01. The Prodigal Son Returns (1)

Beep—!

The moment the whistle blew—

"Waaaaaaaa—!"

The cheers that had never ceased throughout the match erupted even louder.

The roar of 80,000 spectators in the packed stadium was truly exhilarating and electrifying.

And beyond that deafening noise, a man in a suit walked across the pitch, standing alone like a black-and-white figure amidst the vibrant colors of passionate cheers, despair, and frustration.

—Ah, in the end, Eugene Fischer has once again led Dortmund to a Champions League victory! The Big Ears trophy is heading to Dortmund!

—The once-prestigious Dortmund, which had fallen due to poor financial decisions and an aging squad, has now reclaimed its glory by clinching the Champions League title!

—With this victory, Manager Eugene Fischer has now secured his third career Champions League title, lifting a total of thirteen trophies across various leagues and tournaments!

—There's a reason he's called the greatest manager of this era!

—He has revived fallen giants like Manchester United, which failed to win a league title for a decade, Atlético Madrid, which suffered the same fate, and AC Milan, which was on the brink of dissolution due to financial troubles! And now, Dortmund joins the list! He has lifted trophies with every one of these teams!

—And now, we have an exclusive interview with the man who has just achieved another historic milestone, Manager Eugene Fischer!

"Congratulations on winning the Champions League, Coach!"

"Yes, thank you."

"You are now undeniably one of the greatest managers, having lifted the Big Ears three times. Your journey to this moment started thirteen years ago with Bochum! You made the bold and risky decision to take charge of a struggling team that no one else wanted, but in the end, that choice made you into the legendary manager you are today. It must have been the best decision of your life!"

"..."

Eugene did not respond. Instead, his gaze drifted somewhere far away, his expression indifferent.

The interviewer was momentarily flustered but quickly composed herself. After all, he was still intoxicated by the victory, and no words would likely register with him at the moment.

"This must be the happiest day of your life. How do you feel?"

At those words, his eyes refocused.

A faint smile appeared.

A somewhat bittersweet one.

"Yes, I'm happy."

---

As if the wild celebrations had never happened—

The locker room, where champagne had been popped and spilled across the floor, was now eerily silent.

As the night turned into dawn, the fans who had cheered madly left to continue their celebrations in the streets, and the players who had danced in the locker room had now gone to spend time with their families.

The silence that settled over the room felt oddly melancholic.

Whether that feeling was due to the atmosphere or his own emotions, he wasn't sure.

Sitting on the cold bench, he quietly took out his phone.

His third Champions League victory.

A day that should be remembered as pure happiness.

Except for one thing.

He opened a saved message.

It was a routine he had followed countless times.

Whenever he was at his lowest, whenever he faced a crisis, he would read this message.

And each time, he had endured, fought, and won.

He had triumphed once again.

Because otherwise… he wouldn't have been able to bear it.

His eyes settled on the familiar words in the message.

—No one wants to take over Mansfield. Please help.

Yes.

Today was her death anniversary.

As he stared at the message, he closed his eyes.

The silence in the locker room pulled him into distant memories.

---

Football had always been everything to him, and yet, it wasn't everything.

As a coach, he had steadily built his career—

A Bundesliga coaching staff member, a youth team coach, and even an assistant coach for the second team. His path had been conventional and successful, as if life was compensating him for his past failures.

But as a player, he had failed.

He never boasted about his playing career.

Not because he was ashamed.

But because people would simply ask out of genuine curiosity—

"Was there even a team like that? Did such a player exist?"

It wasn't mockery or ridicule. Just simple, honest curiosity.

He never introduced himself as a former footballer. It would have required too much explanation—

That he had come from a team that had spent over a hundred years in the lower leagues.

That he had been a youth player there.

That he had only played a handful of first-team matches before retiring.

He just found it tedious to explain.

By the time he was thirty-three, he no longer needed to explain.

Mansfield Town enters administration.

The billionaire owner's failed dream of reaching the Premier League.

One year without a club owner, four managerial changes—Mansfield Town in chaos.

Mansfield, relegated to League Two, now facing another imminent relegation?

He didn't have to say anything. The news explained it all.

Even then, he never brought up his playing career.

It wasn't out of shame.

It was just… tiresome.

Really.

---

Life is a series of choices.

You can't always make the right one. He knew that well.

