11. Rebuilding, From Tip to Toe (5)

11. Rebuilding, From Tip to Toe (5)

The blue vs. white practice match ended.

Max glanced sideways at Yoojin and lowered his gaze.

Had he unknowingly clenched his fists tightly? Both his palms were drenched in sweat.

Max let out an unconscious, hollow laugh.

'Just a blue vs. white match. And someone else's team at that.'

He had been sweating. He had been excited. It had been fun.

It was a first. In the ten-odd years he had spent in the football world, visiting countless stadiums and numerous clubs.

Max, the unknown performance analyst, could assert that he had never felt this way before.

A sensation he hadn't felt even in fierce matches between big clubs, nor in hellish derby matches where teams would die before losing, now tingled at his fingertips, from a mere internal practice match.

What was it? It wasn't difficult to understand.

'My instructions, my tactics. Living, breathing players moving exactly according to them!'

An electrifying thrill ran down his spine.

He looked at Yoojin once more.

Despite achieving victory, his face was, as usual, indifferent. Looking at that face, Max, as if doused with cold water, snapped out of his elation and faced reality.

'The positions and actions of each player were what I came up with, but.'

The reason he had been able to devise such instructions.

'Thanks to identifying the players' weaknesses in a short time, I was able to devise it smoothly.'

His mind suddenly cleared.

'This fellow, he had accurately pointed out weaknesses of each team that even I couldn't include in my reports. I had simply thought it was because he had experienced those teams for a long time.'

To identify a player's weakness after watching them in just one game was truly a remarkable ability. One usually needed to watch several games to even begin to understand a player.

'But he assessed twenty-two players here, blue and white, in an instant.'

It wasn't a complete assessment.

He had merely clearly picked out the weaknesses visible in each player's play.

But Max knew very well how absurd that was.

If one could simply watch and uncover weaknesses, why would countless coaches and analysts stay up for days on end, eyes blazing, toiling away?

'Of course, they were just superficial weaknesses.'

Max's throat bobbed.

'How many games must one watch and analyze to develop such an eye?'

He had thought Yoojin was just a former player who had luckily and easily secured a coaching position.

That thought had shattered into pieces not long after they started talking. He had implicitly realized that Yoojin's ability to analyze players was, in fact, sharper than his own as a performance analyst.

So, someday, that person would definitely become a manager.

He would take charge of a decent team and start a brilliant career. That's what he had thought.

Yoojin had been one of the few skilled coaches he acknowledged.

When such a person suddenly said he would lead a failing 4th division club, a sudden question had arisen.

Because it was no ordinary level of difficulty. He had seemed like a calm man who could handle most things well.

'But the job of a manager... it's different, isn't it?'

Just because one was a coach didn't mean anyone could become a manager.

A manager's abilities and a coach's duties were different.

A captain who seizes control of and leads the squad.

It wasn't easy to endure that enormous pressure and weight. At least, the football world Max had seen countless times was like that.

'But, if I were in Yoojin's position now, could I have delivered instructions so concisely and accurately?'

His head shook automatically.

Devising the tactics and various instructions was solely his own brainwork.

That much, Yoojin had acknowledged and trusted, assigning him that role.

Players were not graphics in a computer game. They weren't something where you clicked a mouse or a console controller and got an answer.

Players were alive. They thought and made judgments while playing the game directly on the field.

They might not follow instructions, or they might interpret them arbitrarily.

The manager's role was crucial in controlling that.

Max thought deeply.

'What if I were in Yoojin's position right now?'

Would those players have carried out the instructions he had laid out?

"..."

Not at all. He wouldn't have been able to convey them as concisely, accurately, and with such a clear tone as Yoojin had. What had made the players, whom he was seeing for the first time, carry out the instructions was that gaze, that expression, and the crisp voice formed by firm pronunciation.

'Conviction.'

Max suddenly realized what that was.

The voice when Yoojin had called him on the phone.

And when Yoojin had spoken of aiming for the Premier League, Champions League, and FA Cup trophies with this team, there had been a power that prevented the words from sounding absurd.

