Amidst the frantic preparations for the upcoming preseason training camp, Nottingham Forest Manager Ulans frowned at the day's training report.
"The report lists Danny Scott as having scored 1 goal and provided 2 assists in the scrimmage. Is this information accurate?"
Coach Daniel, who had submitted the report, hesitated before answering.
"Yes, it's correct. Danny Scott coach asked to play..."
Ulans removed his glasses and reread the report. The game's progress and flow were clearly documented.
While Daniel was often criticized for his narrow-mindedness and lack of tactical insight, his training management skills were widely praised.
The training report was excellent, allowing Ulans to grasp the flow of the scrimmage without even watching it.
"The second half... the play completely changed. Who interfered?"
"That would be..."
Daniel hesitated for a moment.
But how could he lie to Coach Ulans?
Daniel confessed everything that had happened during the training session in detail.
A strange light flickered in Ulans' eyes as he listened.
"A Fourth Division manager trying to recruit Danny as a player... actually interfered?"
Ulans let out a hollow laugh.
"He took players he'd never met before, people he hadn't even spoken to, and made them play his tactics?"
"...Perhaps luck played a part?"
Ulans glared and clicked his tongue. Daniel's shoulders slumped.
"My friend, you really need to study tactics more. Luck in soccer? Soccer is a sport of cause and effect. Results come from processes."
"..."
"If a shot goes in, it's because of the player's hard work and training. If the ball bounces around and goes in, it's because of the players' relentless training that put them in the right positions. Everything leads to the result. Luck? Then why not just sit on the bench, open the Bible, and pray instead of watching the game?"
Daniel's back went clammy under the sharp words.
He gritted his teeth and could only manage a muttered apology.
Ulans clicked his tongue and stopped scolding him.
Instead of pressing Daniel further, his curiosity about the manager began to grow.
They didn't seem to use any particularly brilliant or unconventional tactics... Yet, strangely, the game flowed in their favor. Daniel wasn't wrong to call it luck.
The image conveyed precisely that impression to anyone who saw it.
It's as if they created a framework and let the players move naturally within it.
No matter how detailed the report, it couldn't fully capture the nuances of that image.
What was truly remarkable was Ulans' ability to discern the flow of the game simply by reading the report.
He focused primarily on Danny statistics.
"One goal and two assists..."
Perhaps sensing the deeper meaning in his voice, Daniel cautiously asked, "Are you considering reversing your decision about the coaching position and having him play as a player instead?"
"Tch, it's a shame, but we've already recruited a new player for that spot. There's no place for Danny Scott anymore."
But Ulans hesitated for some reason.
If he's intelligent enough to handle the free-roaming role, he should be able to follow the manager's instructions well in any position or role.
A fleeting thought lingered: Could he still be a decent backup option?
Regrettably, that lingering thought had to be erased completely.
"Director, I appreciate the coaching offer, but I want to keep playing. I'll go to Mansfield."
"..."
Danny, his eyes gleaming brightly, had declared this the moment he entered the office.
Ulans, studying Danny with an inscrutable gaze, suddenly said, "A one-year contract extension. What do you think?"
"!"
"Director!"
Danny pupils trembled violently. Coach Daniel, standing behind him, gasped and shot to his feet. But Coach Ulans remained unmoved.
"This season in the Championship, we're aiming for promotion. It'll be a fierce battle. Are you up for the honor of reaching the Premier League?"
Danny didn't answer immediately. Daniel couldn't understand the situation. A manager offering a contract based on just one goal and two assists in a scrimmage? And a fool actually hesitating after hearing that offer!
After a long pause, Danny finally replied, "How do you plan to use me, Manager?"
"We need to make the most of that brain of yours. Rather than giving you rigid instructions, letting you play freely on the field will best showcase your talent."
At those words, Danny seemed to have made up his mind, his expression lightening with relief.
"Thank you for everything, Manager."
"Ah..."
Ulans forced a bitter smile. In truth, they had more than enough backup players. Among the players they were about to sign, several could fill that position. Yet Ulans had called him out of lingering attachment. Just two or three years ago, Danny had seemed like a player who could deliver anything asked of him.
"Perhaps you prefer the other manager?"
"...It's not so much that I prefer him. I just wanted to play under a manager like that at least once."
"!"
A flicker of surprise crossed Ulans's eyes. Danny Scott was such a sharp player that even the coaches had been wary of him. It wasn't uncommon for a player to find the coaches' level lacking, and this had been a frequent occurrence with Danny Scott.
A manager who wants to see a player who's been playing in the lower leagues?
I'd like to meet him and have a conversation.
An inexplicable, subtle jealousy. But he boldly raised his hand.
Danny firmly grasped it.
"You've worked hard. I wish you all the best for your new start."
"Thank you."
"Even though your contract has a month left, you can join Mansfield's training sessions starting tomorrow."