A choice that once seemed like the best option could, in time, turn into a regret.

—No one wants to take over Mansfield. Please help.

When an old friend had reached out to him,

He had no choice but to refuse.

Bochum,

Zdeberk's staff leaves Bochum.

Bochum, struggling to escape relegation, faces difficulties finding a new manager.

Assistant coach Eugene Fischer to take over as interim manager?

It was common for struggling clubs to fire their managers.

It was also understandable that no coach wanted to step in when the team needed to win all five remaining matches just to avoid relegation.

It wasn't unusual for an assistant coach to resign alongside the fired head coach.

However, it was rare for the reserve team's head coach to resign at the same time.

Yes, the opportunity that had come to him was not an ordinary one.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

A golden opportunity to transition from a coach to a manager.

Of course, it was poison. Relegation was imminent, clear as day. The word relegation would forever be attached to my first managerial career like a scarlet letter.

But I was desperate. I had failed as a player. I wanted to succeed as a manager. And to succeed, I first needed to become a manager. Not just in the lower leagues, but in the Bundesliga. A manager of a club in one of the world's top four leagues.

If I miraculously managed to keep the team in the league as an interim manager, I might even get the position permanently.

So, I accepted.

Meanwhile—

I rejected my friend's request.

* * *

As celebrations roared on the streets, filled with laughter and cheer, I drove home alone.

> "Now, we can say it's the era of Manager Eugene Fischer. His football remains powerful no matter which team he moves to! Do you know why? It's not just because his tactics are revolutionary or sensational."

"He transforms teams. He rebuilds them from the ground up, making them structurally solid and resistant to collapse. Even if he spends tonight drinking champagne with his loved ones, I bet by tomorrow, he'll be entirely focused on football again."

The voice on the TV filled the room as I absentmindedly popped open a bottle of champagne.

I didn't know much about alcohol. I never enjoyed it, nor did I care to learn.

Yet my throat kept swallowing, over and over.

> ―No one wants to take over Mansfield. Please help.

Her message remained the same. I never replied.

No—I chose not to reply. I was afraid she'd keep begging, afraid I wouldn't be able to refuse an old friend's desperate plea.

Silence.

That was my answer. My cold rejection. Our final exchange.

I stared at the message for a long time. My finger hovered over the delete button.

But I didn't press it.

My vision blurred. For whatever reason, I slowly moved my fingers.

Even though it was too late, I typed out a message to a place it would never reach.

―Alright, I'll help.

It wouldn't reach her. But maybe, just maybe, sending it would ease my guilt.

Whether it was relief or something else, a wave of intoxication hit me, and the world faded to black.

"...!"

My head slammed onto the table as I lost consciousness.

* * *

Bzzzt—! Bzzzt—!

The phone vibrated, ringing loudly.

I groaned, rubbing my forehead as I lifted my aching body off the table.

I had a million-dollar bed just a few steps away, yet I had passed out on this hard wooden table. No wonder my whole body ached.

But all that pain vanished the moment I saw the phone screen.

A call from my friend.

When something impossible happens, anyone would be shocked.

I froze.

Then, I tried to think rationally.

'It must be someone else.'

Someone must have gotten a new phone number and sent a call after receiving my bizarre text.

I picked up the call.

"Hello?"

I hoped my drunken voice wouldn't sound too unpleasant.

But all my trivial thoughts vanished the moment I heard a familiar voice.

—"Eugene! Is it true? Are you really going to help? You're really coming to our team? For real?!"

A beautiful voice rang out, sharp with excitement.

...Lily. My friend.

I instinctively pulled the phone away from my face and checked the date.

I had returned to the past.

Back to the moment of choice.

My head spun from the overwhelming realization, but Lily's voice kept filling my ears.

—"Oh my god. I sent that message as a last-ditch effort, thinking there was no chance, but... is this real? I saw the news saying you're taking over as interim manager! You're seriously coming to our team?"

No matter how nice her voice was, the way she was rambling so excitedly made it hard to listen. But I couldn't tear myself away.

I took a deep breath and forced out a response.

"…Wait a minute, Lily."

—"Oh, right. Sorry, I got too excited. I'm really sorry. It's late, and I just—"

Life is a series of choices.

I had chosen Bochum. I had built an incredible career. But in doing so, I lost a beloved friend and cut away my past, leaving it behind as nothing more than a distant memory.