It was precisely the tone of conviction.

Max looked into Yoojin's eyes.

In those indifferent eyes, something no other manager could show.

Without even a flicker of the doubt that arose despite his own strong beliefs.

That conviction existed.

That was why. That the players had followed these instructions.

And the moment the instructions' effectiveness was proven.

The players made a judgment. That if they followed the instructions, better play would result.

A single instance of belief expanded into trust and led to perfect execution of instructions.

To players they were seeing for the first time today.

Max let out a deep breath.

He had implicitly thought. That he wasn't much different from Yoojin. He had thought that the position of chief coach was just about assisting each other and leading together.

Because Yoojin had said it.

Because he had heard those words, 'You devise the tactics.' Because he had confirmed that trust.

He, who had thought that the game of football came from tactics, might have even thought that he himself was the one assisting Yoojin, the manager.

'It was arrogance.'

Even though it was just one blue vs. white practice match.

The shoulders of the manager seen right beside him were different.

The manager's vision, seen over those shoulders, was something his own eyes could not yet look beyond.

Only the manager, Yoojin's shoulders, were caught in his sight.

He realized the gap and acknowledged it.

And his eyes gleamed.

'I will watch and learn.'

He was the chief coach who assisted the manager.

When the game ended, Coach Daniel, his face thoroughly contorted, glanced this way, hesitated, then approached.

And without even shaking hands, he uttered that he was going to write a training report and left the spot.

"That's absurd."

Max let out a laugh beside him.

"Look at him, after blatantly ignoring us, his face turns red when he actually loses. For a mere coach, to ignore us because we're in a lower league, as if a manager is on a different level."

"It's fine. I didn't want to shake hands either, so I'm grateful."

Whether Coach Daniel was in a bad mood or not was, from the start, outside my range of concern.

My eyes fell on Danny Scott, who was showing a faint warmth.

"How do you feel?"

"Ha, it's good. It's just a blue vs. white match, but yes, that sensation of the ball at my feet, it's thrilling."

"Do you prefer being a player, or a coach?"

A long conversation wasn't necessary. All that needed to be said had been said. So, I threw a direct question.

Danny Scott gave an awkward smile, then spoke with a sense of relief.

"It's good. It seems I still wanted to play as a player."

"Yes, then I'll see you at Mansfield."

"...I will decide after an interview with the manager."

When I stared intently, Danny Scott added.

"It's not a refusal. And I'm not saying I'll rescind my retirement and play more at Nottingham either. It's a coaching position that the manager offered me, so I felt I should resign respectfully."

In that case, recruitment was confirmed.

He just hadn't signed the contract, but that resolve wasn't the type to change no matter what happened.

"Then you are my player now."

"Haha, a player, huh. Yes, that has a nice ring to it. That's right. Yoojin, no, Manager."

"Then I'll say a few harsh words."

"What?"

"The goal you scored at the end. Why did you do it?"

Was it a sudden question?

Or was it an unexpected remark?

Or was it just the indifferent tone?

He showed a slightly confused expression.

"Why did I score a goal...?"

"The role I assigned you was only to pass."

"!"

"Who told you to shoot?"

"But it resulted in a goal, didn't it?"

Seeing him not just flustered but aggrieved, I cut him off firmly.

"It was a goal because the goalkeeper's skill was terrible. If it had been a slightly more competent goalkeeper, it would have just been a wasted opportunity."

"!"

"Player Danny Scott. Since you've become my player, follow my instructions clearly. If you can't do that, yes. It's alright. You don't have to come to Mansfield."

At my words, his mouth fell slightly agape.

Max, who was beside him, also looked not just dumbfounded but frustrated.

After coming all this way, right before signing the contract.

For me to suddenly utter words of rejection, it was understandable.

But I knew.

Danny Scott had already felt it.

That he was a player, not a coach.

Therefore.

"...I understand. Manager."

He had no choice but to be my player.

The atmosphere briefly settled. We silently followed Danny Scott back to the office.

