Chapter 19: After the Victory
Sunday, 1 December
The Day After Wrexham victory
The dressing room at Broadfield wasn't buzzing like it had been the night before. The storm had passed. Victory left behind a quieter kind of energy, they were worn out, content, but alert. The fluorescent lights above flickered faintly, casting long shadows over benches now lined with half-zipped jackets and discarded shin pads.
Niels sat alone near the back, slowly pulling off his jacket, his muscles aching from more than just the cold. His body still carried the tension of last night's match, but what weighed heavier was the aftershock, the kind that settled in only once the adrenaline was gone.
Victory wasn't supposed to feel this heavy.
Around the room, the players were recovering in their own ways. Some sprawled across benches, half asleep. Others sat in small groups, talking quietly about moments from the match. The laughter came from a corner, Nate was at the center, laughing with Luka and Dev. His face was flushed, his smile wide. He looked like someone who'd finally stepped out from a shadow.
Just a week ago, Nate was the quiet kid near the end of the bench, afraid to make eye contact. Now, he'd earned his first start. He scored his first goal in his debut and more importantly, he found his place.
Niels watched them for a moment. That brief warmth in his chest flared again. It was not pride., not quite but something deeper, relief maybe.
Then Reece dropped onto the bench beside him, handing over a water bottle without a word.
"Good game," Reece said eventually, his tone as flat as his stare. "You saw what they threw at us."
Niels gave a tired nod. "They came at us hard. But we didn't back off."
Reece tilted his head slightly toward Nate. "That kid Nate's growing. You handled that well."
"He was ready," Niels replied, then smirked faintly. "He just needed someone to tell him that."
"You've got that calm thing going," Reece said. "Guys listen to you. It's not Milan's fire, but... it works."
Niels sighed, leaning forward, elbows on knees. "Milan left big shoes. I'm just trying not to trip in them."
Reece chuckled. "Welcome to management."
Later, as players began filtering out, Nate stopped in front of Niels. His earlier joy had settled into something more grounded. He was serious and sincere.
"Coach," he said with a big smile. "Thanks… for trusting me."
Niels looked up and met his gaze. The words weren't necessary, but they understood.
"You earned it. Keep proving it."
Nate nodded. Not the unsure nod of before, but something steadier. Then he turned and jogged after Luka and Dev.
For a moment, Niels exhaled. It wasn't calm yet. But it was something like hope.
Back in his office, the quiet returned like a tide. He shut the door and sat heavily at his desk. The room felt colder now. He tapped his tablet, pulling up match footage.
There it was Nate's first shot. It was rushed, early, but brave. Then the goal: It was perfectly timed. Dev's vision, Luka's positioning and Reece's leadership. All of it laid bare, moment by moment.
In the corner, the Lens data pulsed:
[Team Unity: Rising]
[Morale: Stable]
[Defensive Structure: Strained Under Pressure]
It was useful, but limited.
Tomorrow was recovery, but the next opponent was already looming fast, aggressive, pressing relentlessly. Any mistakes would be punished.
He opened a scouting tab. Diagrams, pressing patterns, average positions. The midfield trio would swarm the center. Their wide players had pace.
No rest.
The next morning, the sky hung low and gray. Mist curled around the goalposts, turning the training ground into a watercolor painting. Niels arrived early, long before the players, walking the sidelines like he had something to prove to the grass beneath his boots.
Then came the familiar rhythm: thuds of footballs on turf, boots scraping, voices low and groggy.
Luka jogged by, already sharp.
"Morning, boss."
"Morning."
Dev followed, stretching his arms overhead. "Still feeling Wrexham in my legs."
"We've got a target on our backs now," Niels said. "No more underdog."
Training started light with stretching, rondos, and simple transitions. Niels stood at the sideline, arms crossed, expression unreadable as his eyes tracked every pass, every touch.
Nate miscontrolled a ball during a pressure drill and let out a sharp curse.
"Nate," Niels called. "Come here."
The young winger trotted over, frustration written all over his face.
"You're rushing everything," Niels said. "What's the hurry?"
"I don't want to fall behind. I want to stay in the squad."
"You don't need to force it. Confidence doesn't shout. It controls. Let the game come to you."
Nate nodded. "Yeah…. Got it."
He jogged back into the drill, a little more relaxed. Niels watched him closely. Not perfect, but he is learning.
By late afternoon, the sky had faded into a bruised orange and purple. The last of the players had gone, and Niels stood alone in his office again, magnets scattered across the whiteboard like soldiers in a battlefield.
Too reactive against this next team, and Crawley would get pinned back. Too aggressive, and they'd be ripped apart on the counter.
His phone buzzed.
Chairman:
"Good work. The board's watching. Stay consistent."
He stared at the message for a moment, then tapped the call icon beside Milan's name.
Two rings.
"Niels," the old coach Milan answered. "How's the board treating you?"
Niels chuckled. "It's… harder than it looks."
"It's not supposed to be easy," Milan said. "But you did well yesterday."
"It felt good. But now every win feels like it adds more weight."
"It does. But that's the job. You win, and they expect more. You lose, and they question everything."
Niels nodded to himself. "I just want to keep it moving forward. Make it real."
"You're doing that," Milan said. "Just remember: progress, not perfection. Don't try to be me. Be better."
Niels smiled. "I'm trying."
That evening, Niels found himself sitting in the stands. The stadium was empty, the pitch below swallowed by shadows and silence.
This was the part no one saw. The in-between. The thinking, and the waiting.
Last night, they'd pulled off a gutsy, organized, disciplined win against Wrexham. But the real test wasn't in beating one team.
It was in becoming one.
A team that believed. A squad that didn't crack under pressure. A team that stayed tight no matter who was on the pitch.
And he felt it, now. The flickers of that identity starting to form. Not just in data. Not just in goals. But in the way they looked at each other. In how they played. In how they fought.
The Wrexham game wasn't just a win.
It was a turning point.
The team Milan had built still stood.
Now, it was Niels' job to carry it forward.
And for the first time since taking the role, he didn't feel like a stand-in.
He was the head coach now.
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