Danny bowed his head in gratitude for Ulans' final gesture of consideration.
After Danny left, Coach Ulans glanced at the report.
"The Fourth Division, huh?"
Mansfield Town Manager: Eric Reynolds.
"I'd like to meet him, but it'll be difficult. We'll be in the Premier League next year."
"Seriously, the manager hasn't even shown his face. Isn't it a bit much to make himself so hard to see?"
A strange tension hung in the air among the players.
It all stemmed from their new manager, who had yet to make a proper appearance.
Not that they hadn't seen him at all. They had held a team meeting.
But...
"Yes, I'm Eric Reynolds, the new manager. Don't even think about skipping training."
That was the entirety of the meeting. None of the players had gotten a proper sense of who their manager was.
The media was in the same boat. Local news outlets and residents had heard about the new manager's appointment, but no one knew the full story.
Perhaps it was inevitable. With the Club's media and marketing staff long gone, who else could reporters contact?
In the end, Lucy Horn was the sole point of contact, but she was currently out of commission due to surgery.
So the reporters turned to the players.
"The coaches' atmosphere is unusually tense, isn't it?"
"They're cracking down hard—fines for missing training and all that."
"And threatening us not to let any internal news leak out. It's all so strange."
The players were buzzing with concern over the two coaches' uncharacteristic behavior.
Before long, a rumor began to circulate:
"They're releasing players?"
"Again?"
"All the guys who wanted to transfer are already gone."
"Apparently, the coaches are acting like this because of the release list. If you even slightly step out of line, you're getting cut."
"!"
The team erupted in turmoil.
The truth was, most of the players still on the roster weren't there by choice. They were the ones other teams didn't want, resources no one else would bother with.
Transferring to another team was nearly impossible, and even if they managed it, they'd have to accept a lower weekly wage.
So, the mere mention of a release list sent the players into a frenzy.
At first, they dismissed it as just another rumor.
But when Coach Alrop began conducting individual interviews with the players, the rumor quickly became reality.
The players' instincts were sharp. They had even sensed that the two coaches were independently selecting players for release. As this tense atmosphere persisted, training sessions became unproductive.
The team's captain, Mr. Mansfield.
Jenkins disliked this atmosphere.
Most of all, the idea of releasing players.
How many are they planning to let go? No one would want to join our team now. With such a depleted roster, how are we supposed to compete in the league?
The manager's indifferent face flashed through his mind.
The man who had spoken to him with an oddly sharp tone.
"Ugh, everyone's in a panic. Well, it is kind of funny how scared players get about being released."
Just then, a young player approached with a carefree smile.
"Herald."
"The release list is real. I had a drink with Alensky and the guys last night, and they were all begging him not to let them go."
"..."
"Tsk, should've worked on their skills sooner, huh? What a bunch of fools. They just let their skills rot and then swarm around whining about how unfair it is? That's why they can't even find a team in the Fourth Division. Coach Alensky was so awkward, he just kept drinking without saying a word. I felt sorry for him."
"Are you okay?"
"Me?" Mac Herald grinned, showing his crooked teeth. "As if I'd be on the release list! I'm the team's ace! Sure, the Captain's the core, but I'm the ace, right?"
Herald laughed in disbelief.
"They'd have to be crazy to try and sell me. Without me, we'd be fighting to survive in the Fourth Division, not aiming for the Fifth. Any manager with half a brain wouldn't do that, even a rookie. Ah, but who knows? No one on our team wants the manager job, so we might end up with a real dud. If that happens, I'll admit defeat. I wouldn't want to play under some clueless idiot who doesn't recognize my value either."
Herald laughed freely.
Three goals and eleven assists in the Third Division, right before relegation.
He was the team's top scorer and their key player.
That's why he remained unfazed by the tense atmosphere.
"Well, Captain's a club youth product and has the nickname 'Mr. Mansfield,' so he'll never be on the transfer list. Besides, he's stayed out of all the... you know, the cliques, right?"
"So, why didn't you transfer? I heard you had plenty of offers."
"Well... it's not really about affection for Mansfield. It's just that everyone here—the fans, the players, my teammates—they all have their eyes on me."
"..."
"I guess I just crave the attention. Haha."
Herald laughed casually.
"Speaking of which, the manager is something else."
"..."
"He barely shows his face, yet he completely controls the team. Captain, have you talked to him? What's he like?"
Jenkins hesitated, struggling to find the words. After a long pause, he finally managed to say, "He's a man you can't look in the eye."
A jumble of words and impressions swirled in his mind, but that was the only sentiment he could articulate.
"What's the atmosphere like?"
"It's a complete mess. The team's boiling over."
Hearing Max's words, I took off my jacket and draped it over the chair before sitting down.
"Looks like Alrop and Alensky are doing a good job."
"Good job?"
"They're probably causing chaos by compiling the release list properly. The guys who should be leaving are always the loudest."
