The Turning Point

"Let's hear it," Aymar Zambo said as he sat down in his office, motioning for Gillo Urso to take the seat opposite him.

Urso hesitated briefly before lowering himself into the chair. His usual air of authority was replaced by a weariness that hinted at deeper struggles. "Four main players left the squad," he began, his voice taut with frustration. "They took the first opportunity to jump ship... no loyalty, no consideration for what this club has given them." He stopped himself, exhaling sharply as if trying to rein in his temper. "I need to pull two or three players from your squad to fill the gaps."

Aymar leaned back in his chair, observing Urso carefully. The man sitting before him was visibly shaken, a coach under siege by poor results, external pressure, and the financial turmoil looming over the club. While Urso's frustrations were understandable, they didn't change the reality of the first team's needs.

"You've thought about which players you want?" Aymar asked, his tone neutral.

Urso blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the lack of resistance. "I… I thought you might protest. Push back a little."

Aymar shrugged. "You're the head coach of the first team. My role is to develop players for you. If you think pulling a few up will help, then I'll cooperate."

Urso's expression softened briefly, but it was quickly masked by a guarded look. "You still consider me the head coach?" he asked quietly, almost as if testing the waters. There was a bitter undercurrent in his voice, a trace of self-awareness that his authority had waned significantly.

Aymar held his gaze for a moment but remained silent, letting the question linger unanswered. Urso tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as though searching for strength. When he spoke again, his words were laced with resignation.

"At this point, I think you might be the only one here who still sees me that way."

The remark hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. Aymar, pragmatic to a fault, felt a flicker of empathy for Urso's plight. Professional football was merciless, and while Gillo Urso's methods had their flaws, he had undeniably borne the brunt of the club's failures.

Urso straightened in his chair, his voice regaining some of its old firmness. "I need Emanuele Torrisi and Gianluca Nicco for the first team right away. Louis Hutt as well—though he can stay match-fit by playing with your squad occasionally. We're short in central defense."

Aymar nodded thoughtfully. "That's manageable. I'll adjust the second team's lineup accordingly."

Urso studied him for a moment, as though searching for hidden resentment, but Aymar's calm demeanor betrayed none. "Thank you," Urso said quietly, his tone unexpectedly sincere.

As he rose to leave, Aymar watched him go, his mind a swirl of thoughts. Urso's thank-you had been genuine, but it carried an unspoken acknowledgment of his own precarious position. Gillo's authority was crumbling, and both men knew it.

Aymar turned back to his desk, the silence of his office suddenly deafening. For all his flaws, Urso was a coach fighting to keep his team afloat. But Aymar knew one thing with absolute certainty: in the unforgiving world of professional football, there was no room for sentimentality. 

...

...

The transfer of Emanuele Torrisi, Gianluca Nicco, and Louis Hutt to the first team had a noticeable impact on the second team. However, Aymar Zambo swiftly adjusted the team's tactics to mitigate the effects. His system prioritized collective offensive and defensive organization over individual brilliance, ensuring the team maintained its competitive edge.

The second team's season resumed earlier than the first team's after the winter break. Despite the loss of key players, Aymar's squad continued their strong performances. Over the next three matches, they recorded two wins and a draw, extending their unbeaten streak to ten games before encountering another draw in the 23rd round.

Meanwhile, the struggles of the first team under Gillo Urso deepened. Hopes that Urso would use the winter break to recalibrate the team and lift them from their precarious position were dashed when the shadow of bankruptcy hung over the club, compounding their challenges. The chaotic situation left Urso with a squad unable to gel into a cohesive unit.

In the 19th round of Serie B, Verona faced an away match against Mantova, a mid-table team with solid form. Urso's lineup featured several new additions from the second team, including Torrisi and Nicco. The game ended in disaster. Verona lost 2–0, with the newcomers struggling to adapt to the higher level of competition. Torrisi, in particular, had a torrid time in midfield, unable to impose himself against Mantova's experienced players.

The local sports press didn't hold back in their critiques. The following day, L'Arena di Verona dedicated extensive coverage to the defeat. The loss widened the gap between Verona and safety in the Serie B standings, making relegation seem inevitable. Public sentiment toward Gillo Urso hit a new low.

