08. Rebuilding, From the Toes to the Head (2)

Danny Scott was shaken, but he didn't agree on the spot.

That was fine. I hadn't expected to convince him in just one day.

"Nottingham?"

I went to see him again the next day. Unlike yesterday, today, Max, who had accompanied me on this trip, widened his eyes in surprise only when we arrived at the club's clubhouse.

That was because I hadn't bothered to explain beforehand which player I was here to recruit, as he had been too busy preparing reports.

"The player you're bringing in is from Nottingham Forest?"

"He's a player we're signing, so the head coach should see and judge for himself."

"Of course, watching with my own eyes is better than watching on video, but what confuses me is—are you seriously targeting a player from Nottingham?"

"There's no need to be confused. That's exactly right."

"Come on. Nottingham is a team that keeps bouncing between the Premier League and the Championship."

In short, they were in a different league from us.

"I thought you wouldn't know much about English football since you've only been in Germany, but you've studied a lot. Good attitude, coach. Keep it up."

"I just don't get it. How do you plan to bring in a Nottingham player?"

"You didn't say much on the drive here, so why are you suddenly making such a fuss?"

"I thought we were going to Notts County. They're a League Two team."

"And what would I do with a player from League Two?"

"…You do realize that we are a League Two team, right?"

"We're a team that will be in the Premier League in four years."

Max rubbed his forehead as if he had no energy to argue. Even someone as proud as him found it difficult to respond to my words.

Since we had an appointment, entering the clubhouse wasn't difficult.

"Wait, where are you going?"

Max suddenly shouted.

"To meet the player."

"If you want to see a player, you should go to the training ground. The players are out there, aren't they?"

"He's not there."

"What are you talking about? Why wouldn't a player be at the training ground?"

Max furrowed his brows.

The well-organized office was filled with people wearing light training clothes rather than uniforms.

"This is the coaches' office."

"That's where he is."

"Why is a player in the coaches' office…?"

Ah, so that's what he was confused about.

"He's retiring next month and preparing to work as a coach."

"…You've got to be kidding me."

Leaving the dumbfounded Max behind, I waved to a man frowning at some documents.

"Danny Scott. It's me, Eugene."

"…You really came again today."

Danny Scott let out a hollow laugh when he saw me, then glanced around.

"Well, come this way."

"You seem busy?"

"Yeah, well. I still have a month left on my player contract, so I haven't officially signed on as a coach yet, but I'm already doing the work. I never realized during my playing days that preparing for a training camp involved so much."

"Then wouldn't it be better if you never found out? Keep playing."

"You're really persistent."

His tone suggested he was sick of it, but his expression didn't entirely reflect that.

And why would it? This was the complicated moment when he had to acknowledge himself as a washed-up player and bring his long career to an end.

But if, at that moment, someone believed in his skills and supported him? If I could, I would give him all the support he needed.

"My offer remains the same. Play for our team."

"…"

"It would be a waste for someone with your ability to retire like this. We need you."

"Sigh. I'm sorry. I've already made up my mind."

"Hmm."

I turned and gestured toward Max, who was standing awkwardly.

"Introduce yourself. This is our team's head coach."

"Maximilian."

"Ah, yes. Danny Scott."

"Max was saying that even though we're a League Two team, we're not so desperate that we need to bring in a washed-up player who's about to retire."

"!"

I gave Max a subtle look. His gaze screamed, 'Wait, when did I say that?!' but I ignored him. Danny Scott's cold glare wasn't directed at me, after all—it was directed at Max.

"Yes, he's right. We may be a weak team, but we're not so desperate that we need a retired player. There are plenty of free agents on the market, and we could explore loan options."

"…"

"Max is my head coach. And I consider him a tactical genius."

Danny Scott, who had remained silent, glanced at Max.

There was a flicker of curiosity in his cold eyes. Max, suddenly feeling the tension, didn't know what to do as his pupils darted around behind his thick glasses.

"That's why I follow my coach's advice. He's the only one whose skills I truly believe in."

At those words, Max's gaze toward me subtly changed.

Hearing this, Danny Scott looked at both of us with a complex expression.

"Like I said, we're not so desperate that we need to sign a retired player. The reason I want you isn't because you're a retired player—it's because you're a truly great one."

"…"

"But my head coach has serious doubts about my judgment."

Danny Scott let out a long sigh.

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

"Prove me right."

"!"

Danny Scott looked taken aback and frowned.

"Prove it? You want me to show you my skills?"

"Yes."

"Wait a minute. I'm retired. Retired. I have no reason to show you anything…"

Just then, Max spoke up.

"Let's go. What are we even doing here, trying to sign a retired player?"

"!"

Danny Scott's expression changed instantly.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and stood up.

"I don't want to be remembered as just another retired player in the memory of the so-called tactical genius you trust so much. I'll show you."

---

While I was talking to Danny Scott, a scrimmage was underway outside on the training ground.

Danny Scott approached the coach in charge and spoke with him briefly.

Before long, Danny Scott donned a blue bib and stepped onto the field.

