CHAPTER 5: THE PRESSURE MOUNTS

Victor paced back and forth in the locker room, the light hum of the fluorescent bulbs barely audible over the subdued voices of the players. It had been a week since he introduced Sidewinder Drift to Burton Albion, and while progress was evident, Victor could feel the tension in the air. The players were beginning to adapt to his style, but skepticism still lingered, particularly among those who were used to more conventional tactics.

The wingers, Lucas Akins and David Templeton, had improved dramatically, their diagonal runs sharper and more coordinated. Templeton, in particular, seemed to thrive under Victor's guidance, his confidence growing with each session. The midfield duo of Stephen Quinn and Jamie Allen were finally finding their rhythm, their rotations during buildup play flowing like water down a stream. Even Kyle McFadzean, stubborn as he was, had begun to adjust to the reactive nature of the defense. Yet, for all their progress, Victor knew there was still a long way to go.

The atmosphere shifted as James Worthington, the fitness coach, approached Victor after the day's training.

"You've got them working harder than I've seen in years," Worthington said, his tone mixed with admiration and concern. "But don't push them too far, Kane. They're not the most resilient bunch."

Victor looked him in the eye, his resolve unwavering. "They don't have a choice. If we're going to survive, they need to toughen up. This isn't about comfort. It's about results."

Worthington nodded, though he seemed unconvinced. Nearby, Mark Hill, the goalkeeping coach, offered a more optimistic perspective.

"They're starting to believe in you," Hill said, his smile genuine. "I can see it in their eyes. It's slow, but it's there."

Victor's gaze shifted to Alex Grayson, the assistant coach, who stood with his arms folded and a skeptical look plastered across his face. Grayson hadn't said much during training, but his attitude was evident. He doubted Victor's methods, and more than that, he doubted Victor himself.

"You think this is going to work?" Grayson asked, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Five matches. That's all we've got left. You think you're going to turn this mess around in five matches?"

Victor didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped closer, his shadow seeming to loom over Grayson.

"I don't think," Victor said, his voice cold and firm. "I know. And if you can't trust me, then stay out of my way."

Grayson didn't respond, his smirk fading under Victor's gaze. The assistant coach might have been a thorn in Victor's side, but he wasn't a threat. Victor had bigger issues to deal with.

Later that evening, Victor sat in the boardroom, facing the club's management. The pressure was palpable, the air thick with expectation and doubt. The chairman, Arthur Wilkins, leaned forward in his seat, his hands clasped together in a show of authority.

"Kane," Wilkins began, his tone heavy, "I don't need to remind you what's at stake. Five matches. That's all we've got left to avoid relegation. If we go down, this club will lose everything—the sponsorships, the funding, the fans. League Two isn't an option."

Victor nodded, his expression neutral. He had expected this conversation, and he was prepared for it.

"I understand," Victor said, his voice calm. "But you need to understand something too. This isn't going to be a miracle. It's going to be work. Hard work. The team is improving, but they need time."

Wilkins shook his head. "We don't have time. We're not asking for perfection, Kane. We're asking for results. Three wins. That's what we need to stay out of the relegation zone. Three wins in five matches. Can you deliver that?"

Victor's eyes narrowed. "I'll deliver."

Wilkins studied him for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. "Fine. You've got our support—for now. But don't let us down."

Victor left the meeting with his resolve intact. The pressure from management was nothing compared to the expectations he had placed on himself. Failure wasn't an option, not for him, not for the team.

Outside the stadium, the fans weren't any kinder. News of Victor's appointment had spread quickly, and the reaction was far from positive. Burton Albion supporters were vocal in their disappointment, their anger fueled by years of struggle and dashed hopes.

"A novice coach?" one fan scoffed during a local interview. "What are they thinking? We need experience, not some rookie playing manager."

Another fan shook his head, his frustration clear. "We're already in trouble, and now they bring in someone who's never coached professionally? It's a joke."

Victor heard the murmurs and whispers as he walked past the crowd. He didn't stop, didn't acknowledge their words. Their doubt didn't matter. What mattered was proving them wrong.

The team dynamics began to shift as the days went by. The players, while still skeptical, started to respect Victor's approach. His tough attitude, relentless demands, and serpentine strategies were unlike anything they had seen before. Training sessions were grueling, each drill designed to push them to their limits and beyond. Yet, for all the hardship, there was a sense of purpose growing among them—a spark of belief that maybe, just maybe, they could turn things around.

Victor continued to use Sidewinder Drift to mold the team into a cohesive unit. He emphasized the importance of adapting, of thinking ahead, of working together. The formation wasn't just about movements; it was about mentality. It was about being unpredictable, relentless, and calculated—just like a snake.

By the end of the week, Victor stood on the pitch, watching the players run their final drills. Their movements were sharper, their passes more precise, their coordination tighter. They still had a long way to go, but the progress was undeniable.

Victor smiled to himself. The shadow of the serpent loomed large over Burton Albion, and the team was beginning to embrace it.