Unstoppable Momentum (1)
Is this what it feels like to get your foot chopped by the very axe you trusted? I believed in Gustave Hossa. Or more precisely, I believed in the talent he possessed. Gustave was undoubtedly a player with a great tool in his arsenal. If only he could blend into the team properly, there was hope we could build a consistently competitive squad. Maybe it was too greedy a thought. But we had to be greedy. With promotion now a real possibility, scraping by to the end with this thin squad meant maximizing every player we had.
"If it weren't for Theo, we'd be getting ripped apart by the press and fans right now. Hell, we might've even lost the trust of the players."
This greed was only possible because we had a miraculous striker named Cha Tae-oh. No matter how inconsistent our form, as long as we had a surefire finisher like him, defeat felt impossible.
"...I agree completely."
In the office of AD Alcorcón's technical director, Iñigo Chapé. Amid a somewhat heavy atmosphere, manager Jordi Calavera and technical director Iñigo Chapé sat facing each other.
"The club plans to hand Gustave a severe internal punishment."
The day after Gustave Hossa's unauthorized early departure, Jordi Calavera had demoted him straight to the B team. It was crossing a clear line—one that couldn't be tolerated.
"His agent said he doesn't want to play for this team anymore and is looking into transfers."
"And?"
"Told him to do whatever he wants."
Iñigo Chapé flashed a small smile.
"Eight wins and a draw. Nine games without a single loss. Theo's the biggest reason... though I feel the same way. But no one can deny you've led the team well."
"...Thank you."
"The momentum is perfect right now. Keep it going. I'll clear away anything standing in your way."
In AD Alcorcón's history, there had never been a start this strong.
"The owner is thrilled with appointing you as manager."
Jordi Calavera's eyes lit up for a moment.
"So, about the transfer budget...?"
That hope was dashed instantly.
"Unfortunately, zero."
Jordi Calavera let out a quiet sigh.
"We absolutely need reinforcements in January. Maurinho's gap has to be filled."
"I know that."
"Someone similar. A midfielder who can withstand pressure, deliver forward passes, high work rate, excellent ball progression..."
Jordi trailed off with a bitter smile.
"...Hard to find that in January."
"Just hearing it, the transfer fee would easily top ten million euros."
"Not quite that much... but a similar profile to Maurinho. Even if a step down, we must reinforce in winter. Otherwise, it's tough. Especially..."
He hesitated, then continued.
"Especially since we might not keep Theo through January."
Their expressions hardened. Losing Cha Tae-oh was painful to even imagine. He'd contributed massively to this 8-1-0 record. If they held onto him through winter, promotion was all but guaranteed.
Now into October. Three months until the winter window, but factoring in the November international break and the late December league pause, they realistically had just over two months with Theo. Sure, up to round 21 before the window, but even stellar first-half results wouldn't save them without him in the second half.
"I tried so hard to integrate Gustave because I was worried about Theo leaving."
"Mm..."
"Alejandro can't fill half his shoes. Same for the other B-team strikers. Reinforcement is essential."
Iñigo Chapé nodded slowly.
"I know. But the budget won't change."
Selling Theo would net at most 1.5 million euros. Not bad since he was free, but a huge loss given his value.
"How much budget left?"
"Roughly... 500,000 euros."
Far too little for anyone worthwhile.
"Disposing of Gustave will free up some cash. Reinvesting his fee shouldn't be an issue. I'll look for a midfielder as you requested."
Jordi added one more.
"And if possible... ask Borja Navas what he thinks about Theo leaving this winter."
"...Will do."
Jordi left the office. Alone, Iñigo Chapé sighed and stared at the ceiling. The answer was obvious.
'If a big club offers, Theo will leave without hesitation.'
Romanticism had long left football. It was pure business. How many players would turn down a bigger club and bigger paycheck?
'Not a single one, guaranteed.'
Theo would be no different. An agent like Borja Navas would push him to a big club—that's why he'd hired him.
'First things first... deal with Gustave.'
Not easy. His horrific form this season, plus the scandal spread by the press.
'Gonna get busier.'
Iñigo exhaled heavily.
"Feels so damn good. Haha!"
Miguel Amaro laughed heartily, looking utterly satisfied. Ever since hearing Jordi Calavera had demoted Gustave Hossa to the B team, he'd been grinning ear to ear. With the mudfish that had been clouding the pond gone, the squad's vibe was noticeably brighter.
After ditching Gustave, Jordi reverted to the 4-3-3. Oscar Santos was locked in as Maurinho's replacement.
Honestly... Gustave had indirectly helped by uniting the starters. No one was left out; their shared gripes about him had built camaraderie.
In round 10, away at Sporting Gijón, this newfound cohesion shone.
Sporting Gijón, currently 7th, were beasts at home but weak away. Local media predicted we'd struggle at Estadio Municipal El Molinón and suffer our first loss. Our last two games weren't great, and even without Gustave, Maurinho's hole lingered.
But.
Thwack!
We blew those predictions away, pressing from the start with fluid play. Wingers and fullbacks flowed smoothly on the flanks. Oscar Santos, slotted as left central mid, wasn't half the player Maurinho was, but he didn't disrupt—quick returns, safe back passes, no turnovers. A stark contrast to Gustave.
Thud!
Our right flank exploded. When Gustave played attacking mid, he'd drift right, clashing paths with Miguel. Now unhindered, Miguel shredded their left defense like a fish in water.
As his dribbles clicked, they doubled down on him, freeing right-back Joni Montoya...
Thud!
In the 10th minute, he whipped in two quality crosses. No goal, though—one grazed my head, but the keeper's long arms clawed it away.
One super save couldn't derail us...
Thud!
Around the 18th minute. Another Montoya cross. I charged forward, dropped back a touch, and leaped.
The trajectory sailed behind me for a header, so only one option: stamped my left foot like a spring, bent my right like a bow, released.
Back to goal, I scythed the airborne ball mid-air with my right.
Wham!
Fast, precise—it ripped into the net.
Splash!
"...!"
Cold silence blanketed Estadio Municipal El Molinón.
It deserved it. That shot? Puskás Award material if it hit right...
"Wooooaaahhh!"
"Theo! Theo! Theo!"
"Cha! Cha! Cha! Cha! Cha!"
A perfect bicycle kick.