"Did you know he was this proud?"

"Have you ever met a professional player who wasn't?"

"…Fair point."

"Being a pro is about pride. That's what keeps them going. Players without pride disappear before they even become pros. Even those who make it don't last long if they lack pride. That's just how this world works."

Max's eyes widened slightly in realization.

"Is that something only a coaching staff can see?"

"It's not something you can figure out just by watching videos and analyzing plays on paper."

Max sighed.

"So, are you planning to stroke his ego to recruit him? Like, 'See? You've still got it.' That kind of thing?"

"No. I'm going to shatter his self-esteem first."

Max's narrowed eyes behind his thick glasses showed clear confusion.

He didn't question me right away, though. Instead, he seemed deep in thought, trying to figure it out for himself.

That was Max's style.

But he was still young.

And for my plan to work, he needed to grow—fast.

Four years.

That was all the time we had.

Danny Scott's lingering attachment to playing stemmed from his belief that he could still compete.

I treated him as a player.

I wasn't naive.

I knew exactly how absurd my words sounded to those hearing them for the first time.

But in the end, Danny Scott didn't refuse outright.

Because I treated him as a player.

By doing so, I had shown him the respect his pride demanded.

However, today, I had brought Max along to intentionally wound that pride.

I had openly contradicted the respect I had shown him before, right in front of him.

It hit him hard.

Denying someone who acknowledged you—ironically, that could be more infuriating than outright criticism.

"I don't get it. Do you really think he's worth it?"

"What do you think?"

"The moment he decided to retire, he was finished as a player. That's it. He lost faith in himself and gave up. That's the end of his story."

Max still wasn't convinced.

Wait… is that why he suddenly stood up earlier?

I had assumed he was playing along to help me, but now I realized—

Was he actually just annoyed by the whole thing?

"Think about it. The manager and assistant coach personally came to see him. That's not something that happens every day, is it? A manager making the effort to visit in person rather than just calling?"

I smirked.

"Are you sure?"

"...?"

"You're sure he's finished? At least for a few more years?"

My eyes gleamed.

I recalled the glorious future Danny Scott would have—should have had—in the original timeline.

At that moment, while I was lost in thought, someone approached me.

"Excuse me… You're the manager, right?"

It was a coach from Nottingham Forest.

His face wore a polite but knowing smile.

"Yes, I'm the manager."

"…Ah, nice to meet you. I'm Daniel, a coach at Nottingham Forest. I heard you came to see Coach Danny Scott?"

"Yes. I want to sign Danny Scott as a player."

The coach's smile widened.

"League Two, was it? Well, if it's the fourth division, I suppose someone like Danny Scott—who was a backup in the Championship—would be a decent signing. I understand."

"I didn't expect understanding, but I appreciate it nonetheless."

The coach's lips twitched slightly.

"But will he actually go?"

"I'll make sure he does."

"Haha, so it's true. I thought it was just a rumor—someone said a retired player was trying some last-ditch stunt to extend his career."

The coach chuckled, folding his arms. Then, he glanced toward Danny Scott.

Thwack!

"Ugh!"

Just as he tried to control the ball, he was shoved aside by a defender who had charged in.

The coach's lips curled into a smirk.

"As you can see, the defender he just collided with is a second-team player. He's still far from making his first-team debut. The Championship is rough, after all. And yet, he can't even hold his ground against a player like that. Well… I suppose for League Two, he's a decent prospect."

"Have you ever watched a League Two match?"

"League Two? Ah, no. Our scouting team occasionally keeps an eye on some League Two players, but for a club aiming for Premier League promotion like ours, we don't really bother watching League Two games."

"That makes two of us."

"…What?"

"I'm also aiming for Premier League promotion. That's why I'm here to see Danny Scott, not some League Two player."

There was a hint of ridicule in the coach's smile.

"You don't seem to believe me."

"Haha, no, it's not that. You've got quite the ambition, I must say. I heard this is your first time managing a team?"

"For a first meeting, you sure seem to know a lot about me."

"…"

"I spent quite a few years coaching in the Bundesliga. Right now, Danny Scott's role in the current tactics is ambiguous."

"…Ambiguous?"

The coach frowned and turned his head. His smirk stood out even more now. It wasn't a pleasant sight.

"Well, you probably don't know this, but the tempo of League Two and the Championship is completely different. It's all about expectations, you see. Danny Scott just can't keep up."

"That's like scolding a mammal for not laying eggs."

In other words, he was being forced into an impossible role.

The coach's smile vanished instantly, replaced by open displeasure.

"You talk as if there's a tactical system that suits Danny Scott."

I widened my eyes and looked at him.

"For someone who's heard so much, you just have really good hearing, huh?"

The coach opened his mouth as if to respond but then shut it again. His gaze flickered with uncertainty. He wasn't sure whether to get angry or how to react at all.

After a moment, he let out a mocking laugh.

"Then why don't you show us?"

It was five minutes before the end of the first half of the intrasquad match.

