Forging the Future

Milan was bustling compared to Verona, but Aymar Zambo's destination wasn't the center of the city—it was a small football club on the outskirts. With its industrial roots and modest population, the area had a long tradition of football, though its teams rarely rose above the lower tiers. 

Aymar had parted ways with Pierino Fanna earlier in the journey and had taken another train westward. The small, unassuming club he was visiting played in the fourth tier of Italian football, competing in a regional league. Most of the players were part-timers, juggling jobs during the day before showing up for training in the late afternoons. This was where Aymar hoped to find overlooked talent—a diamond in the rough. 

When Aymar arrived, the scene was far from glamorous. The club's "stadium" was little more than a worn pitch surrounded by rusty fencing and a few small stands that looked decades old. The training ground adjacent to the pitch wasn't much better—patchy grass, uneven lines, and equipment that had clearly seen better days. 

As he approached the ground, Aymar couldn't help but notice how relaxed the atmosphere was. A few local residents sat on benches near the field, chatting and enjoying the fading sunlight. Couples strolled lazily along the edge of the grounds, some stopping to watch as players began to trickle in for training. 

Aymar smirked to himself. "It's different here," he thought. Back in Verona, there was structure, even if the resources were limited. Here, it was chaos—but within that chaos, there was freedom. 

The players arrived without ceremony, no one gathering as a team or adhering to any structured warm-up. Instead, they casually paired off, stretching and juggling the ball in small groups. These were men who spent their mornings at construction sites, shops, or offices, squeezing in football whenever their schedules allowed. Despite the lack of formality, there was an underlying sense of camaraderie among them. 

Aymar took a seat on a splintered wooden bench near the sideline, watching the players closely. 

After watching for about half an hour, Aymar Zambo came to a stark realization: the team in front of him didn't even have a head coach. The players were simply playing spontaneously, without any structure or tactics. It was clear they were there for the love of the game, not any professional aspiration. 

The small crowd in the stands seemed equally detached from the game itself. Most were preoccupied with their own activities—chatting, reading, or just relaxing in the warm evening air. At one point, Aymar spotted an old woman, likely a neighbor, picking leaves off the stands and tossing them aside as though it were part of her evening routine. 

Aymar couldn't help but chuckle to himself. It was no wonder his CoachMaster Guidance System flagged players here as being open to joining Verona's second team. Playing for a professional setup—even at the lower tiers—would be a significant step up from this casual environment. 

He hadn't yet identified the player he was looking for. Instead of leaving, Aymar decided to wait until the players finished their informal training. He could approach them afterward to learn more. For now, he sat back in the shabby stands, his mind drifting to the tasks and responsibilities that had consumed him over the past few weeks. 

Since arriving in Verona, his days had been a whirlwind of planning, training, and navigating the challenges of managing a struggling second team. Most nights, he collapsed into bed, too exhausted to reflect on his progress. Now, with a rare moment of quiet, he allowed himself to review what he'd accomplished. 

One task stood out in his mind: earning the trust and respect of those around him. The CoachMaster Guidance System had presented it as a goal titled Winning Hearts and Minds. Strangely, this task was repeatable, granting him one achievement point for each team member whose favorability toward him reached 70 points or higher. 

He'd already succeeded with Pippo Glaviano, whose trust in him had grown over their many late-night discussions about tactics and training. That alone had earned Aymar one achievement point. Yet the task hadn't ended. The system hinted that someone else in the team now held him in similarly high regard, but it hadn't revealed who. 

Aymar leaned back, letting out a soft sigh. Despite his tactical acumen and forward-thinking strategies, the intricacies of human relationships remained a puzzle. Who could it be? The question had been nagging at him for days, and no amount of reflection brought him closer to an answer. 

Aymar Zambo leaned back in his seat, opening the player profiles provided by the CoachMaster Guidance System. He reviewed Mattia Cassani's stats first, then glanced at the others. The numbers told a story, though they were far from complete—attributes shifted only gradually, reflecting the hard work required to achieve meaningful progress. Even with Cassani's recent improvement, his potential was still far from realized. 

