Coach Daniel narrowed his eyes, struggling to suppress his anger. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Defense, wake up! Didn't I tell you? This is your competition now! I'm watching every practice to decide who stays on the First Team when the preseason ends and the season begins!"
The players exchanged awkward glances before looking away.
They were clearly shaken by the sudden goal. Even Daniel, watching from the sidelines, was bewildered.
"How did a goal like that even happen?"
It wasn't a proper shot. It looked more like the ball had accidentally collided with the player's foot while he was running, bouncing off and into the net.
"And it was him! He's supposed to be a striker, but he has zero finishing ability. His shooting is so poor compared to his physique that he can't even break out of the reserve team!"
I never expected to concede a goal so quickly.
And from a pass by washed-up Danny, no less.
"It must be a fluke," I muttered.
Football isn't a precise system.
The field is a place where gasps of "How did that go in?" and "How did that miss?" erupt frequently.
Daniel dismissed the goal as mere luck.
Of course he would.
"That damn player never listens to a word I say."
Daniel's eyebrows shot up as he glared at Danny, who stood motionless on the field.
Just then, the Blue Team's holding midfielder intercepted a pass.
After focusing solely on protecting the back four, he finally made a crucial defensive play.
And sometimes, a perfect defensive play can lead to an even more perfect scoring opportunity.
"Run!"
A shout echoed across the field.
"Counterattack!"
Daniel gasped.
"What the hell? Block them! Throw your bodies at them!"
But despite his frantic shouts, the players didn't react with the same ferocity.
It was just a scrimmage, and no one wanted to risk injury in a meaningless clash.
The Blue Team, however, was different. Whether due to specific instructions or natural coordination, they seamlessly passed the ball and transitioned into a counterattack.
It didn't seem like a meticulously planned tactic, but rather as if the players were simply moving instinctively.
If it looked this way to Daniel from the sidelines, how must it feel to the players on the field?
Counterattack? They were trying to counterattack?
No way.
"Run! Get back!"
They had simply intercepted a pass, cleared the ball, and instinctively sent it toward the side where their teammates outnumbered the opposition.
But who could have known? The blocked pass turned out to be the decisive defensive play, and the sent pass landed precisely in the opponent's weakest point under pressure.
Even the players on the field didn't realize it.
They had simply kicked the ball naturally.
And the moment the counterattack began, the Blue Team players felt an intense heat surge through their bodies, sending goosebumps prickling across their skin.
It felt like a game, where moving within predetermined positions and frameworks automatically yielded preordained outcomes.
Like a simulation.
That's exactly what it was.
Could this be...?
Is it because of the tactics? Was it that instruction just now?
How? How did he know the opponent's positions?
Confusion rose among the players.
But they pushed their confusion far aside.
Now was the time to focus solely on the ball and the players.
"Block them!"
Daniel's head throbbed as the game, which he had expected to win easily, suddenly spiraled into chaos.
Wasn't the Scrimmage supposed to be a motivational exercise? he thought. We even told the White Team they had to prove their worth to make the First Team.
But why is the Blue Team acting like this?
Weren't they just supposed to be warming up and taking it easy? Why are their movements suddenly so coordinated?
Without realizing it, he glanced toward the left side of the technical area.
Eric's eyes swept across the field, utterly calm and devoid of surprise or excitement. Amidst the shouts, roars, and heavy breathing, he seemed to exist in a realm of perfect stillness.
He devised this counterattack strategy in just ten minutes?
No, that couldn't be right. Yes, devising a counterattack strategy wasn't difficult.
If you understand the players well enough, you can create patterns. But when will I finish understanding them?
Accurately assessing the players was essential for developing effective tactics, patterns, and routes.
The real challenge was whether they could immediately implement and utilize these strategies within the team.
Do you think this is some kind of game?
Impossible. Therefore, it was luck.
A counterattack process they'd stumbled upon.
That's what he thought...
"Roles! Stick to your assigned roles!"
Eric suddenly shouted, as if he had anticipated this very moment.
Watching Eric yell at the players, Coach Daniel felt a flicker of doubt sprout in his mind: *Maybe this isn't just luck after all.
The surprise and doubt couldn't be resolved immediately. The blocked ball soared instantly to the edge of the penalty box.
And it landed at Danny feet.
Coach Daniel's eyes shot up, then quickly relaxed.
He saw a central defender closing in on Danny—the same player who had completely shut him down with a single tackle in the first half.
Hmph, a player who can't even hold onto the ball. They're trying to sign that old-timer? Is League Two really that pathetic? Or is the manager's judgment just that poor?
Daniel's eyes gleamed.
At that moment, Danny, now in possession of the ball, felt countless eyes fixated on him.
This feeling is familiar.
Twenty-one pairs of eyes on the field.
Even the fierce gazes beyond the touchline. It was all familiar to Danny, a seasoned veteran. And even before the ball reached his feet, Danny vision encompassed the entire field.
The positions of his teammates and opponents. Their formations and running directions.
He even read their expressions.
Then he thought, and reached a conclusion.
This complex calculation was processed with computer-like speed, delivering an immediate answer.
It was truly a fleeting moment.
On the field, where the intensity of clashing bulls reigned supreme, it was but a brief instant.
Danny as always, sought the optimal move and acted.
Just as he was about to.
"Roles! Stick to your assigned roles!"
As if he had been waiting for this moment, as if he had been watching every move and reading his thoughts.
Eric's shout cut through the cacophony of yells and gasps, clear and distinct.
Simultaneously, a single sentence Danny had heard before the game resurfaced in his mind.
I advise you not to overstep your boundaries.
"!"
The words, seemingly insulting, yet strangely, they didn't anger him. Perhaps he had been longing to hear them all along.
