Welcome: Sunderland & FC Zenit (0)

While waiting for Maxwell to finish preparing, Han Shin unlocked his phone.

Ding—!

Social media notifications flooded in all at once.

Ballard?

"Phew… I'm ready."

"One moment. There's something I need to check. I'll give you a little more time."

"Huh? Oh—yes."

There were plenty of unread messages from the director as well.

Han Shin checked X first.

"Here We Go"… just how many variations of that trademark does he have?

Did the agent leak it?

Maxwell, who of course knew Romano's signature phrase, shot back a question.

"Sorry? What did Romano post?"

"Ballard has reached a personal agreement with Man United. Medical within twenty-four hours."

"Already?"

"Yes. Both player and club wanted the deal, so it went through fast."

"Isn't this a disaster?"

"Why would it be?"

"Because the captain of both the national team and the club is leaving."

"It's not as if we haven't been preparing. We reinvest the transfer fee and move on."

"Still…"

"This isn't the time to worry about someone else. If you've already run into Mr. Reynald, I trust you understand exactly what kind of seat you're sitting in right now."

"The blood purge, right?"

"Who said that?"

"The whole club's buzzing with it. You already pushed Jocelyn out, and anyone who falls out of favour gets marched straight to the chopping block."

"In that case, are you ready to lay your head on the guillotine?"

Maxwell spread both palms wide.

"Give me five minutes."

"Exactly five. I won't ask questions. I'll only listen."

His trademark messy hair had been cleaned up at the barber. The flip-flops that used to scrape along the floor had been swapped for proper trainers. Maxwell climbed the scaffold of his final defence with the air of a man walking to the guillotine.

Whether I end up dew on the execution ground… hah. We'll see!

"First of all, I, Maxwell, pride myself on understanding the players at this club better than anyone. My job is to know their strengths and weaknesses and to draw out the passion and energy they carry. I love that work. Every morning, dreaming the same goals they chase is more precious to me than anything."

His voice grew stronger. Han Shin nodded, listening carefully.

"Second, even if I look like a lazy bastard on the outside, I'm always thinking about strategy. Predicting every situation that can arise during a match and preparing for it—that's my role. When you hit a difficult moment, gaffer, I'm confident I can offer the right tactical change."

Han Shin jotted down a few keywords.

Player potential, strategy, prediction… As expected, more assistant-coach material than…

"Third, I want to be part of this team. I'm not here just for a job. This team is my family. Sharing the joy of victory with the lads and enduring the pain of defeat together—that's why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'm still here. Like you said, gaffer, we are one team, and I want to be a member of it."

Maxwell paused to catch his breath, then continued.

"I have abandoned myself. I want to stay at Sunderland and fulfil my calling."

That line… mm. Points deducted.

"As assistant coach, my role is overall data analysis, strategy formulation, and thorough preparation for every match. If you look at these materials, you'll see just how thoroughly I've prepared."

Maxwell pulled out the pad he had ready.

"This is an analysis of passing lanes and possession over the last ten matches of last season. Using it, we exploited the opposition's weaknesses and secured three crucial points."

"Hmm… impressive."

Next came the individual analysis sheets.

"If you look at the players' training data, the ones with the lowest shuttle-run stages—meaning the lowest work rate—are Jacob and Nektarios. Even Luke O'Nien, who has given everything to this club, has been struggling lately with age-related decline. Those three are no longer Championship level."

"I agree with your assessment, Maxwell."

The reports and data Han Shin accepted spoke clearly. Thanks to Maxwell's analysis, the team had been moving with a certain efficiency.

"I may be judged a lazy man, but behind the scenes I pour my time and passion into this team. Give me one last chance. I'll prove why the team needs me."

"I've heard you out. Maxwell, you and we…"

With every syllable Han Shin uttered, Maxwell's tongue went dry.

"…will go forward together. But."

"But?"

Maxwell stared at him with a face that looked as if he had aged ten years in five minutes.

"I believe you deserve to stay with the team. Just not in the assistant-coach seat—in a new position."

"Yes. Where would that be?"

"You said you abandoned yourself, didn't you? I trust you'll take it even if it's not assistant coach."