"Nothing happens overnight," Aymar thought to himself. "If talent were that easy to develop, the world would be full of superstars." 

Switching tabs, he skimmed through the team's morale indicators. Unsurprisingly, the data painted a grim picture. Out of the 21 remaining players in Verona's second team, 19 had a negative opinion of him. Aymar smirked; he could imagine the grumbling in the locker room. 

"It's fine," he muttered. "Let them curse for now. Winning changes everything." 

There were, however, two exceptions. One was Cassani, whose favorability toward Aymar had increased slightly after their one-on-one conversation the previous night. Though still low, it was no longer negative—a small but significant step. 

The second was Louis Hutt, a 17-year-old center-back who barely registered on Aymar's radar until now. Tall and physically strong, Hutt's current ability was a meager 65, with a potential of just 105. By any measure, he was unremarkable—slow, technically limited, and lacking defensive instincts. Yet, his favorability toward Aymar was a surprising 45 points, far higher than anyone else on the team. 

"Is this kid a masochist?" Aymar murmured, suppressing a chuckle. 

He recalled Hutt's training sessions. The boy was often the target of punishment drills, and his relationship with teammates appeared strained—he was frequently on the receiving end of teasing and outright bullying. For all his shortcomings, however, Hutt never complained. He took every challenge head-on, with a stubborn determination that intrigued Aymar. 

"Maybe I should talk to him when I get back," Aymar thought. "There's more to players than stats and scouting reports. Sometimes, the right words at the right time can make all the difference." 

He continued scrolling, opening the store system. As the name suggested, it offered various tools and enhancements tailored for coaching. Items ranged from temporary attribute boosts for players to medical scrolls capable of curing injuries instantly. 

One item caught Aymar's eye: a training enhancement scroll that could multiply a player's growth rate for one or two years. The effect varied—some scrolls offered double growth, while others provided up to five times the improvement. The catch? The cost. A two-year, five-fold scroll required 50 achievement points, far beyond Aymar's current balance of two points. Even a modest one-year, double-growth scroll cost five points—still out of reach. 

"Dreams for another day," Aymar muttered, closing the menu. 

... 

... 

When Aymar Zambo deactivated the CoachMaster Guidance System in his mind, he noticed a figure emerging from the shadows near the edge of the training ground. It was a young Italian boy, no older than 15, with a tall frame for his age. Though his build hinted at potential, his movements with the ball were unpolished, almost rigid. 

Aymar's eyes narrowed. He watched closely for several minutes, confirming that this was indeed the player he had come to scout. His focus locked in. 

The club's first team, along with a few local amateurs, had set up a casual eight-a-side match. Lacking enough players, they had recruited a few juniors from the area to fill out the teams. The boy, clearly out of his depth, was slotted into a defensive role. 

The scene was chaotic. With no tactical guidance and only minimal structure, the match devolved into a disorganized scramble for the ball. Aymar ignored the rest of the players, directing all his attention to the boy. 

Emanuele Torrisi, 15 years old, 1.85 meters tall, 70 kilograms, 90 current ability, 180 potential ability. Positional focus: defender or holding midfielder. 

Aymar smirked. "In a few years, people will call this kid the next Maldini," he muttered to himself. The thrill of unearthing hidden gems never got old. Knowing Emanuele's trajectory from his own timeline, Aymar felt a rush of excitement. In his previous life, the player had drawn attention from Italy's biggest clubs, eventually earning a reputation as one of the nation's brightest defensive prospects. However, injuries had derailed his potential. 

"But not this time," Aymar thought. "Not if I can help it." 

Italian football in 2006 was a powerhouse, with clubs like Juventus, Milan, and Inter dominating Europe. Yet, beneath the surface, cracks were forming. Financial instability, a reliance on aging stars, and an overemphasis on tactics over youth development had created a dearth of emerging talent. Players like Emanuele, with their raw promise, were diamonds waiting to be polished. 

Aymar's eyes returned to the match. Emanuele's technical skills weren't particularly refined, but his composure on the ball and positional awareness stood out. His decision-making hinted at a maturity beyond his years, even if his execution was still developing. For a defender, his technique was solid; for a midfielder, it was unremarkable. Still, his fundamentals were strong—something Aymar had always appreciated in players. 