"Fans are furious," Pierino Fanna said grimly as he discussed the situation with Aymar and Pippo Glaviano in the shop. "They were already voicing their frustrations during home games, but now it's escalated. There were demonstrations outside the club yesterday. They're demanding Urso's resignation."

"Boos and protests have been around for weeks," Pippo added, shaking his head. "But this is different. A full-blown demonstration? It's a first for Verona."

Aymar frowned but said nothing. He understood the frustration boiling over among the fans. The combination of mounting debt and poor performances on the pitch was pushing the club to the brink. Without a clear plan, the situation seemed unsalvageable.

The two most pressing issues for Verona were the €1.2 million debt hanging over the club and the instability of player contracts. Ticket sales had plummeted, sponsorship revenues were drying up, and the team's poor league standing deterred any potential investors. President Giambattista Pastorello was scrambling to secure funds from local businesses and banks, but no one was willing to gamble on a team teetering on the edge of relegation.

Desperate for funds, Pastorello began offloading players to generate income. However, many players in both the first and second teams refused to sign new contracts. Torrisi, Nicco, and Tommaso, among others, had turned down offers to extend their stay, knowing their performances had attracted interest from other clubs.

The exception was Mattia Cassani, whose loyalty stood out amid the turmoil. When speaking with Aymar, Cassani explained his decision. "This club gave me my start. I owe it to Verona to see out the season and contribute in whatever way I can."

Aymar respected Cassani's sense of loyalty, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of worry. With Verona's financial instability, even loyal players like Cassani might not remain for long if the club couldn't secure its future.

The first team's disarray was evident both on and off the pitch. Many of the squad's senior players had already begun seeking new clubs, and rumors swirled about pre-contract agreements with teams in Serie A and B. For a club like Verona, these defections were inevitable, but they only deepened the sense of despair surrounding the organization.

A week later, in the 20th round of Serie B, Hellas Verona hosted Vicenza at the Stadio Marc'Antonio Bentegodi.

Gillo Urso made several adjustments to the starting lineup, including fielding younger players like Mattia Cassani, Emanuele Torrisi, and Gianluca Nicco. While the team's performance showed slight improvement, they still fell short, losing 1-0 to a well-organized Vicenza side.

As a result, Verona remained rooted to the bottom of the Serie B table with only four points from their first 20 matches, now 13 points adrift of 17th-placed Mantova. The gap widened further, and the prospect of relegation loomed over the team like a dark cloud.

However, it wasn't just the result that shocked the fans and media. Reports emerged of a confrontation in Verona's dressing room after the match. Gillo Urso had lashed out verbally at a player he accused of lackluster effort. The argument escalated, and Urso was struck in the face, leaving him with a bruised cheek. The incident reminded some observers of the infamous confrontation between Urso and Aymar Zambo months earlier, though this time, the violence came from one of his own players.

The media wasted no time seizing on the scandal, publishing sensational headlines about Verona's internal chaos. However, within the club, there was little movement to address the issue. The player involved received only a minor reprimand, and no formal statement was issued to support or defend Urso.

Giambattista Pastorello, meanwhile, remained conspicuously uninvolved. Focused entirely on salvaging the club's precarious financial situation, he seemed to view the locker-room turmoil as a distraction rather than a pressing crisis.

Tensions reached a boiling point in the 21st round, as Verona suffered a humiliating 0-1 defeat at home to Brescia. Frustrated fans, fed up with the lack of fight from the players, stormed the pitch in the 68th minute. The match was nearly abandoned as security struggled to restore order.

The cause of the outburst was plain to see: Verona's players, already trailing, made little effort to recover. Most strolled aimlessly across the pitch, while only a handful showed any urgency or determination. The fans' fury was palpable; the Stadio Marc'Antonio Bentegodi echoed with boos and jeers.

It was the kind of performance that left even the most loyal supporters questioning their allegiance.

The following morning, Giambattista Pastorello knocked on Aymar Zambo's office door.

...

...

Aymar couldn't quite recall the last time he'd seen Giambattista Pastorello. In his mind, Pastorello was still the same proud, confident figure who had once stood in this very office, gesturing enthusiastically at the faded, aging walls as he declared his vision for Hellas Verona's future. He had dreamed of leaving a legacy, of one day being celebrated as the chairman who restored the club to its former glory. 