Danny had always believed it was better to play according to his instincts and what he saw on the field than to follow poor instructions or tactics.
Perhaps that was why, from his youth, he had rarely been restricted by positional roles.
The manager and coaches knew this: Danny talent could only truly blossom when he was allowed to play freely.
FreeRole.
That was the defining term for Danny Scott's career.
Yet now, a voice with unwavering certainty echoed in his mind, clearly defining and restricting his role.
Why?
In the past, he would have scoffed and bristled at such a voice.
My instincts are the most efficient. This is a judgment made by a player on the field, not some outsider!
Thinking that, he must have moved according to the calculated result.
But now, Danny was acutely aware of his position.
An old player. A has-been on the verge of retirement. A veteran who should leave the field.
And yet, despite facing this harsh truth, someone still called him a "player."
Just once.
Maybe I should listen and follow.
Danny stopped thinking and froze in place. He then focused entirely on the limited role assigned to him.
He watched the ball, reassessed the situation, and confirmed the players' positions.
Then, with a simple,
Tap!
"!"
"――!!"
A penetrating pass sliced through the defense and reached the penalty box.
A Blue Team striker arrived just ahead of it.
At that moment, Danny gritted his teeth.
The pass was too fast!
The pass was too fast—its position, speed, and rhythm made a proper impact impossible. The ball either sailed over the goal or was caught by the goalkeeper, turning a golden opportunity into nothing.
But then, at that very moment...
"Huh?"
The striker—the player whose fatal flaw was his notoriously poor shooting ability—
Half a beat late. Perfectly timed.
Bang!
He delivered a flawless finish.
In that instant, I realized:
Just shoot as you always do. Don't force a shot to match the rushed rhythm. Trust your instincts and aim for your usual shot. But this time, aim precisely.
"..."
Eric's instruction had clearly recognized the weakness of the half-beat-late shot.
Danny stood frozen, unable to even think about joining the celebrating players.
When was it?
Coach, that doesn't seem very efficient.
Daniel would never forget the look on Danny face as he openly challenged his instructions.
Nor could he forget the expressions of the players gathered around them.
What made it even more humiliating was that Daniel's anger had surged so fiercely he couldn't respond properly.
If we do that, our line will keep pushing up. Look at their second line—they have no countermeasure for players breaking through.
Worse still, he had stammered incoherently, unable to formulate a proper response to the barrage of criticism.
Even now, the memory of the players' gazes that day made Daniel's face burn with shame.
That was why he hated Danny Scott.
As time passed, Danny decline became undeniable. By then, he had lost his value even as a substitute.
He inwardly cheered and proposed to the manager that they needed to rebuild the team. He argued for cutting the aging players and injecting fresh, young talent.
Those stubborn veterans with their inflated egos, refusing to listen to the coach just because they've got some experience. I was so relieved to finally be rid of their arrogant faces on the field.
Then someone came looking for him.
They wanted to recruit Danny, who was preparing to become a coach.
At first, he didn't believe it. Who would want to sign a player whose retirement date was already set? He genuinely thought Danny was staging some kind of protest against retirement.
But today, he saw it with his own eyes. It was a real manager. He even learned that it was the manager of a failing Fourth Division club when he bluntly asked Danny about it.
Coach Daniel's smirked triumphantly, as if to say, "Of course."
A completely ruined club? Players and coaches all fleeing, barely avoiding bankruptcy? And a rookie manager with no experience? What's the difference between him and me?
His initial intimidation at the thought of a manager quickly faded.
While not every coach aspired to be a manager, Daniel's ambition was clear. That was why he studied tactics so diligently, delving deep into the intricacies of the game.
Perhaps that's why he secretly looked at Eric with pity.
What manager in the world would personally come on foot to recruit a washed-up player?
It was almost pathetic.
Well, for a failing League Two team, even someone like Danny Scott would be a godsend.
With these thoughts, he exchanged greetings.
Yet something about the man's words and expression lingered, nagging at his mind.
Was it his unwavering confidence? Or perhaps the way he looked at the players? Yes, it was the posture, the expression, and the posture.
Is this your first time as a manager?
Did he truly carry the air of a manager?
The natural authority radiated from his face, despite its youthful appearance. It was as if the wisdom of a seasoned commander, tempered by countless trials, pulsed within him.
Perhaps that was why he felt an urge to tear him down.
It's like demanding a mammal to lay eggs.
Especially when the man spoke of tactics. A simmering resentment began to boil within him.
It reminded him of Danny Scott, who had always questioned his instructions.
Even though he was just a Fourth Division manager, he still had the audacity to say something like that. It rubbed Daniel the wrong way.
Anyone could see the White Team had the advantage. These were players Daniel had been watching for years. In truth, the White Team had a far greater advantage, as it included three or four First Team players.
"But..."
He stared blankly at the field.
The ball soared high into the penalty box.
In the ensuing scramble, the ball dropped right at Danny Scott's feet.
BANG!
A shot as satisfying as that sound, rivaling even his prime days, shook the back of the net.
One goal and two assists.
Danny performance was the ultimate proof of his worth.
Yet no media outlets, no football fans, were paying attention.
No, even later, no one could have predicted this would happen.
"Manager Eric..."
Danny stared at Eric with wide-eyed astonishment.
Even though it's the Fourth Division... a manager is still a manager, I guess.
Coach Daniel's glanced sideways, deflated.
"What's going on? What's with everyone's form today?"
"Wow. If we play this well in a friendly, we might even make the First Team!"
"Great performance today!"
"But who is that coach, anyway?"
Amidst the players' buzzing curiosity,
this was the moment Eric's abilities were first definitively showcased.