Chapter 33: Roots
The floodlights at Kenilworth Road bathed the pitch in a soft, golden glow. Rahmat stood at the edge of the touchline, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. The players had left for the day, their laughter and banter replaced by the hum of the groundskeepers' equipment. The cool evening air carried a stillness that often made Rahmat reflective. At 30, he was managing a Premier League team, a position many doubted he could handle. But doubt was no stranger to him; his entire journey had been one of defying expectations.
---
Rahmat's origins lay far from the bright lights of English football. Born in Makassar, Indonesia, he grew up in a family that blended two distinct cultures. His father, an Indonesian teacher, was a strict yet loving man who instilled discipline and a respect for hard work. His mother, Dutch by heritage, was the daughter of Mathilda van Rijn, a wartime nurse who had made Indonesia her home after World War II.
It was Mathilda who planted the seeds of Rahmat's football dreams. She had been a semi-competitive footballer in Rotterdam during her youth, a pastime she claimed kept her sharp during turbulent times. "Football is like life, Rahmat," she would say in her Dutch-accented Indonesian. "It's not just about power or speed. It's about seeing the whole field, thinking two steps ahead."
Her words stayed with him, guiding him even now as he navigated the pressures of managing Luton Town.
Rahmat's talent as a midfielder shone on the sandy pitches of Makassar. By the time he was 16, local scouts were whispering about his potential. But a devastating knee injury cut his dreams short, leaving him adrift. Instead of giving up on football, he pivoted to coaching, channeling his passion into training youth teams. On those same sandy pitches, he learned the art of leadership—how to inspire, strategize, and adapt.
His reputation grew quickly, and soon, he was invited to coaching programs in Jakarta, where his sharp tactical mind and unorthodox methods drew attention. But it wasn't until a seminar in Singapore that his life truly changed.
---
At the seminar, Rahmat found himself in the same room as Mark Kendrik, then-manager of Luton Town. Kendrik's fiery lectures on tactical flexibility and player management captivated the young coach. During a break, Rahmat mustered the courage to ask a question about counter-pressing. Kendrik's sharp eyes studied him for a moment before answering in detail.
"What's your plan after this?" Kendrik had asked later.
"To keep learning," Rahmat replied without hesitation. "And to give players opportunities I never had."
Kendrik's grin was brief but approving. "Good answer. Let's stay in touch."
True to his word, Kendrik became an informal mentor, exchanging emails with Rahmat over the years. When Kendrik left Luton for a top-tier club, he recommended Rahmat to the Luton board as a potential successor. Rahmat's age and lack of top-flight experience raised eyebrows, but his passion, combined with Kendrik's endorsement, tipped the scales in his favor.
---
The day Rahmat was appointed as Luton Town's manager, the club was on the brink of collapse. Nearly all the key players had followed Kendrik to his new team, and the budget was laughable for a Premier League side. The club's chairman, David Wilkinson, had warned him from the start: "This won't be easy. We're barely hanging on."
Rahmat, however, had smiled. "I don't need easy, sir. I need a chance."
And so, at 30, Rahmat became Luton Town's youngest-ever manager, stepping into one of the toughest leagues in the world with nothing but his belief and his wits.
---
As Rahmat walked back to his office, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a video call request from his grandmother. Smiling, he quickly accepted. The screen lit up with Mathilda's familiar face, framed by the cozy interior of her home in Makassar. Though in her eighties, her sharp blue eyes sparkled with energy.
"Rahmat, mijn jongen!" she greeted him warmly, her Dutch endearment making him smile. "Are you still at the stadium? Shouldn't you be resting?"
Rahmat chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "It's still early, Oma. Just finishing up some planning for Brighton. They're a tough team."
"Tough teams are where you thrive," she replied confidently. "I've been watching your matches, you know. Your team—those players—they're incredible. That goalkeeper of yours, Wakabayashi, reminds me of you when you played. Always so commanding."
Rahmat's smile softened. "You think so? I hope I'm doing enough for them, Oma. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm ready for all this."
Mathilda leaned closer to the camera, her expression firm yet gentle. "Listen to me, Rahmat. You've been ready since the moment you stepped onto those sandy pitches in Makassar. You've always had the vision and the heart. That's why you're here. Don't let anyone, not even yourself, doubt that."
Her words hit home, as they always did. "Thanks, Oma. I needed that."
"You'll always need reminders, and that's what I'm here for," she said with a laugh. "Now, tell me, what's your plan for Brighton? Do they know what's coming?"
Rahmat laughed, shaking his head. "Not yet. But they'll find out soon enough."
After the call ended, Rahmat leaned back in his chair, staring at the tactical board on his desk. Brighton's versatility and high-pressing style would be a challenge, but he felt a renewed sense of determination. His players—Barou, Aoyama, Wakabayashi—had grown into a formidable unit. Rahmat had seen to that.
Just then, Barou's voice echoed from the corridor. "Coach, you still in here?"
Rahmat turned as Barou stepped into the office, his usual confidence radiating. "What's the plan for Brighton?" the striker asked. "Think they can handle us?"
Rahmat smirked. "It's not about them, Barou. It's about us. They'll push, they'll press, but we'll be ready. Stay focused, and we'll show them what we're made of."
Barou grinned, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "Good. I like it when they think they have a chance."
---
As Rahmat turned back to his tactical board, his thoughts wandered briefly to Makassar, to the lessons his grandmother had taught him. Every step of his journey—from those sandy pitches to the dugout at Kenilworth Road—was guided by her wisdom and belief in him.
The next challenge awaited. And Rahmat was ready