Demoted to coach? Don't tell me youth-team coach? Then I'm walking out.

Han Shin's proposal was something else entirely.

"I'd like you to take the vacant U-23 manager's seat. You might see it as a demotion, but I think Maxwell is better suited to managing than coaching."

"Sorry? Me… as a manager?"

"Guiding the young players and drawing out their full potential. I also rate highly that your player analysis aligned with mine in the big picture."

Han Shin had given a generous evaluation of the player reports ahead of the practice match.

"From now on, submit regular evaluations and reports on the youth players. Exchange ideas with me on tactics as well, and imprint as much of my colour as you can."

Should I refuse? No. Build a youth-manager career right here.

"Gaffer, thank you. Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity. I'll do everything I can to lead the U-23s."

"Of course. I'm looking forward to it. Ah, and one more thing."

"Yes."

"I'm going to be on your case constantly, so stop being lazy."

"Huh? Who said I was lazy?"

"You yourself just said you were lazy, didn't you?"

"Ahaha! Did I? I did, didn't I."

Maxwell could no longer remember a single word of what he had said in those five minutes.

"Maybe Maxwell survived precisely because of that laziness."

Because he hated running around on his own two feet, he paradoxically made full use of every system and piece of equipment available.

"Like a panda, you mean?"

"Those dark circles do look a bit like a panda's."

"What was that? Hahaha!"

"Just so there's no misunderstanding—I didn't mean cute like a panda."

"Even when I was dating my wife I never heard anything like that. Hahaha."

"By the way, when you were a bit late earlier I looked you up. Turns out even in your playing days you liked playing the football sage."

"Hahaha. My vision was lethal, I'll give you that. Just couldn't protect the back four. Considering the coverage modern players put in, I was professionally disqualified."

"That's… a boast, right?"

"And I've got something to say too, gaffer. Explain yourself."

"Yes? What is it?"

"There's a rumour going round that you changed the content of my player evaluation sheets…"

"That was just a little special sauce of my own. Call it my personal touch."

"Special sauce? Do you know I nearly got strangled by Nazari because of that?!"

Han Shin waved him out of the room.

"Right, I've got the next appointment, so take care of things from now on, Manager Maxwell!"

Manager Maxwell?

"Don't think you're getting away that smoothly!! Hahaha!"

Reynald had accepted that time had moved on. Maxwell had changed in order to survive.

The mountain of paper documents became a tablet.

The greasy, shaggy hairstyle too.

Even the flip-flops that used to scrape along the corridor.

Maxwell may have been lazy, but he chose the evolution of changing his skin colour.

A small difference.

And yet, that was all it took.

After Maxwell came Isaac, dressed in a full suit for his interview as chief scout.

"You look sharp in a suit."

"Do I? These are the scouting reports and records of the successful signings I've proposed."

Isaac handed over a USB.

"I'll read them for a moment. Have a seat."

"Yes."

For ten minutes Han Shin flipped through the files on the monitor.

The one who proposed signing Håkon was Isaac. His ideas for using Jobe and Chris are similar to mine… Analysis materials are excellent. Four years of service.

He finished his evaluation.

"Okay, Isaac. Anything you want to say?"

"All of our scouts are outstanding people. I don't think the chief scout position suits me. It would be better if you interviewed scouts with more experience…"

Han Shin smiled as he spoke.

"Looking at the reports and records here, the players you proposed are quite impressive. Especially Håkon and Jobe stand out."

"I simply proposed them to the club based on data analysis results."

"When I look at these materials, I get the sense that you understand our team's present situation and its future very well. So, could you explain the signing process in a bit more detail?"

Isaac opened his mouth with growing confidence.

"Håkon is still young, but he's a multi-tool midfielder. You can use his height for aerial duels, and his through-balls are razor-sharp. As for Jobe, he has talent on both sides of the ball—the wit to dismantle a defence in one move, and the ability to back it up."

"Isaac, everyone knows your passion. But passion alone isn't enough. I rate your ability and analytical power highly. That's why I want to formally offer you the chief scout position."

His eyes widened.

"Really? You're appointing me chief scout? If it's just because I'm a fan of yours, please take it back."