"I'll give you 30 minutes to manage the Blue Team with Danny Scott."

I simply looked into his eyes without responding.

"You're okay with that?"

It wasn't unheard of for clubs to let outside staff observe training.

Interclub exchanges were common. If the teams were in different leagues, these exchanges could be beneficial for transfers and maintaining good relationships.

If we were in the same league, they might have refused to let me watch, but Nottingham Forest was a Championship powerhouse. Meanwhile, our club was one of the weakest in League Two.

For them, it wasn't about exchange—it was more like they didn't care.

That's why they weren't concerned about me coming to see Danny Scott or watching their training sessions.

Still, even so—

"I've never heard of a club letting an outsider manage their team, even in a practice match. Maybe my hearing isn't as sharp as yours."

"Oh, come on. What's the problem? There wasn't supposed to be an intrasquad match today anyway. It was just a light training session. Everyone's busy preparing for preseason training. The players just wanted to run around, so we set this up. It's nothing serious. What's the matter? You scared?"

He was baiting me.

But if he was willing to take responsibility for this, then—

He was practically giving me a trial run with Danny Scott before signing him.

How generous of him.

I grinned.

"I'll do it."

---

"What the hell is this?"

"They're letting us use a player before we even buy him. What other store lets you try before you buy? It's an incredible customer service experience."

"You came here for a transfer, and now you're playing an intrasquad match? Does that make sense?"

"It's not like it's a bet."

"But if you lose, it'll be embarrassing. That guy's just a coach, but he's been looking down on you this whole time. Keeps bringing up League Two like it's some insult."

"We won't lose."

"Eugene! Overconfidence is dangerous. And this isn't confidence—it's arrogance."

Max was always the pragmatic one.

Most top-tier managers were.

Being realistic was key to executing strategies effectively on the field.

Which meant—

I was just as pragmatic as he was.

"I don't even know the players' names or recognize all their faces yet. Just giving them a strategy isn't enough."

"It's possible."

"Wait, I know you're stubborn, competitive, and bold, but lately, you've been acting even weirder—!"

"The Blue Team's striker has a bad habit of planting his foot half a beat late when taking a shot."

"…What?"

"The freckled left winger isn't a natural left-footer, but he's hugging the touchline like he was instructed to. That's a misassigned role. The central midfielder takes too long to release his passes. The left fullback doesn't turn his head. His vision is narrow."

"…."

Max's wide-eyed expression soon turned to one of disbelief.

Because once he focused on the field, everything I had pointed out became obvious.

Knowing what to look for and seeing something for the first time were completely different.

I continued pointing out flaws in the Blue Team's players, one by one.

When I was done, Max raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay. Wait. You figured all that out in that short time? While arguing with that coach?"

"I'm a pessimist. I don't see people's strengths first—I see their weaknesses. You know that."

"…Yeah, I do. Back in Germany, you always picked out flaws in teams I had spent days analyzing without even looking at the reports."

"Exactly. Now, do you think I only figured out the Blue Team's weaknesses?"

"!"

I smirked as I saw his stunned expression.

"I know our opponent's weak spots, and I know our team's flaws too."

"You're going to exploit their weaknesses while covering ours…?"

"There's a 10-minute break. Can you do it?"

"Do what?"

I looked at him coldly and stated,

"When I talked to those coaches, I told them to stick to contractual discussions. Max, the same goes for you. I didn't bring you here to be an analyst. You're my assistant coach."

"…!"

"Figure it out. Right now. You've always limited yourself to reports."

"…."

Max's pupils shook behind his glasses.

Of course, I knew.

When writing those reports, he must have had strategies, responses, and countermeasures in mind.

"Lay it all out. Right now."

Max clenched his jaw. A tense silence filled the air before the corners of his lips curled slightly.

That smile told me one thing—this was doable.

Ten minutes.

That was all he had.

And at exactly the nine-minute mark, he returned with an answer.

"We'll keep the same formation and positions. But in the defensive zone, we'll…"

As expected of Max.

Rather than overcomplicating things, he kept the structure intact.

"The goal is to maintain balance."

Instead of making drastic changes, he focused on key principles and set clear, simple directives.

"There's no room for extra roles. Defenders defend. Fullbacks defend. Wingers run and cross. The striker crashes into the goal."

Modern football demanded players take on multiple roles—defending forwards, attacking fullbacks, playmaking goalkeepers.

"We strip all that away. Every player only does one thing."

"That'll be stiff and clunky."

"That's why we need a commander. Someone who can read the game and move where needed."

"Danny Scott."

I glanced at Max.

I had pointed out a few of Danny Scott's weaknesses earlier.

But those alone weren't enough to fully understand his playing style.

Which meant—

"You think I don't have an eye for this, Eugene?"

Max adjusted his glasses, lifting them with a firm push.

Even unripe fruit still had value.

He had come up with the most efficient, applicable strategy in a short time.

But to me, there was one thing that stuck out, something that needed to change.

"Let's change one thing."

Hearing my suggestion, Max's expression shifted in a peculiar way.