The Coaching System-Chapter 205: The Calm Before Europe
Monday Night – Jake's Office
The storm had passed, but the windowpane still wore streaks of rain, dragged downward by gravity and time. Outside, the Wilson household had gone still. Emma had turned in early with Ariel; Ethan's bedroom light flickered once, then clicked off.
Jake sat alone, the only motion in the house the slow rise and fall of his chest.
The system interface blinked to life before him, casting his face in a soft, synthetic glow—blues, greens, soft pulses of tactical light that wrapped around his features like digital fog.
He didn't blink as the loading bar crawled across the screen.
The room smelled faintly of old coffee, leather, and static.
His mug—half-full, untouched—had cooled an hour ago. He didn't reach for it.
Jake:
"System. Run Bratislava."
The prompt shimmered. Files flickered into view.
Game tapes, analytics, tactical maps, and one quiet line of code rolling in green typeface at the bottom of the panel.
MATCHDAY 3 – UEFA EUROPA CONFERENCE LEAGUE
Fixture: Bradford City vs Slovan Bratislava
System Win Probability:
Slovan Win – 25%
Draw – 20%
Bradford Win – 55%
Jake leaned in.
They formed a tight circle—eight players around the edge, two in the middle, no cones, no markers. Just instinct.
Ibáñez barked in Spanish. Vélez didn't speak back. Just intercepted and touched it forward.
Chapman whispered a cue to Holloway, and the ball zipped back across to Taylor.
No wasted touches. No flair. freēnovelkiss.com
Just pressure. Precision. Movement.
Jake walked slowly through them. No clipboard. No shouting. Just watching.
He stopped near the center. Waited until the ball cycled around once. Twice.
Then, finally:
Jake:
"We stay compact."
The ball snapped through another passing lane.
Jake tilted his head slightly.
Jake:
"But when it opens…"
He paused.
The ball pinged to Silva, who touched and drove forward without waiting.
Jake:
"…we go."
And they did.
Wednesday – Pre-Match Press Conference
The media suite was smaller than the one used on league weekends—quieter, with fewer wires, less fuss. But the UEFA backdrop behind Jake's seat made it clear:
This was still Europe.
Reporters filtered in slowly, sleeves rolled, microphones tested, questions queued in low murmurs. Jake sat already waiting. He didn't lean back. He didn't look tired. Just still—like a figure etched from stone.
The comms officer gave a small nod.
UEFA Reporter (Belgian Press):
"Jake, two games in—one win, one draw. You're fifth overall in a 36-team group. Is this one a must-win?"
Jake:
"No. It's a must-play-well."
A pause.
Jake:
"You can't game this format. Thirty-six teams. One table. You don't guess what's enough. You build habits—and let the math sort itself."
BBC Leeds:
"You rotated midweek. Is tonight about consistency or fresh legs again?"
Jake exhaled slowly through his nose.
Measured.
Jake:
"It's about clarity. If you know how we play, the changes don't change the shape. They sharpen it."
Sky Sports:
"Silva and Walsh both likely to start again. You've leaned on them hard lately. Risk of fatigue?"
Jake gave a rare smile—but it didn't reach his eyes.
Jake:
"Fatigue only happens when the ball's in the wrong place."
A few chuckles around the room. But he didn't laugh.
Jake (flat):
"They know what they're doing. And when to stop."
UEFA Digital Host:
"Last question. Slovan's a high-possession side with a sharp front three. What's your priority: counter, or containment?"
Jake didn't hesitate.
Jake:
"Neither. Control."
He looked across the room, tone unchanging.
Jake:
"Because once you have that—containment happens naturally. And counters? They come to you."
He stood then, nodding once. No wasted words.
Just the same as always:
Decide early. Speak once.
Then go win something.