"No. I excluded any personal feelings without the slightest room for them. The list of players you proposed is impressive. And it aligns quite closely with my own perspective. Maybe it's the Oxford education, but you use data techniques and mathematics with a young sensibility…"

Han Shin rose from his seat.

"I want to give you the chance to exercise that ability on a bigger stage. I believe you'll do great things for our team."

Tears of emotion welled in Isaac's eyes.

"Gaffer, thank you so much. Thank you for believing in me. I'll give everything I have to contribute to the team. I'll devote myself completely."

"I'll give you your first assignment right away."

"Anything. Just say the word."

"Together with the data analysis team, could you put together video analysis materials on FC Zenit's recent matches… by Monday, say?"

"I'll have the report ready by tomorrow morning."

"No need to overdo it."

"It's fine. It's what I always do. William has probably already finished his part. All that's left is video editing and graphics."

Isn't that the part that eats up the time? Well, if he wants to do it…

"That works perfectly for me. Then I'll leave it with you until tomorrow morning."

"Yes! I'll be off!"

Apart from Maxwell, who had now become U-23 manager, three coaches remained at Sunderland.

Coach: Robert.

Goalkeeping coach: Jennings.

Fitness coach: Mario.

Immediately after the scouting staff meeting, a recruitment notice for additional coaches went up.

Among the conditions, the most radical was this:

Even non-professionals welcome—anyone who possesses specialised sporting knowledge of football and modern methods.

The director and Han Shin gathered in the office for a video meeting.

"Because other clubs were showing interest, Nantes raised the fee from €3.5m by another €1.5m and settled at €5m."

"That, and they must have heard about Ballard's transfer."

"By the way, why is Emily here…?"

The director was puzzled as to why Emily, who had even gone heavy on the makeup, was present.

Emily smoothed her hair with a comb and answered.

"Ah, I'm the one-day French interpreter. Mahroudi speaks French but apparently isn't great at English."

"Aren't you busy? There are plenty of people who can interpret, and AI translation is more than enough."

"I'm part of the club, so we help each other out. Right, gaffer?"

Han Shin played along lightly.

"Thanks for helping."

"Not at all!"

Speakman smelled something fishy.

"You two…! Ah, and I'll stay completely silent during this negotiation."

Han Shin didn't mind.

"Yes. If I need help I'll ask."

"Of course."

"Ahh…!"

An unfamiliar voice.

Three windows appeared on Zoom.

One window showed the director and Han Shin's camera. Another held the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠agent's sharp gaze.

In the last window sat a sturdy Black man who looked like an NBA player—Mahroudi—greeting them with a particularly tense expression.

"Bonjour!"

"Good afternoon! Mahroudi."

"Hel…lo!"

"How much English can you speak?"

"A little."

"Beginner ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠level, then?"

"Yes."

The agent introduced himself.

"Good afternoon. I'm agent Tariq Lebrun. Just call me Tariq. Pleasure to meet you, Manager Han Shin. Shall we get into the discussion properly?"

"Yes, let's. First of all, regarding the transfer fee of five million euros…"

At that moment a loud cat meow erupted from Mahroudi's screen.

"Ah, sorry!"

Mahroudi looked flustered as he tried to speak; Emily interpreted.

"My cat…"

Han Shin smiled as he replied.

"It's fine. I like animals too."

"Meow~"

She shyly imitated a cat, and Han Shin cautioned her.

"Shh."

Tariq confirmed that Mahroudi was seated again and returned to the topic.

"So, about the terms…"

"Aigoo!"

Mahroudi suddenly shouted.

"The cat knocked over the coffee. One moment."

The director and Han Shin's eyes met.

What is this? Is this really the same person who looks like a giant on the grass?

Then Mahroudi's screen started shaking.

"Ah, sorry! I dropped my phone because of the cat."

Han Shin held back a laugh.

"Mahroudi seems a little nervous."

The agent sighed.

"Hah… All right, client, calm down… Wait, why is my mic doing this? Can you hear me?"

"At this rate the deal's dead. Hahahaha!"

Even the agent's little comedy routine joined in, and everyone burst out laughing.