But the man standing before Aymar now seemed worlds apart from that memory. 

Pastorello, once so vigorous, now looked as though the weight of the world had aged him by decades. Though still in his fifties, he appeared frail, his face gaunt, and his cheekbones hollowed. His frame, once solid, had withered, and the thick black-rimmed glasses perched precariously on his nose only accentuated his weariness. The air of authority he once exuded was long gone, replaced by a defeated, almost pleading demeanor. 

Today, he was no longer the ambitious chairman. He was a man burdened by the relentless challenges of a struggling football club, seeking help wherever he could find it. 

"Signor Pastorello, what can I do for you?" Aymar asked, his tone polite but slightly puzzled. He was on his way out to oversee the second team's training, and this unexpected visit caught him off guard. It was unusual for the chairman to approach him so directly. 

Pastorello studied Aymar for a moment, his weary eyes narrowing. There was something inscrutable about the young coach—a sharpness, a determination that Pastorello found both intriguing and unsettling. In recent months, Aymar Zambo had become a name of rising prominence, leading Verona's second team to remarkable success in the Serie Leggera. Against all odds, he had transformed a struggling squad into a competitive force, earning respect and attention within the footballing community. 

And yet, despite the opportunities such success surely brought, Aymar had remained at Verona. 

Why? 

Pastorello couldn't decipher the coach's motives. Was Aymar driven by loyalty? Ambition? Or was he merely biding his time, waiting for the right offer to come along? 

"Can we talk for a few minutes?" Pastorello asked, his voice laden with a mix of weariness and urgency. 

Though the chairman's approach was courteous, Aymar recognized the undertone of desperation. He nodded, gesturing for Pastorello to follow him back into the office. 

"Gillo Urso submitted his resignation to me last night," Giambattista Pastorello said nonchalantly, his tone betraying a touch of weariness. 

Aymar's eyes flickered, but he remained composed, as if the news was neither unexpected nor particularly significant. 

In truth, Aymar had anticipated this. Even with his tendency to approach situations with a healthy dose of skepticism, he suspected that Pastorello had nudged the resignation along. After all, the chairman had not exactly rallied behind Gillo Urso after the scandal in which players openly defied their coach. 

The reasoning was straightforward. Urso's salary was considerable, and Hellas Verona's financial situation was dire. The club had already offloaded several high-earning players during the winter transfer window, sacrificing talent to stay afloat. Urso's departure was another necessary cut in this grim equation. 

Countless thoughts raced through Aymar's mind, but outwardly he remained calm and impassive. He gave no indication of what he thought about Urso's resignation or the vacancy it left in the first team. 

To take over as head coach of Hellas Verona's senior squad now was akin to grabbing a flaming torch. The team was in shambles—disorganized, with morale in tatters. Any coach with even a modicum of reputation would steer clear of such a disaster. And for those desperate enough to consider it, the club's financial straits meant they couldn't offer much in the way of compensation. 

Money was the one thing Hellas Verona simply didn't have. 

"I've discussed this with the board," Pastorello continued, his sharp gaze fixed on Aymar. "We'd like you to take temporary charge of the first team as acting head coach until we appoint a permanent replacement." 

It was clear that Aymar was the club's best—perhaps only—option. At just 23 years old, stepping into the role would make him one of the youngest head coaches in the history of Italian football. Many of the players on the first team were older than him, and commanding their respect would be a monumental challenge. 

Could he manage it? 

Pastorello didn't seem overly hopeful. For him, Aymar was simply a stopgap solution, a means to steady the ship until a more experienced candidate could be found. 

Aymar, however, had already envisioned this scenario. Hearing it confirmed elicited no visible reaction from him, though his ambitions had long been set on one day leading the senior squad. 

"You won't need to worry about results," Pastorello added after a brief pause. His tone softened, almost as if trying to ease the burden he was placing on the young coach. "The situation in the first team is chaotic—disjointed players, a lack of discipline, and fallout with sponsors. All we ask is that you restore some semblance of order. No more scandals like Gillo Urso's incident in the dressing room." 