As I fell silent, the only sound I could hear was her quiet breathing.

"…Lily."

—"Hmm?"

"Let's meet and talk."

—"Meet? Wait, you're in Bochum, right? I think I can clear my schedule later this week, maybe—"

"Tomorrow."

—"Tomorrow? No way, that's too soon! I can't—"

"I'll come to Mansfield."

—"What?"

"See you tomorrow."

—"W-Wait! Hey!"

* * *

Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, was a small town.

The population was under 70,000.

It hadn't changed much over the years.

The city looked the same. The streets, the shops, the atmosphere, even the people.

"I never thought I'd see you here again. If I knew, I would've made time to meet up more often."

Lily greeted me with a bright smile as she waited in the café.

For a moment, I saw her as she had been when we were younger—always bold and full of confidence.

I did some quick mental math. I was 33, and she was now 29.

Thirteen years had passed.

Over the years, we had only exchanged the occasional casual greeting over the phone.

But it had really been a long time since we last met face-to-face.

If I included the time before my return to the past, it had been even longer since I'd seen her.

I couldn't find the words to say. I had hurriedly bought a ticket and rushed here as if possessed, yet I hadn't prepared anything to say.

"Why? Has my face changed too much? Do I look that bad now?"

She joked, which was unusual for her. I shook my head. Finally, I managed to find the words.

"I'll do it."

"What?"

"I'll take the job as Mansfield's manager."

Her eyes widened. The crew members already on board Mansfield were all scrambling to escape from a sinking ship, and yet here was a captain willingly stepping aboard.

A look of disbelief crossed Lily's face, but beyond that, her expression slowly began to fill with joy.

Yeah, this was the face I had come to see.

If I chose Bochum, I would succeed. I would prevent relegation, secure a full managerial position, and go on to win the Europa League twice. After that, I would receive offers from prestigious clubs.

It was inevitable. I would go from club to club, lifting trophies wherever I went. I would stand before trophy cabinets, basking in the praise of being called a top-tier manager.

That was the future I had lived through. The dazzling history of success lay before me.

But despite all that, I had come here.

Because what I truly wanted wasn't a glorious career.

It was Mansfield, where Lily was.

"I have a condition."

Lily straightened her expression. In an instant, she shifted into a businesslike demeanor. It was fascinating, but also expected. Her family had long been known as prominent local business owners, and Lily had a keen sense for business.

She had realized that this was not a personal meeting but an official discussion about a managerial contract. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she spoke in a slightly subdued voice.

"A condition? Of course. But the club's finances are in the worst possible state… Your salary might end up being lower than when you were a coach—"

"No, that's not what I mean."

I cut her off. Hmm, I take back what I thought earlier. For someone with a business mind, her emotions were written all over her face.

She looked worried, unsure about what kind of condition I was about to bring up. Seeing her expression, the tension in my own body faded away.

This was Lily, after all. The same bold and fearless Lily. The one who had once marched into the youth training ground and declared she wanted to be friends with a player, just because having a footballer friend sounded cool.

"You can't die."

"...What?"

Lily tilted her head, confused by my words.

I elaborated.

"That's my condition. You have to stay in Mansfield."

"I'm obviously in Mansfield."

"Forever."

"Forever?"

"If you're ever not in Mansfield for any reason, then I won't stay either."

"...."

She couldn't find the words to respond and just opened and closed her mouth. I stood up from my seat.

"And first, let's go to the hospital."

"What? Why would we go to the hospital all of a sudden?"

"That's my second condition. If you agree to this, I'll take the job as manager."

"Wait, what kind of managerial contract is this? Is this how things work in Germany? Shouldn't we be discussing salary and all that—"

"I already told you. My only condition is that you stay."

"Oh, and the hospital visit is non-negotiable too."

A look of utter confusion appeared on her face. As I pressured her into getting up and heading to the hospital, she mumbled under her breath.

"What the hell? He wasn't like this before… Did he go through a lot in Germany? Is he just homesick? What's going on?"

She looked like she was suffering from a system overload, and it made me chuckle.

I suddenly stopped walking.

"And Lily."

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

With that, I turned and continued toward the hospital.

Behind me, I could hear her muttering.

"What the hell happened to him in Germany? Why does he seem like a completely different person?"

I had to change.

Because only then would I have no regrets about the choice I had just made.