"Ah, everyone's here early this morning. Good morning, Director, Head Coach."
Alrop greeted us with his usual gentle smile.
He showed no hesitation in using honorifics, even for me, who had openly made sharp remarks, and for Max, who still felt like an outsider in the club.
Our proud Max seemed particularly pleased with Alrop's respectful treatment, his nose twitching slightly.
"Fortunately, I completed the work before the Director called."
Alrop placed the documents on the table without taking a seat.
A quick glance at the table revealed a list of exactly five names and profiles.
I looked at Alrop and asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to add regarding this list?"
"Oh, no, not at all. I simply compiled the list. Whether to proceed with the actual sales is entirely at your discretion, Director."
"Is that so?"
"Absolutely. Besides, presenting the information clearly in a report is far more systematic and efficient than discussing it verbally. Please review it at your convenience and let me know if anything doesn't meet your approval."
"Very well. Go oversee the players' training. I'll take a look."
Alrop maintained his smile until the moment he left the room.
I glanced over the list before handing it to Max.
It was a request for Max to review it.
Max adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and leaned in, studying the report with intense focus.
He soon let out a disbelieving gasp.
"What's this?"
"Why?"
Max chewed his lip, then scratched his head vigorously.
"This list is terrifyingly rational."
"So that's a good thing, right? Why are you reacting like that?"
Despite Max's bewildered reaction, I casually started the coffee machine.
"Coffee?"
"No, just cold water."
"Help yourself."
After gulping down the cold water, Max seemed to calm down a bit and continued.
"I mean exactly what I said. This list is terrifyingly rational. It only includes players who should be released. It considers everything: their performance relative to their weekly wages, the style of play our club needs, and even the organic chemistry between players. It's the most logical conclusion based on all those factors."
As he spoke, Max kept referring to the report's contents.
Alrop's evaluation comments for each player explained why they were on the release list and why they didn't fit the club's current needs. As I listened, I found myself nodding in agreement.
I sipped my coffee, watching Max's wide-eyed expression.
"It's... logical," I said.
"How could he do this?" Max grumbled, clearly struggling to understand. "I saw Alrop interviewing the players myself."
Unlike me, Max often showed his face among the players—a natural consequence of being the Head Coach.
"After the rumors spread, every player Alrop interviewed was visibly anxious. But do you know what Alrop did?"
Max's explanation was simple. According to a conversation he overheard through a slightly ajar door...
"He was comforting you, saying he had no intention of releasing you. Instead, he claimed he would argue for your value and protect you from the Manager, who was trying to reshape the team to his liking!"
Max's anger was justified.
The player he had interviewed was now on the release list.
"Do you think he only said that to one person? He must have reassured all the players the same way—pretending to protect them, acting like he wouldn't release them. How could he...?"
Max gulped down more cold water.
"I thought Alrop would present a terrible release list. Or at least stand his ground and say he couldn't release any players."
"Alrop is my coach, Max."
"What?"
"I'm the Manager, and he's the Coach. He was just following my orders."
"Wait, did you just lie to the players to reassure them?"
"Exactly. It's no surprise. I expected as much."
"!"
The coffee tasted bitter. Only after adding more sugar did it become palatable. After a single sip, his mind cleared.
"Well, they're leaving anyway."
"What does that mean...?"
"Even if there's a lie hidden behind that gentle smile—the one he uses to comfort and reassure them—what's the harm in lying to players who are leaving anyway?"
"...!"
Max gasped in shock, then his face darkened with subtle anger.
"That's betrayal! How could he do that? These are players who look up to him like a father!"
"They look up to him like a father, but he's not their actual father, is he?"
Max seemed to lose his words, unable to respond.
"The players who are leaving will harbor resentment and hostility, feeling they've been deceived. So what? They're leaving anyway. How are you going to resolve that resentment, that hostility?"
"!"
"The remaining players, on the other hand, will feel they've been chosen, that they've been spared like a festering wound being cut away. They'll believe they were kept because they're the ones who truly follow my lead. I've made sure to tell them all that in our one-on-one meetings."
"So... you don't care about the players who are leaving since they're leaving anyway, and you're just focused on maintaining the support of the remaining players?"
"They'll even feel like I'm protecting them, giving them special treatment."
That was Alrop's strategy. It was clear why Max had described him as terrifying.
"He knows I won't use players who lack the necessary skills. By releasing the underperforming ones, he's demonstrating his unwavering authority while simultaneously securing the loyalty of his chosen players, ensuring his faction's continued dominance within the team."
"Hah..."
Max took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"To think he'd so ruthlessly put a player he supposedly cherished like a son on the release list without a word of defense."
I chuckled softly. Alrop's release list. I liked it. It was so rational.
"See? I told you he gets the job done."
He wasn't a Championship-level coach for nothing. But Max seemed to harbor some kind of human aversion. What could I do? I didn't care about Alrop's character. What mattered was that he had executed my instructions perfectly and flawlessly. That was all.
And that's why...
"Get acquainted with Coach Alrop. He's our team's coach."
"..."
In my rebuilding plan...
Coach Alrop was coming with me.
Unlike Alrop, who drafted the release list as smoothly as flowing water, Alensky had been agonizing over it since receiving the initial directive.
"Coach, is it true you're actually working on the release list?"
"Wait a minute—my name isn't on it, is it?"
"Coach! You know I've been playing here for four years. How much I love this club—where else would I go?"
The players had gathered around him at the bar, having heard rumors from somewhere.
Alensky gritted his teeth.
Coach Alrop, how could you be so obvious with these interviews? Don't the players notice?