The state of Hellas Verona's first team was dire, and Pastorello seemed resigned to the fact that expectations would have to be lowered. What mattered most to him now was salvaging the club's image to attract much-needed investment. Sponsors and investors wouldn't touch a team perpetually mired in controversy. 

Aymar remained silent, his expression inscrutable. He understood that silence, at this moment, was a bargaining tool—a way to leverage more autonomy for himself. 

Sensing the hesitation, Pastorello leaned forward slightly, his tone becoming almost conciliatory. "Look, we know this isn't easy for you. You'll have full authority over the first team. As long as there's no trouble, we won't interfere. You'll also receive an appropriate salary increase. You have my word." 

Promises were easy to make when the club had so little to lose. Aymar cared little for the money, but the offer of greater authority intrigued him. This was a chance to implement his vision without interference—a rare opportunity in football. 

Finally, Aymar nodded. "Signor Pastorello, you have my word. I'll do my best." 

Pastorello exhaled, visibly relieved. After a few words of encouragement, he left the room, leaving Aymar alone with his thoughts. 

After Giambattista Pastorello left, Aymar allowed himself a rare smile. 

This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for—the chance to prove himself on a grander stage. 

Hellas Verona's first team was in a state of disarray, its reputation battered by internal chaos and a string of poor performances. For Aymar, however, the situation couldn't be more ideal. The expectations were so low that even modest improvements would shine a bright light on his capabilities. And should he fail? It wouldn't harm his reputation—after all, no one expected miracles from such a broken squad. 

But if he succeeded? If he could steady the ship, avoid relegation, or even produce moments of brilliance, the credit would be his and his alone. 

For Aymar, it was a calculated risk. An opportunity to showcase his tactical acumen and begin building a name that extended beyond the second team and the Serie Leggera. 

At that moment, the CoachMaster Guidance System activated in his mind, its familiar interface springing to life. Two new missions appeared, their bold text glowing as though to emphasize their importance: 

Mission 1: Lead Hellas Verona to avoid relegation in Serie B. 

Reward: 1 skill and 40 achievement points. 

Mission 2: Secure a single victory with Hellas Verona. 

Reward: 10 achievement points. 

A notification followed, bringing with it a surge of satisfaction: 

"Congratulations! You have been appointed acting head coach of Hellas Verona. Your reputation has increased from 'Local' to 'Minor.' The system rewards you with 5 achievement points." 

Aymar's heart raced with excitement as he processed the information. Achievement points were the system's currency for unlocking enhancements—tools that would give him the edge in the high-stakes world of football management. The promise of 50 total achievement points and a new skill was too tantalizing to ignore. 

This wasn't just a challenge. It was a golden ticket to fast-tracking his coaching career. 

Where others saw only failure and frustration in managing a team like Verona's, Aymar saw potential. Gillo Urso hadn't managed to turn the team around, and many coaches would balk at taking on such a volatile position. But Aymar had an ace up his sleeve—the system. With its analytical insights, tactical simulations, and player assessments, he believed no task was insurmountable. 

"For 50 achievement points and a new skill," Aymar murmured to himself, his voice firm with determination, "and for the bright future of my career, I'll give it everything I have." 

... 

... 

After leaving the office, Aymar Zambo immediately sought out Pierino Fanna and Pippo Glaviano to share the club's decision to appoint him as interim head coach of the first team. 

Both trusted colleagues viewed it as a significant opportunity. While neither was overly optimistic about his chances of bringing immediate change to the struggling squad, they agreed that the experience would be invaluable for Aymar's growth as a manager. 

Once they aligned on this point, Aymar wasted no time sharing his preliminary thoughts. 

"In my view," Aymar began confidently, "the first team players aren't as weak as their results suggest. The key issue is how to unlock their potential and channel it effectively." 

Pierino nodded, his thoughtful expression hinting at agreement. "The raw talent is there, but the team's morale is in shambles. Reigniting their fighting spirit won't be easy." 

"It'll be difficult," Aymar admitted with a knowing smile, "but it's far from impossible." 

Pippo chuckled, his tone teasing but encouraging. "Alright, stop playing coy. I know you've been cooking up something in that brain of yours. Let's hear it." 

Pierino leaned forward, curiosity lighting up his face. "Don't keep us waiting, Aymar. What's your plan?" 