The boy's work ethic was undeniable. He ran tirelessly, threw himself into every challenge, and never shied away from a physical duel, even against the adults he was facing. Aymar saw echoes of other players he admired—Cassani's determination, for one, but also shades of Italy's celebrated grit and resilience. It was this tenacity that made players like Emanuele stand out. 

"Strong frame, good stamina, and excellent mentality," Aymar noted mentally. "But there's plenty to refine. His positioning needs work, his passing range is limited, and his awareness in transitions could improve. Still… there's potential here." 

The amateur nature of the match grated on Aymar's patience—years spent studying and admiring top-tier football had spoiled him for chaotic, low-level games. Still, he forced himself to watch until the end, unwilling to miss any details about Emanuele's performance. 

When the match finally concluded, the players began drifting away, chatting casually as they packed up their gear. Aymar waited until Emanuele was alone, lingering near the edge of the pitch, before approaching. 

"Hey, ragazzo," Aymar called out, his tone friendly but firm. Emanuele turned, startled by the unexpected attention. Aymar stepped forward, extending a hand. "You've got talent. Let's talk." 

... 

... 

"Head coach of Verona's second team?" Emanuele Torrisi stared at the man in front of him, clearly skeptical. Aymar Zambo offered a warm smile as he held out a simple business card, firm in his pitch. 

"That's right. My name is Aymar Zambo," he said calmly. "I'm from Cameroon." 

Emanuele raised his eyebrows, surprised by the unexpected nationality of this coach, but there was no hint of hostility—just curiosity. 

Sensing the boy's hesitation, Aymar pressed on. "Verona is only about 300 kilometers from here. We're a professional club in Italy's Serie B with a structured youth development program and certified coaches. I've recently earned a UEFA coaching certificate, recognized across Europe, and I'm a graduate of Verona's School of Sports Science. You're free to verify all this through official channels." 

Emanuele nodded slowly, recognition dawning. Verona wasn't entirely unfamiliar to him, though he hadn't expected someone like Aymar to come all this way. "Did you really travel from Verona to Milan just to see me?" he asked, incredulously. 

"Yes," Aymar replied sincerely. "One of our scouts spotted you while you were playing for ASD Alcione Milano and highly recommended you. After reviewing your matches, I knew I had to see for myself." 

Emanuele's expression softened, a faint trace of pride flickering across his face. It was clear he had confidence in his own abilities, even if he rarely showed it. 

"I've watched your performance today," Aymar continued. "You're immensely talented. But it's also clear that Alcione Milano cannot provide what you need to improve—whether it's proper guidance, challenging competition, or exposure to bigger opportunities." 

The boy nodded, almost reflexively. He had often wondered if staying in his small team was holding him back. 

"Every player hits a point where they stop progressing, Emanuele," Aymar said, his tone serious. "And that's where you are now. If you stay at Alcione Milano, you'll stagnate. But if you join a team that can develop your skills and showcase your talent, you won't just improve—you'll thrive. You have the potential to be a great player, even one of the best in Italy or Europe." 

Emanuele's eyes widened slightly at the bold statement. Aymar let the silence hang, then leaned in slightly. 

"But if you stay here," he continued, "five years from now, you'll still be where you are—playing in amateur leagues, watching others achieve what you could have had." 

The words struck a chord. Emanuele lowered his gaze, clearly wrestling with his own thoughts. He had long dreamed of moving on, of chasing something bigger, but he had lacked the courage to take that first step. 

"Maybe…" he began hesitantly, before raising his head. "Maybe you should talk to my parents." 

Aymar smiled, sensing the victory in the boy's tone. He knew he had won Emanuele over, but for a 15-year-old, leaving home wasn't a decision to be made alone. Winning the parents' approval would be the next step. 

"Of course," Aymar said gently. "I'd be happy to speak with them." 

... 

... 