"!"
"They're protesting that they're not bad enough to be on the release list, while the ones who know better are quietly observing. The more noise, the better."
Max shook his head at my words, but his eyes gleamed with interest.
"Where did you learn this?"
"Learn what?"
"This... you're trying to control the players, aren't you?"
I didn't answer, just stared at Max. He then began to explain why he thought so.
"Starting with entrusting the release list to the coach... wasn't that meant to create distance between the players and the coaching staff?"
"Go on."
"No matter how much they see him as a father figure, an older brother, he's still just the coach. You made them confront the fact that he's different from them, that he's not one of them."
To be honest, I was slightly impressed.
Max had grasped some of my intentions.
He was no longer just focused on tactics; he was seeing the team as a whole.
Well, that's what you'd expect from a Head Coach. Max was adapting remarkably well, even if he didn't realize it himself.
"Is that all?"
"What? Is there some other hidden motive?"
His horn-rimmed glasses slid down to the bridge of his nose.
I chuckled and looked at him. *Still a bit green,* I thought. *But he's come a long way.*
"Do you know what the most dangerous thing is at this club?"
"Is there anything that *isn't* dangerous right now? From our dire finances to the weakness of the squad..."
"Collective insubordination. Or unconscious player sabotage."
I said this while skimming through the team report.
"What if they band together for collective insubordination or unconscious sabotage?"
"...!"
"Team insubordination happens more often than you think. Even at massive clubs like Real Madrid, clashes between the manager and players can lead to a decline in performance."
"That's..."
"Whether it's the manager's reputation, skill, or even personality, these issues are especially common in poorly run teams."
And currently, Mansfield Town is arguably the most poorly run team in the entire UK, considering all divisions from the Premier League to the Fourth Division.
Max couldn't respond.
"We'll keep hitting roadblocks, no matter what we try—tactics, reforms, even changing the fine regulations. The players are simmering with discontent, and there's a growing movement for them to voice their grievances collectively."
"Wait a minute. Isn't discontent natural in any group? We need to compromise and move forward..."
"Compromise?" I scoffed. "I don't compromise, Head Coach."
"!"
"Compromise... Sure, it sounds nice. But do you think the process will be easy?"
Max couldn't answer.
The process of reconciling conflicting grievances, making concessions, and finding common ground...
It's a grueling task even between family members and lovers.
"Endless tug-of-war, circular conversations that lead nowhere, futile repetitions of words that never reach a conclusion."
If necessary, we'll do it.
We have to keep the team running, even if it means resorting to such measures.
"But we don't have time for that."
"...!"
"I don't have the time or patience for such nonsense. A tedious tug-of-war ending in mutual concessions? Don't make me laugh."
I stared directly at Max and spoke with unwavering clarity.
If Max ever becomes a manager himself, he'll develop his own leadership style.
But for now, he's my Head Coach. And that means even he...
"There's no room for compromise with me."
He must follow my lead.
Silence hung in the air. I shifted my gaze and continued, "The word's already out that the coaches are compiling a list of players to be released. They've realized the coaches aren't on their side. Do you really think they're capable of staging a collective mutiny or strike?"
This team is a mess. So I'll approach them with messy logic.
"Why would the players give me grounds to fire them?"
In managing a team, nothing is more dangerous than the players uniting in defiance against the manager.
I took preemptive measures to prevent such a scenario.
"They won't even dream of a strike or insubordination. They'll be scrambling to avoid immediate dismissal."
"...So, Eric, there's a reason you've been deliberately avoiding showing your face?"
"What reason do you think?"
Max's eyes lit up.
"A visible traitor is more infuriating than an invisible enemy...?"
"Exactly."
Max sighed and removed his horn-rimmed glasses, rubbing his closed eyelids.
"What the hell is this...?"
"To the players, I'm practically a ghost manager. I've been busy and haven't shown my face much, but I've also deliberately kept my distance from them."
After all, most of them were going to be released soon anyway.
"They're more likely to resent the coaches compiling the release list than a manager they barely see."
This drives a wedge between the coaches and the players.
It doesn't completely sever their bond, but creating even a small crack in their solidarity is enough. That's all I need to achieve my goal.
Move forward.
Team rebuilding inevitably provokes resistance from the players.
Let them direct all their resentment toward...
I'll just pass the buck to the coaching staff.
After that, I can gradually take control of the team.
Max realizes what's happening and stares at me with wide-eyed wonder, as if I were some kind of monster.
"You were just a coach yourself, weren't you?" he mutters softly.
"Just two months ago," he adds under his breath.
I shrug.
"It's all part of the plan. We'll see if it actually works out."
Knock, knock.
"Alrop here, Director."
And the final intention.
Rebuilding isn't just about the players.
It's not just about selling off old players and bringing in new ones.
Sometimes, it's about rewriting the script.
"Let's see if the coaches will follow my orders."