Aymar's expression turned serious. "The core problem is confidence—or rather, the complete lack of it. The team's recent failures have eroded their belief in themselves and in the club. Their fighting spirit has been drained because they see no reward for their efforts, no light at the end of the tunnel." 

Pierino and Pippo exchanged nods, acknowledging the accuracy of Aymar's assessment. 

"So, what's the solution?" Pierino pressed. 

"We need to start with something tangible," Aymar replied, his tone resolute. "The players must see that hard work at Hellas Verona doesn't just benefit the club—it benefits them personally. Incentives, both financial and professional, can reignite their motivation." 

The two assistants listened intently as Aymar elaborated on his strategy. He outlined a plan to create practical, results-driven incentives for the players, whether through bonuses, career progression, or even promises of exposure to higher-level clubs. 

"But motivation alone isn't enough," Aymar added. "The first team also needs fresh blood—players who can bring energy and commitment to the squad. That's why I'm planning to promote, Emanuele Torrisi, and Gianluca Nicco from the second team, along with Tommaso and Luigi Sepe." 

These players, Aymar explained, had been under his tutelage for over six months. They were familiar with his tactical approach and had shown a willingness to execute his ideas with discipline and conviction. Their introduction to the first team would not only inject much-needed dynamism but also create a sense of competition and accountability among the existing players. 

"If these promoted players perform well," Aymar said, "it will light a fire under the rest of the squad. Stagnation is the enemy of progress, and the first team has been stagnant for far too long." 

Pierino and Pippo exchanged a look of astonishment. It was as if Aymar had been preparing for this moment long before the official decision was made. 

"You've really thought this through," Pippo said, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's almost like you were expecting this." 

Aymar didn't confirm or deny the observation. Instead, he leaned back with a sly smile. "If we can execute these two steps—rebuilding confidence through incentives and fostering competition with fresh blood—I believe we can transform the team. And…" His voice trailed off, his expression growing mischievous. 

"And what?" Pierino prompted, leaning in. 

"I believe we can avoid relegation," Aymar said, his tone calm but brimming with quiet confidence. 

The two assistants stared at him, momentarily stunned. "Avoid relegation?" Pierino repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. For Hellas Verona, entrenched as they were in chaos and failure, such a goal seemed almost fantastical. 

"The league isn't over yet," Aymar replied, his smile widening. "Anything is possible." 

His words carried an air of mystery, leaving Pierino and Pippo to wonder if he knew something they didn't. One thing was certain: Aymar Zambo wasn't afraid to aim high, even in the most daunting circumstances. 

... 

... 

From the moment Giambattista Pastorello appointed him as interim head coach, Aymar Zambo wasted no time. He quickly sought agreement from his trusted assistants, Pierino Fanna and Pippo Glaviano, before delegating the management of the second team to another coach. He then transferred four promising players—Luigi Sepe, Emanuele Torrisi, Gianluca Nicco, and Tommaso—from the second team into the senior squad. These four joined Louis Hutt and Cassani, already part of the first team, forming a core group of six young, hungry talents Aymar trusted to bring fresh energy to the squad. 

Efficiency was Aymar's hallmark. Within hours, he had assessed the state of the first team's roster, analyzing player capabilities, strengths, and weaknesses. By the time he stepped onto the first team's training pitch for the first time, he had a clear picture of what needed to change. 

There were still five minutes before the start of the session as Aymar paused to take it all in. The training ground, with its pristine turf and modern facilities, was far superior to what he had grown accustomed to with the second team. The first team also had a larger support staff, but Aymar had insisted on bringing Pierino and Pippo along. Their support was invaluable, and he trusted them implicitly. 

Standing at the center of the training ground, Aymar turned to his assistants with a thoughtful smile. "Do you know what I'm thinking right now?" he asked, his tone curious yet resolute. 

Pierino shook his head, studying Aymar closely. Something about the young coach seemed different—more assured, more determined—but he couldn't quite put his finger on what had changed. 

"I'm thinking," Aymar said, his voice firm, "that now that I'm standing here, I will never go back to that place." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the second team's facilities, his eyes burning with resolve. 

