half.
"The goal is to maintain a balance between offense and defense."
Instead, they established a core principle and developed detailed instructions to support it. However, time was short, there had been no tailored training, and information was scarce. Therefore, they focused on simple, clear essentials.
"Defenders defend, fullbacks defend, wingers run and cross, strikers just crash the goal."
In modern football, each position demands multiple roles:
Defending attackers, advancing defenders, passing goalkeepers, fullbacks who must excel in both offense and defense.
"Strip away all that complexity and have each player focus on a single role."
"But won't that cause friction?"
"That's why we need a Commander—someone with the vision to coordinate the game and the agility to move players to the right positions at the right times."
"Danny Scott."
I glanced at Max.
I had shared some of Danny's weaknesses and vulnerabilities with him, but that alone wouldn't fully reveal the nature of his play style.
So this was either a deduction... or...
"I'm not blind, Eric."
He tilted his chin, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
As expected, even unripe fruit retains its inherent value.
In a short time, he had devised the most efficient and practical strategy possible.
Yet, within this solid tactical framework, one glaring flaw stood out to me.
"Let's change just one thing."
As I explained my suggestion, Max's expression shifted into something strange.