But he knew he couldn't blame Alrop entirely. How else could he determine who to release without interviewing the players?
The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders, tormenting him.
"Coach, let's be honest. All the players other clubs coveted are already gone. The ones who stayed? Except for guys like the Captain and Harold who chose to remain, no one else is calling. You know that, right?"
A heavy silence fell over the team after the player's words.
"There are more than a few players out there who couldn't find a club and are stuck in free agency, unemployed. Some are even working out day and night to stay in shape, sending videos of their training to agents and clubs themselves."
Skilled players are hot commodities, coveted by every club.
But for those with questionable or lacking talent, a grim future awaits.
They were like sailors trapped on a sinking ship, unable to escape—doomed to perish alongside it.
How could Alensky not know this?
That's why he agonized over the decision, weighing every option.
Yet he couldn't ignore the manager's first directive.
Seeing Alrop conduct interviews so energetically, Alensky could tell he was determined to follow the Manager's instructions.
So Alensky eventually began interviewing the players himself.
Unlike Alrop, who met them in a stiff office, Alensky visited them personally. This was one of the reasons the players liked him so much—his easygoing approach, dropping by for meals or sharing a drink, made him feel like a friend.
"Coach, you're here? You're my first guest since moving in!"
Alensky forced a wry smile, trying to hide his bitterness as he looked at the player welcoming him into his home.
"Nice place."
"Ugh, it's all loans. But with my salary and my wife working as a nurse at the nearby hospital, we finally qualified for a mortgage."
"Is that so...?"
"Yes, I'll have to work hard for a while, haha. Oh, but what brings you to my house?"
Alensky seemed momentarily speechless, unable to answer.
The player's eyes narrowed, and a look of betrayal quickly settled on his face.
"Could it be... are the rumors true? Player release? Did you come to tell me I'm being released?"
"No, that's not it..."
"Coach, you can't do this. You know I think of you like my own brother. You've even invited me to your house for dinner with your family several times."
The player's voice rose before he seemed to regain his composure, pleading earnestly.
"I can transfer to another club, sure. But where am I supposed to go with my wife and this house? Huh? Especially since my wife is pregnant!"
"!"
"Coach, my skills aren't that lacking, are they? I'll work my hardest. You promised to be my child's godfather later, didn't you?"
Alensky sighed, recalling the memory of their laughter over drinks.
He felt a lump in his throat.
Forcing someone out was an impossible task for him, a man known for his kindness and inability to say harsh words. He gritted his teeth.
"Who said anyone was being cut? What's going on?"
"Huh? Then the rumors...!"
"Rumors be damned! Keep practicing! No one's getting cut! None of you are leaving! Absolutely not! I'll protect you all!"
Alensky immediately sent an email to Lucy.
But soon after, Eric called.
He gritted his teeth.
"Absolutely no one is leaving. Not a single one."
Muttering those words, Alensky headed to the Manager's office.
"You're empty-handed."
Before even greeting him, I stared at his bare hands.
Alensky's eyes flashed as he declared, "I can't do it! The release list—it's out of the question."
"Can't or won't?"
"!"
"Are you refusing to follow my orders? Or are you letting your petty camaraderie with the players cloud your judgment as a coach, allowing yourself to be swayed?"
"Director, don't corner me like this!"
"Very well, let me rephrase. The release list—hand it over."
"!"
Alensky clamped his mouth shut. He likely had a litany of justifications prepared. Even the email he sent to Lucy was filled with convoluted reasons. But to me, it all amounted to meaningless games.
"That's all I needed to know."
My monotone voice made Alensky flinch.
I pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write. In the silence, broken only by the scratching of the pen, I spoke softly.
"Should I call them your faction?"
"...!"
"These are the players who will be leaving."
I slid the paper across the table. Alensky hesitated before reaching for it, his pupils dilating wildly. The color drained from his face as he forced out a trembling voice.
"When did you...?"
"Do you think a new manager wouldn't assess the players?"
Flames ignited in Alensky's eyes at my words.
His shoulders trembled faintly.
"If you were going to do this, why? Why prepare the release list in advance? Why plan everything out?"
"I told you, I'd share my responsibilities. I said I'd delegate my authority."
"What! You already finalized the list!"
"It's my authority!"
Bang!
I slammed my fist on the table and stood up, glaring directly at him.
His pupils constricted, rendering him speechless. Staring into those tiny pupils, I spoke with deliberate force, as if hammering each word into his mind—low but clear.
"The Manager has absolute authority. I delegated that authority. I conceded it. But the Coach kicked that concession away. Why? Because your meager courage couldn't handle it?"
"...Unilateral dismissal measures that disregard the players' wishes..."
"Shut your mouth if you're going to spout such nonsense."
"!"
I added my signature below the player's name on the paper.
"Is it because you cherish the players? Because you genuinely like them? Or because they're essential and outstanding members of this club? Or perhaps because you consider them family?"
"..."
"Is that why you can't finalize the dismissal list?"
There was no response. It was inevitable. The emotions swirling in his pupils were obvious, even without looking directly at them. I'd seen this type of coach countless times—the kind who become so deeply attached to their players that they lose sight of their own role.
"No. You're just afraid."
"!"
"Afraid of being hated. Afraid that the players you've treated so well will be disappointed and resentful. Afraid of being cursed. Afraid of severing ties forever. Afraid of losing face and being unable to look them in the eye. You just want to be a good person."
That was it. The crucial difference between Alrop and Alensky.
"You lack the courage to be hated and resented by others."
I slammed the signed document onto the table with a sharp thud.
My approval. Confirming the release list.
I stared into his trembling pupils as he looked at it.
"That's your limit, Physical Coach."