For Aymar, coaching Hellas Verona's second team had been a grueling yet transformative experience. It had sharpened his skills and tested his patience, but it had also fueled his ambition. He had endured the challenges, but his sights were set far higher. 

This declaration carried a deeper implication: Aymar's unshakable confidence in himself. He believed wholeheartedly that he could succeed with the first team. He envisioned two possible outcomes—either he would establish himself firmly as the first team's coach, or he would prove enough to earn an opportunity at another club. Failure was not part of his plan. 

"You can do it," Pierino said, clapping Aymar on the shoulder with a smile of encouragement. 

Pippo nodded in agreement, his expression equally supportive. 

Aymar turned to both of them, his grin broadening. "As long as the three of us stick together, I refuse to believe there's anything we can't achieve." His words rang with conviction, infectious in their optimism. 

Pierino and Pippo couldn't help but smile, feeling a renewed sense of purpose in their partnership with Aymar. His confidence wasn't just inspiring—it was galvanizing. They exchanged determined nods, united in their commitment to tackle the challenges ahead. 

The minutes ticked by, drawing closer to the scheduled start of training, yet the first team's training ground remained eerily empty. Aymar Zambo stood in the center, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the entrances. His assistants, Pierino Fanna and Pippo Glaviano, stood nearby, exchanging concerned glances but saying nothing. 

Finally, just moments before the official start time, Cassani, Louis Hutt, and a few others sauntered onto the pitch. Their casual demeanor quickly shifted to surprise as they noticed Aymar, flanked by Pierino and Pippo, standing firmly on the first team's ground. 

"Line up!" Aymar barked coldly, his voice slicing through the morning air. 

Cassani and Hutt exchanged nervous glances but obeyed immediately, their steps quickening as they fell into line. Aymar's expression carried a chill they recognized all too well from their time in the second team. It was an expression that brooked no argument. 

Silently, they stood upright, suppressing their curiosity. Their instincts told them this was no time for casual chatter. 

More players trickled in, one by one, their arrivals carefully recorded by Pippo, who held a stopwatch at Aymar's instruction. The mood was tense, with the late arrivals casting uneasy glances toward their new coach. 

When all 25 first-team players had finally assembled, Aymar stepped forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over the squad. 

"Good morning," he began, his voice steady but laced with authority. "For those of you who don't know me, my name is Aymar Zambo. Until recently, I was the head coach of the second team. Now, I am your acting head coach." 

"Good morning, coach," the players mumbled back, their response fragmented and uncoordinated. Some sounded disinterested, while others barely bothered to conceal their apathy. 

Aymar's brow furrowed, and his smile faded. He paused for a moment, letting the silence settle over the group. Those who had worked under him before recognized the look in his eyes: a storm was coming. 

"I should be happy to be here today," Aymar continued, his tone growing sharper, "but I'm not. And I'll tell you why." 

He stepped closer to the group, his intense gaze locking onto individual players, daring them to meet his eyes. 

"From your greeting just now," he said, his voice rising slightly, "I can already tell that some of you lack spirit, energy, and pride. That's unacceptable. A lack of breath in your voices suggests a lack of physical conditioning. And let me make one thing very clear: players who can't keep up physically have no place in this team." 

His words hit hard, and the players stood straighter, the lazy postures quickly disappearing. 

"If you think this is going to be a walk in the park, think again," Aymar snapped. "From now until our next match—the 22nd round of the league—I will be reducing this squad from 25 players to 23. Two of you will be sent to the second team." 

A ripple of unease passed through the group. Players who had considered themselves safe from scrutiny now felt a cold dose of reality. 

"But don't think for a second that being sent to the second team means you can relax. There, you'll earn the standard salary of the second team. Nothing more. So if you want to stay here, earn your keep. Prove that you deserve to wear this jersey." 

The mention of reduced salaries caused some players' expressions to harden. In professional football, money was a powerful motivator, and Aymar knew exactly how to wield it. 

"I've already discussed this with the club," Aymar continued. "They've assured me that it's possible to adjust your contracts if necessary. So, if you want to keep your first-team privileges, I expect you to give everything you have, starting now." 

