18. Boil over

"What do you guys think we were missing in our last training session, the one before the Eastleigh match?" Paul asked, standing at the front of the cramped room.

The team sat scattered around the space they'd unofficially dubbed the 'Control Room'. Not that it had much control—just a whiteboard, a fan, and a rattling AC unit that worked when it felt like it. Right now, it wasn't.

Players were still slick with sweat, slumped in their chairs, water bottles in hand as they caught their breath from the session they'd just wrapped up.

Clovis was the first to speak, sitting two rows deep. "Marking assignments?"

"Exactly." Paul clapped a fist into his palm. "Identifying and shutting down a danger man is crucial. If you can't stop the threat, stop the supply. Now, quick one. If you were playing against us, who would you mark first?"

"Most likely Liam, right?" Xavier said, wiping his face with a towel. "If they press my boy, I doubt he's doing squat."

"I'm... not disabled... you know," Liam muttered, staring down at the floor.

"Correct." Paul circled Liam's name on the board. "Liam and Benjamin are our main threats. But because Benjamin plays so high up the pitch, it's harder to mark him effectively. So what do you do instead?"

"Cut off his supply," Mateo murmured.

Paul nodded, circling Elke's name next. "Exactly. In the Eastleigh match, their key man was Isidre, both their creative outlet and attacking pulse. In the second half, you boys stuck Xavier on him. Solid call."

"Yeah, that's true!" Arun piped up from the corner. "Why didn't you tell us to mark him from the jump though?"

"Because, honestly?" Paul shrugged. "Everyone on Eastleigh was a threat. Giving you one assignment wouldn't have done much."

He turned and drew a big X across the center of the board. "Isidre was their heart. Cutting him off stifled their rhythm. But let me ask this, if we'd marked him from the start, would it have worked?"

"Why not?" Vincent asked.

"Because they had depth," Paul said. "Just like us, with Shin giving width and Mateo cutting inside. If you focus too early on one man, teams with flexible systems can just reroute their play. Had we locked onto Isidre in the first half, they would've adjusted at halftime and run circles around us."

"So it's about knowing when to mark," Elke muttered.

"Exactly." Paul pointed at him. "Flexibility is a weapon. If you have it, you're hard to stop. If the opponent has it, you better know how to take it away."

He turned. "Harriet."

She stood, marker in hand, and moved to the board without a word. She'd been in the room an hour earlier with the players, just after their session. Showing them the highlights of the key players of their next opponents, Forest Green Rovers.

Now, her fingers moved over the whiteboard.

Forest Green Rovers (Predicted Lineup)

[Formation: 4-3-3]

 • Goalkeeper: Carmine Gonzales

 • Left Back: Jack Harrow

 • Center Back: Chen Bao

 • Center Back: Mateo Vargas

 • Right Back: Taro Kimura

 • Defensive Midfielder: Robert Stones

 • Central Midfielder: Kofi Shuyi

 • Attacking Midfielder: Elliot Stone

 • Left Winger: Thomas Bennett

 • Right Winger: James Wright

 • Striker: Xiao Haoyu

"As seen on the tapes, this is what I assume they'll throw at us." Harriet said, stepping back to Paul's side.

"Having gone over the footage," Paul began, "who do you all see as their main threats?"

"Kofi Shuyi and Xiao Haoyu," Elke answered immediately. "No question. Forest Green are one of the main teams pushing for promotion, and Xiao's a standout. Loaned in from League One side Exeter, with twenty league goals last season, and he was only seventeen."

He kept going, unfazed by the stares.

"Kofi's just as dangerous. A midfield prodigy with great communication and an equally good football IQ. Only one match into the season, and he's already got all of their assists."

Silence, once again.

Elke glanced around. "I just like to know who I'm facing, is all."

Paul gave a short nod. "He's right. Liam, Xavier—you two are doubling up on Kofi. Forest plays centrally, like we do. Most of their buildup flows through their DM, Robert Stones, and their CM, Kofi."

"What about Xiao?" Benjamin asked. His mind still replayed clips of the striker's movements, from the darting runs, to the first-touch finishes.

"Xiao Haoyu's a relentless poacher," Paul said. "Quick bursts, great technique. Only 5'6, but don't underestimate him. He thrives on passes from Elliot and Kofi."

"Marking him won't be too complicated," Harriet added. "Clovis, Everest—you'll be closing passing lanes and muscling him out in the box."

"Got it," Everest said with a nod.

"And the wingers?" Mateo asked. "They looked sharp in the clips. If we leave them alone, we're asking for trouble."

