He glanced around to make sure no one else was listening, then spoke with that precise, almost formal tone he always used. “I wanted to say I appreciated the corrections today. Especially the half-space coverage cues. It’s clearer now. I can already picture the adjustments for tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow, huh?

  “That’s good,” I said. “You picked things up quickly, but make sure to cover the right space and don’t commit early.”

  “I’m looking forward to applying it properly in the match,” he added. “Feels like I’m settling into better habits.”

  That was it. He was basically saying ‘I want to play’.

  And I nodded back, playing along with the assumed reality he thought we both shared.

  “Yeah,” I told him. “Tomorrow should be solid.”

  Judging from the respect bump, it seemed Mansfield had read my response as he’d get the green light to play. He smiled, the smallest one he’d allowed all day, and jogged off to the changing rooms. Now if he wanted to play, I’d let him play. I wasn’t here to steal anyone’s spot, and frankly I could care less for the ultra unrealistic five-hundred-quid goal conceded stat bonus. We were mid-table. No threat of relegation, no real shot at promotion. Nothing riding on one back four selection.

  Unless the FMSim System showed me a ridiculous reward for building up personal rep, I wasn’t here to chase stat rewards. I was here to build something: an actual foundation for next season. Something I’d actually do in a FMSim save file.

  The lads wrapped up with cooldown jogs while I finished logging the final progression ticks. I’d barely dismissed the group when Mitch’s voice cut through the pitch. “Jamie! Over ’ere.”

  I jogged over, wiping sweat from my forehead. He had his arms folded, and looked slightly pissed like a bird had shat on his car, as always.

  “Right,” he said. “Which four are starting tomorrow?”

  I didn’t have to think long. “Kowalski and Mansfield at centre-back, Reeves at right-back, Palmer left-back. Same back four as usual.”

  Mitch stared at me for a second, then narrowed his eyes. “And why,” he said in a voice that was deceptively calm, “should Mansfield play over you?”

  Was he really going to pick me over someone who’d played most of the first half of the season for the team? “Well . . . Mansfield’s got better sharpness right now, and I haven’t really developed a strong chemistry with Kowalski yet. It might be safer if—”

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  “Sharpness?” Mitch raised his eyebrows. “Jamie, you missing a leg would still be twice the player Mansfield is.”

  This was not the direction I expected.

  “And chemistry?” Mitch added. “You don’t build chemistry by not playing.” He leaned in as his voice dropped into that dangerous-coach quiet. “Or is it because you don’t want to take his place in the very first match of the second half of the season?”

  I couldn’t say anything back to that, and that was about as much confirmation as Mitch needed. “Thought so.” He nodded.

  He clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to rock my balance. “You’re playing over Mansfield tomorrow. End of discussion. You’re the coach. Don’t get intimidated by him.”

  I scrunched my nose, nodding.

  As I headed back toward the changing rooms, the earlier thought drifted back into my head—the one I’d had at the start of the day.

  I’d engineer a situation where Mitch had to change shape.

  Except . . . I never got the chance.

  Not today. And definitely not after Mitch had just told me, point-blank, that I was starting tomorrow.

  Would I really risk it in an actual match? Force a system tweak just to test my own ideas?

  Surely not.

  That was the sort of selfish, save-scumming nonsense you’d try in a videogame, not real life with real players who relied on you. I wasn’t here to sabotage a result for personal gain or to prove I was clever. I was here to build.

  Patience. That was the key.

  As I trudged back toward the changing rooms, Mitch’s words kept replaying in my head. You’re the coach. Don’t get intimidated by him.

  Easy for him to say. Back when he was still playing, Mitch had that unhinged Cantona aura. I once saw him chase a mouthy supporter into the car park after a match, trip over a wheel stop, and somehow turn the fall into a flying rugby tackle that flattened both of them. The physio said it was the most athletic accident he’d ever seen.

  Meanwhile, I had never quite gotten that dawg in me.

  I reached the tunnel walkway just as the last of the lads disappeared inside . . . except one. Luke was still out on the pitch, kneeling to tighten the laces on his boots, the big floodlight catching on the grey streaks near his temples. He always left last, didn’t he? Checked the cones, collected spare bibs, then made sure nothing got left behind. Little habits from a decade in the game had made him even more diligent than the gaffer.

  He hadn’t noticed me yet.

  What he’d said earlier drifted back: They follow people they actually know. And suddenly, the opportunity was right there in front of me. Simple. Uncomplicated. Just . . . walking over and starting a conversation.

  For a moment, I wished the FMSim system inside my head would give me a quest, not for a reward, just for a hint about what the hell I was supposed to do next. But I snuffed that thought out quick. If I let the system steer this, it wouldn’t be a real conversation anymore, but instead just social engineering with a friendly face. If I couldn’t talk to one veteran centre-back without combusting, I had no business coaching twenty blokes twice a week.

  I exhaled slowly and walked toward him.

  “Hey,” I called out.

  Luke looked up, squinting. “Everything alright, coach?”

  “Yeah. Just figured I’d walk with you. If you’re heading out.”

  His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but not in a bad way. “Sure. Just grabbing these cones first.”

  I bent down to help him scoop a few up. “About earlier,” I started, trying not to sound like I was giving a press conference, “you weren’t wrong. About the lads needing to know more than just what I can teach.”

  He huffed a small laugh. “Didn’t say it to have a go, Jamie. Just that you’ve got a good brain for the game. Be a shame if that’s the only part of you they ever see.”

  I swallowed. For me, that was the part. The safe part. The one I knew how to express without messing up. This felt like the least threatening moment to try.

  “Well . . . I’m giving it a shot now,” I said. “If you’re not in a rush.”

  Luke paused, studied me for half a second, then nodded once, slow and solid.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Alright. Walk with me.”

  And we did.