Chapter 4: In the Shadow
Monday morning brought with it a persistent drizzle that soaked the training ground in a dull, gray haze. The usual tension had loosened since the back-to-back wins, but there was still a quiet energy buzzing beneath the surface. Niels felt it as soon as he arrived—lighter air, less worry on the faces of the players. It wasn't the kind of lightness that comes from complacency, but from confidence. They were starting to believe.
By the time Niels stepped onto the pitch, the lads were already in their warm-ups. Milan stood at the far side, watching the session unfold. He wasn't just observing; he was managing from a distance, keeping a keen eye on the smaller details that would help shape the day's session.
"Morning," Niels called, tossing his bag onto the bench.
Milan gave a nod but didn't look up immediately, eyes scanning a few players as they did stretches. When he did glance back, he offered a brief smile. "You get a good look at the footage this weekend?"
"Had to," Niels replied, pulling on his training top. "But I didn't need much to see what we did right."
"Good." Milan's voice was calm, always steady, but there was an underlying approval there, too. "You want to take the session today?"
Niels hesitated, the weight of the question settling on his shoulders. He didn't even need to think about it. "Yeah. I think it's time."
Milan smiled, this time a little wider. "Alright, then. I'm here if you need me, as always."
Niels gave a brief nod of appreciation, then turned his attention to the players, who had gathered at the center of the pitch, waiting for him to start. It wasn't just about the drills today—it was about setting a tone, maintaining the confidence that had grown since the last few matches. He could feel the eyes on him, the expectations mounting.
"Alright, listen up!" Niels called, his voice cutting through the drizzle. "We've got a lot of work to do today, but the key thing is consistency. We've shown we can compete. We've shown we can win. But the most important part now is making sure we keep pushing forward. This isn't just about winning one game—this is about building something."
Luka Radev, the young winger, glanced at him, eyes sharp and intent. At 17, he already had the kind of composure that most players twice his age would envy. Niels trusted him implicitly, but that didn't mean he was going to let him or anyone else off easy.
"We're starting with a small-sided possession drill," Niels continued. "Keep it tight, keep it moving. I want you talking, I want you to be aware of the space around you. When we win it, I want us to get the ball up quickly. Don't take more than three touches."
The players split into two teams, and Niels took up a position on the side, pacing up and down, watching intently. He saw the usual suspects leading the charge—Jamal Osei in midfield, marking and controlling the rhythm of the game. Liam McCulloch in defense, offering both leadership and structure. But it was Luka who impressed him most today. The kid had a quickness in his decisions, a sharpness in his positioning that made him stand out, even in the chaos of small-sided play.
"Good," Niels called out after a few successful transitions. "Move the ball faster, Marko! Don't let them settle down. Get the second ball, Luka. Dev, keep moving, don't get static."
He could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the players taking him more seriously. They weren't just responding to the drills—they were responding to him. They were following his lead, not because he had been appointed, but because he had earned it.
The session continued with a mix of drills and tactical breakdowns. But Niels was always pushing for that extra gear. The little bit of intensity that could change a match. The higher expectations that could separate a team that competes from one that truly contends.
As the session wound down, Milan approached, walking with his hands in his pockets. There was no need for words immediately—just the shared understanding that Niels was beginning to find his rhythm as a coach.
"You're getting there," Milan finally said, as they watched the players cool down. "You've got the group's attention now. That's the hard part."
"I'm just trying to keep them sharp," Niels replied, eyes scanning the squad, his mind already shifting to the next thing. "One good result doesn't mean anything unless we follow it up."
Milan nodded. "Exactly. And it's about keeping the details in focus. The tactical side's coming along, but you're not just a manager of systems—you're managing people. That's the true challenge."
Niels turned his gaze back to the group, a few players laughing and joking as they caught their breath. It was a good atmosphere, one that was starting to feel more like a team than a group of individuals.
That evening, back in the analysis room, Milan left Niels to go over footage on his own. There was no pressure, no looming presence. It felt like Niels was in control now—he was trusting his instincts more than ever before, sketching notes and making connections in ways he hadn't thought possible a few months ago.
The evening wore on. The rain still tapped against the window, the world outside darkening with the setting sun. Niels found himself lost in the flow, his mind working through tactical options for the upcoming cup match against lower-league opposition. It was a chance for him to prove himself again. A chance to show that he wasn't just a stopgap assistant coach.
He wasn't a kid anymore. And he certainly wasn't the player who had once struggled to find his place on the pitch.
He was ready, yes. But for now, he was still part of the coaching staff—still working in the shadows, honing his skills, and preparing for whatever the future might bring.
He wasn't the manager yet.
But maybe, just maybe, he was on the right path.