"That's the flexibility I've been preaching." Paul pointed at the board. "If you shut down Xiao and Kofi, they shift to the wings. When that happens, Daichi and Arun, you drop back and stop them cold."

"I assume I'm floating?" Xavier asked.

"Correct," Paul said. "Leave Kofi to Liam. Shift to whichever flank needs support, likely Daichi's side."

Daichi looked away. "It was one mistake..."

"Doesn't matter," Paul said firmly. "Study your opponents like they'll study you. Ignorance loses games."

"Understood, coach."

"But I'll give credit where it's due. You were key in the one goal we scored that game." Paul gave him a nod. "Keep that up, Yamada."

Daichi straightened slightly. "Thanks, coach."

Harriet exhaled, heading to the side table and grabbing her tablet.

"Alright," Paul clapped his hands. "I've got to magically find money for our budget, and you lot have places to be. It's past twelve already, so for today, training's over."

Normally, this would be the moment he'd pull Benjamin aside for extra drills. Maybe drop the contract news. But he hesitated. Announcing it now might shift team dynamics. Could fire them up. Or cause tension. He didn't know.

So he let Benjamin go, just for today.

"Tomorrow's Tuesday," Paul called out. "Indoor session. I'll be handing Cory your individual training plans. He might tweak them a bit, but follow them to the letter, understood?"

"Yes, coach!" the team answered in unison.

"Then that'll be all. Champions, dismiss—"

Just before Paul could turn to leave, a sharp flurry of buzzes burst from Harriet's tablet.

Notification after notification lit up the screen, from news alerts, social posts, and headlines spilling across her display faster than she could swipe them away.

Paul paused, looking at her. "Everything alright?"

Harriet didn't answer right away. She just stared at the screen, lips tight. Then:

"They're insulting us."

Paul stepped closer. "Who's insulting us?"

Without a word, Harriet tilted the tablet so he could see.

At the top of the tabloid feed:

"They're the worst team in the league, lead by an equally bad coach." —Hanz Rumaria, head coach of Forest Green Rovers, on Friday opposition.

An official comment in his press run, not taken out of context, not forged. That was exactly what he said.

And the fans pounced on it.

@ForestFan99: "Rumaria's spot on! This lot with Sczerny are an absolute shambles. Worst team in the league? More like worst in history!" #ForestGreenRovers

@Aesir776: Hanz Rumaria calling out Sczerny and that rabble is peak honesty. Love a manager who doesn't sugarcoat it.

@WhatdoyouthinkofTottenham?: Sczerny's catching strays from Rumaria, and I'm here for it! 😭 They scored one goal and the fans tried convincing me it's not over, brother it is!!" #LeagueTruths

@Thegamesgone: Nah, Rumaria actually called Sczerny trash on live telly. Allow it! 🙏🏾😂

Head coaches rarely spoke ill of another team, that was the media's job, the pundits, the forums. But in the press conference notes, that's all he had done.

Every comment had been a jab. Every quote, a calculated strike. He didn't just go after the tactics or the performance, he went after Paul Sczerny himself. Called him outdated. Called Halles Sieger "a disgrace to modern football."

Harriet's tablet buzzed again. A text lit up the screen. It was from a journalist at Orion Newspaper.

"Hello, my name is Nathaniel From Orion Newspaper. Does Coach Sczerny have any official response to Hanz Rumaria's statements?"

She didn't answer right away. Just stared at the message.

Then looked up at Paul.

It was bad yes, but at the end of the day. That was the truth, their team was in no real position to defend against claims like these, not when they were losing and being backed by a manager who hadn't won in years.

Just like he'd said before. This is the reality of it.

Then, at another tabloid header, another quote from Hanz.

"That Norwich run is a bit overrated, and how quickly everything crashed after it just goes to show. It was a fluke, and on Friday. I'd prove it was." — Hanz Rumaria on Sczerny's past awards.

The entire team was on their phones now, heads bowed, screens lit. Comments swirled across every platform, each one more biting than the last.

Paul didn't move. His eyes were locked on the wall ahead, unfocused.

Responding would mean stepping into Hanz's trap. Feeding the fire, turning his own pride into a weapon that cut through his players first. It wasn't worth it. Hanz knew they were likely to lose. That's why he'd made it personal.

A response wasn't strength. It was surrender.

"Alright team..." Paul began, calming himself. "We'll meet up tomorr—"

"We'll win that game." Benjamin cut in, staring directly at Paul. "We'll make him eat his words."

Every single player looked at him, all mirroring the same fire, the same intensity.

Paul glanced at the team, shook his head and smiled. "Then you better work like hell."