Danny Scott, as if he had made a decision, looked down at the office desk he had been clearing and let out a long breath.

It was then that my eyes caught a flower in a water bottle that I hadn't noticed before. Max, perhaps finding the subdued atmosphere awkward, said.

"It seems like just one flower can really freshen up the atmosphere."

"Ah, the flower, you mean? Haha, my seven-year-old daughter brought it. To congratulate me on my retirement."

"Congratulations?"

"Yes, I got injured a lot while playing. She was happy that I wouldn't get injured anymore now that I'm retiring, so she gave it to me. But well, now that I have to play again, I feel a bit sorry for receiving this flower."

At those words, I said abruptly.

"The meaning can be changed."

"The meaning?"

"To a bouquet dedicated to the prime contributor of our Premier League promotion."

"Th-Mansfield is in the 4th division, I believe..."

"We will be in the Premier League."

"Ha, really now."

Danny Scott, as if he didn't know what to make of it anymore, just laughed and went to meet the manager.

Max abruptly asked.

"Why did you make a fuss about him scoring a goal?"

"Because he disobeyed instructions."

"But it was a shooting chance. It was a decent opportunity to aim for, and you can't just miss that, can you?"

"The moment you give freedom to a smart friend, they will constantly crave that freedom. To me, he is a part. A single part of a complex machine that performs only the role I need in the place I want."

"!"

"My players are such players."

I cut short the conversation and looked at the flower in the water bottle.

"It's just one flower, though."

"...What?"

"It's just one flower, but he placed it on his office desk. It might have been his way of rationalizing that his retirement and choice of coaching was a good thing for his daughter too. Just one single flower."

"..."

Looking at the bewildered Max, I said.

"I'll head to Mansfield first."

"Wait, the contract?"

"I've already drawn up the contract. Just tell him to sign it."

"Revisions to the contract details?"

"Tell him to stuff it."

"!"

"There's nothing more to give in wages or allowances. Proceed as is. He'll sign unconditionally."

As I spoke forcefully, Max was lost for words.

"Wait, where are you going? How am I supposed to get to Mansfield?"

"Take the bus."

...…

"What, you said you were going on a business trip? How did you get here?"

Lily, on her hospital bed, looked somewhat tired but had a bright face.

I abruptly held out my hand.

For a moment, surprise appeared on Lily's face. Surprise, or perhaps embarrassment. Somewhere in between.

"What's with the bouquet?"

"Just. To congratulate you on a successful surgery."

"Huh. Wait, you did sign the contract, right? Don't tell me you set aside the contract just to give me a bouquet?"

Lily's voice became suggestive.

It sounded like she was chiding, but there also seemed to be a hint of expectation mixed in.

I said, as if making an excuse.

"You said it was enough for just the chief coach to go, didn't you? I just followed the Chairwoman's instructions. Max will finalize the contract."

"...Really, but what kind of flowers."

I gave Lily the bouquet.

Even if it wasn't much. People sometimes liked things that weren't much.

Seeing her face brighten, though she pretended otherwise, I felt that coming now was the right choice. In the series of choices that life was, it seemed I had made another decent one.

"Ah, right. I confirmed this after my surgery too."

Lily, as if suddenly remembering, handed me a tablet.

"An email?"

Looking at the open email window, I glanced at Lily.

"You check your email inbox right after surgery?"

"Ahem, believe it or not, I have a lot of things I'm doing. There isn't just one or two things that can't run without me."

"So? Why?"

"There, look at the latest email."

The most recent email was....

"Coach Alenski?"

"Yes. It's a lengthy message saying there are no players to release, that unilateral player sales are not right, and that it will greatly harm the club's vision and future."

At Lily's summary, I didn't even read the email and averted my gaze.

"What are you going to do? Seeing as he sent this directly to me, it seems he was trying to persuade me."

"Not really. It was an expected picture."

"Mm-hm?"

"I'll just make a quick call and come back."

I left the hospital room and made a call.

To the two coaches, Allov and Alenski.

"Bring the release list tomorrow morning."