Chapter 10: Echoes of a Victory

The morning after Burton Albion's stunning win against Oxford United, the training ground felt different. The usual groans before warm-up had quieted. The hesitation that plagued the team was fading. The players weren't dragging their feet—they were focused.

The air was thick with an unspoken realization: this was working.

Victor Kane stood by the touchline, arms folded, watching them carefully. He wasn't one for grand speeches, and he certainly wasn't going to coddle them after one good match. The win meant nothing if they didn't understand why they had won.

Nearby, Stephen Quinn, always perceptive, jogged up, sweat dripping down his brow. "They're starting to get it," he muttered, stretching his arms as he glanced at the rest of the squad. "Sidewinder Drift… it's clicking."

Victor's gaze remained on the field. "Not fast enough."

Quinn chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Never satisfied, are you?"

Victor smirked, but he didn't respond.

Across town, the boardroom buzzed with low murmurs as Arthur Wilkins, the club chairman, leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Across from him sat James Worthington, the fitness coach, and Mark Hill, the goalkeeping coach. Between them lay financial reports, reminders of the club's fragile state.

"We bought ourselves time," Wilkins finally said, tapping his fingers on the papers. "But that win means nothing if we don't get at least two more."

Worthington exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "You really think Kane can keep this up?"

Wilkins remained silent for a moment, staring at the ceiling like he was searching for an answer. Finally, he shook his head slightly. "I think… he's our best bet."

Hill chuckled, arms crossed. "Funny how fast things change. Three weeks ago, everyone thought he was a lunatic."

Wilkins didn't smile. "He still might be."

Silence followed before Wilkins leaned forward again, shifting his weight onto his elbows. "Listen, I don't care how unconventional his methods are. Football is about results. And Kane needs to deliver. If we don't stay in League One, this club takes a financial nosedive we won't recover from."

The coaches exchanged uneasy glances. They knew Wilkins wasn't exaggerating.

While Wilkins' worries were rooted in finances, others in the football world had begun paying attention for different reasons. Victor's Sidewinder Drift had caught the eye of rival clubs—some skeptical, others intrigued.

At Wigan Athletic, a mid-table club with a ruthless defensive structure, head coach Charlie Deveraux studied footage from Burton's match with narrowed eyes. His assistant stood beside him, arms crossed.

"You see this?" Deveraux muttered, pausing the clip on an overhead view. "That movement… it's not normal."

His assistant scoffed. "It's gimmicky. No way that holds up against real teams."

Deveraux didn't look convinced. "Football's evolving. The last thing I want is to be caught underestimating something new."

He scribbled some notes onto his clipboard. "Get analysts to study Kane's tactics. I want a full breakdown before we play them."

Across town in a busy café filled with football fans, the atmosphere was buzzing with conversation about the recent match.

"I still think it was luck," one older fan scoffed, stirring his coffee. "They had no business winning that game."

A younger fan scrolling through highlights leaned forward. "Luck? Did you even see how they moved? That wasn't random—that was calculated."

The older man shrugged. "Still doesn't feel like real football."

The younger fan smirked, playing back a slowed-down replay. "Then maybe real football's changing."

Elsewhere, on social media, debates raged:

@FootyAnalyst99: "Victor Kane? More like Victor Snake. That tactic was straight out of Hogwarts. Let's see if he can do it again."

@BurtonFan72: "Unreal game! Haven't seen Burton play like this in years. Kane's gotta be onto something. Sidewinder Drift is magic!"

The voices of fans were a storm brewing on opposite ends. And Victor? He didn't care about noise. He cared about winning.

Back at the training ground, Victor had the players running positional drills, refining their movement. He watched them closely, noting the improvements—but also the flaws. They were learning, adapting, but not fast enough.

Kyle McFadzean, ever the skeptic, jogged to the sidelines for a water break. As he drank, he eyed Victor, debating whether to speak. Eventually, he did. "You really think this Sidewinder thing'll work long-term?"

Victor met his gaze. "If you have a better idea, I'm listening."

McFadzean frowned. "I'm just saying—football ain't like this."

Victor smirked. "Then maybe football needs to change."

McFadzean didn't reply. But something in Victor's tone stuck with him.

Later that evening, Victor sat in his office, reviewing the next opponent—Fleetwood Town. They were a defensive team, structured, predictable. Perfect prey for his tactics.

He flipped through his notebook, studying patterns, calculating adjustments. His players weren't fully ready yet—but they would be.

Four days until the match. The pieces were moving.

And Victor was ready.