The Torrisi family ran a small trattoria on the outskirts of Milan, not far from the modest grounds of ASD Alcione Milano. The cozy eatery doubled as their home, with Emanuele often helping out between school and football. It was only a ten-minute walk from the club's makeshift pitch, where Aymar Zambo had first spotted him. 

When Aymar arrived at the trattoria and introduced himself as the head coach of Verona's second team, Emanuele's father, Matteo Torrisi, was skeptical. However, after reviewing Aymar's identification and credentials, Matteo's demeanor shifted. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, as he began to take the proposal seriously. 

"Emanuele loves football," Matteo admitted, glancing at his son. "He's good too—everyone in the neighborhood knows it. But…" His brow furrowed with concern. "Leaving Milan to join Verona? That's a big step. And I've heard that clubs in the lower leagues don't always have the best facilities." 

Aymar offered a polite smile. "You're not wrong, Signor Torrisi. Verona's second team doesn't have the same resources as Serie A clubs. But we have something just as important: ambition. The first team is determined to secure promotion to Serie A, and the second team is critical to developing the players who will support that goal." 

He leaned forward slightly, his tone earnest. "Your son has exceptional talent. At Verona, he'll receive professional coaching, rigorous training, and opportunities to compete against some of the best young players in Italy. He won't just be a name on a roster—he'll have the chance to grow into a star." 

Matteo remained quiet, his expression contemplative. He loved his son and wanted the best for him, but the idea of sending him away to pursue football was daunting. 

Sensing his hesitation, Aymar continued, "Emanuele is at a turning point. If he stays here, playing for Alcione Milano, his growth will stall. This isn't about whether he's good enough now—it's about what he can become. And I believe he can become one of the best defenders in Italy, maybe even in Europe." 

Emanuele glanced at his father, his expression a mix of hope and determination. "Papà, I want to try. If it doesn't work, I'll come back home and help in the trattoria. But I need to give this a chance." 

Aymar smiled, impressed by the boy's resolve. "You're welcome to visit Verona yourself," he suggested to Matteo. "Meet the team, see the facilities, and speak to the other players. I think you'll find that Emanuele will be in good company. There are many young players with similar talent and drive, all working hard to build their futures." 

Matteo's hesitation began to melt away as the prospect of his son playing for a professional club took shape in his mind. "Serie B, you say?" he asked, his voice softening. "And maybe Serie A someday?" 

"That's the goal," Aymar confirmed confidently. "And with players like Emanuele, we're on our way." 

Matteo looked at his son, who returned his gaze with quiet determination. Finally, Matteo nodded. "All right, ragazzo. You can go to Verona. Give it your best. But if it doesn't work, you come back here, capito?" 

"Capito, Papà," Emanuele said, his voice steady. 

Matteo chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "And if you come back, maybe you'll become the best cook in the family instead." 

Aymar laughed along with them, the warmth of the moment reminding him why he loved his work. "If that happens, I'll bring the whole team here for dinner. We could use some proper Italian food after all those bland cafeteria meals!" 

The exchange left Aymar with a sense of satisfaction. Matteo, despite his initial doubts, had given his full support to Emanuele's decision. After a heartfelt conversation, Matteo entrusted his son to Aymar, asking only that Emanuele work hard, stay disciplined, and make the most of this opportunity. 

"You'll need to sort out the transfer paperwork at school," Matteo said, looking at his son. "You'll be training and studying in Verona now, so everything needs to be in order." 

Emanuele nodded earnestly. "I'll take care of it, Papà." 

The following morning, Aymar returned to Verona with Emanuele and his modest luggage in tow. Despite leaving his home for the first time, the boy seemed eager rather than anxious, his determination shining through. 

Upon their return to Verona, Aymar wasted no time. With the season about to begin, he needed to integrate Emanuele into the second team and finalize his contract. Alongside two other players he had scouted and signed in recent weeks, Aymar ensured Emanuele signed an apprenticeship contract for one year—a common starting point for young talents at the club. 

The moment the ink dried on the contracts, Aymar felt a familiar, sudden jolt in his mind. The CoachMaster Guidance System activated, its interface appearing before him. A series of new messages flashed across his vision