Han Shin cleared his throat to gather attention.

"Right, shall we start properly now? Mahroudi, the good points about coming to our team…"

The ridiculous situation actually served to loosen the tension, and the rest of the meeting proceeded in a far more relaxed atmosphere.

"Now for the actual terms. Mahroudi, we propose a basic weekly wage of €1.8 million annually."

The agent negotiated.

"Hmm, a good offer, but other teams have put forward €2.5 million. I'm sure you understand the importance of a left-footed centre-back like our client."

Han Shin answered with a smile.

"Of course. Twenty thousand euros a week. We won't go higher because we don't want to break our wage structure."

"Then…"

"We add performance bonuses. One thousand euros per win, plus an extra five hundred for a clean sheet."

"Hmm… we need a firm guarantee of first-team football…"

Tariq rubbed thumb and forefinger together, signalling for more money.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"If he plays thirty or more matches in the season, we'll pay a special bonus of two hundred thousand euros."

"That works. How about it, client?"

Mahroudi's eyes sparkled, then wavered with anxiety as he muttered something; Emily translated.

"But… it's the Championship. I want to play in the Premier League… he says."

Mahroudi. Why is this kid so shy?

Han Shin addressed it directly.

"Mahroudi, the club and I have high expectations for your technique and potential. But we can't avoid talking about the tension issues off the pitch as well."

Mahroudi lowered his head.

"Yes… I've thought a lot about that problem. It's just my natural personality. On the grass it's different, though."

"If we can fix the mistakes that come from nerves, I believe you have the potential to become one of the best defenders even in England. Let's overcome it together."

"How?"

"We're going to introduce a special visualisation technique using VR before matches, called the ARK Project. Through it you'll be able to get proxy experience equivalent to a Champions League final."

"A Champions League final? Nothing more nerve-wracking than that, right?"

"We'll also monitor heart rate and muscle tension during matches with wearable devices and give real-time feedback. We'll hire a sports psychologist as well. And the club will cover the entire cost of the programme."

Mahroudi's expression brightened.

"It's really systematic here. At my current club the manager just yells whenever I make a mistake… so I get even more withdrawn."

The agent changed the subject to avoid the disadvantageous point.

"Quite attractive terms. But Mahroudi has concerns about dropping down to the Championship, a second-tier league."

"I understand. Sunderland is aiming for promotion to the Premier League within one year."

Tariq narrowed his eyes at Han Shin's promise.

"Wanting it doesn't make it happen. We need something more concrete."

"If we fail to get promoted within one year, I'll insert a clause guaranteeing Mahroudi a transfer to a Premier League club. The fee will be set at 1.5 times the current amount."

Mahroudi and the agent's pupils dilated in surprise.

"We'll turn off the player's camera for a moment and talk separately."

"Of course."

Five minutes later.

"Excellent. We've reached a positive outcome. We'll bring the contract and see you in Sunderland."

"Let's do that."

"Especially our client is very satisfied with the negotiation. Right?"

Mahroudi raised a fighting fist with his right hand.

"I'll trust only the gaffer's promise!"

"We'll look forward to the day we meet as teammates."

"We'll be in touch within a day or two."

With the agent's final remark, the video call ended.

The director had watched the entire process in silence.

"You negotiate as straightforwardly as your personality."

I've got negotiation experience from the game, after all.

"This part is exactly the same as the game."

"Gaffer!!"

"What is it?"

Emily read a message.

"A message from team manager Smith."

"Ah, the one who's full of humour? What's it say?"

"FC Zenit arrive at Newcastle Airport tomorrow morning and will visit the stadium."

Han Shin laced his fingers behind his head.

"So it's finally here."

Faster than I expected. Arrive Sunday, loosen up, train Monday, match Tuesday? Okay.

The director lightly nudged him with an elbow.

"It's only an unofficial friendly, but it's basically your debut, isn't it? How do you feel?"

"Excited."

"Is that all?"

"And we have to win."

Sunderland, pouring every ounce of strength into rebuilding from the ground up with a spirit of total dedication, would face Russia's powerhouse Zenit in three days' time to decide who stood taller.