Sure enough, after hearing Aymar Zambo's words, the players who had initially seemed indifferent began to sit up and take notice. They quickly realized that this young coach was not as brash or heavy-handed as Gillo Urso had been, but he clearly had a knack for psychological maneuvering. His calm, calculated demeanor hinted at a deeper understanding of motivation—and manipulation. 

This coach was not going to be easy to deal with. 

"I'm a realist," Aymar began, his tone steady but commanding. "I believe you've all heard the rumors. I'm not here to sugarcoat things or give you empty promises like some of my predecessors. I'm only interested in one thing: results. And I have one simple, unbreakable rule." 

He raised his right index finger high, ensuring every player's attention was locked on him. 

"You became professional footballers for one reason: to make a living. To earn money and provide for yourselves and your families. And guess what? I'm no different. We have the same goal. But to achieve that goal, we must work together. If we don't, this team—and every one of you—will be doomed." 

Aymar paused, letting his words hang in the air before continuing. 

"Some of you may be thinking about jumping ship, transferring to another club, or even quitting entirely. I know some players have already left. But let me ask you this: Do you really think that if Hellas Verona is relegated this season, you'll somehow escape the fallout? Do you believe another team will see you as anything other than the players who abandoned their club when it needed you most?" 

He scanned the group, his intense gaze sweeping over each player. "I'll answer that for you: No. It's impossible. Because if we fail, you'll carry that stigma for the rest of your careers. Fans, club management, and coaches alike will remember you as the ones who gave up. And tell me—who would want to sign a player with that reputation? Who would trust you?" 

Aymar let the silence speak for a moment, the weight of his words pressing on the players. Then, he leaned forward, his voice rising with conviction. "The answer is simple: No one. No coach, no club, no fans. If you fail here, you fail everywhere." 

He took a step back, his hands sweeping outward for emphasis. "But it doesn't have to be this way. If you commit now—if you fight for this team, for your futures—we can change the narrative. You can prove yourselves as players who rise to the occasion when the odds are stacked against them." 

Aymar's voice crescendoed. "So I'm giving you a choice: Fight with me, or walk away. But understand this—if you walk away, there's no coming back." 

The players, initially subdued, now stood straighter, their expressions a mix of determination and unease. Aymar's words had struck a chord, challenging their pride and planting a seed of doubt about the consequences of failure. 

Meanwhile, in Aymar's mind, the CoachMaster Guidance System activated, its sleek interface appearing as he focused inward. Navigating to the store section, he reviewed a selection of tools and enhancements. Among them was a service designed to restore player morale—a scroll that could boost the spirit of an entire team, albeit at the cost of achievement points. 

The system, ever business-savvy, presented options with clear precision. It would cost 1 achievement point to restore team morale by 10%, 3 points for 20%, 7 points for 30%, and so on, with the price nearly doubling for every additional 10% increment. Restoring morale completely, from 0% to 100%, demanded an astronomical 1,023 achievement points—a cost far beyond Aymar's current means. 

This service offered immediate results, with morale improvements taking effect within an hour. However, the impact would fluctuate after each game, depending on the team's performance—remaining steady with solid play, but declining sharply after poor results. 

Aymar's grim expression deepened as he assessed the situation. The morale of Hellas Verona's players was alarmingly low. Even Cassani, typically one of the more confident figures, was stuck at just 35 points, while others hovered around a meager 46. The numbers painted a bleak picture. Even if Aymar exhausted every last achievement point in his possession, he couldn't hope to restore the squad to full morale. 

The system offered an alternative: a long-term morale improvement service. This option restored morale incrementally over periods of 3 days, 5 days, 1 week, 2 weeks, or even a month. Although it lacked the immediate impact of the first option, it came at a more manageable cost. Additionally, the long-term service promised more sustainable results, with morale improving based on team performance, stabilizing with satisfactory play, or declining after poor showings. 

Faced with limited options, Aymar painfully parted with 40 achievement points to purchase the week-long morale restoration service, which would bring the team's morale to 80% by their next game. The decision left him with a mere 8 achievement points—weeks of hard-earned progress wiped away in an instant. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but one he knew was necessary. 

If this group doesn't have the drive to fight, then I'll drag them to the finish line myself. 

Aymar Zambo's piercing gaze swept across the players, his expression sharp and unyielding. No one in the lineup could fully understand the weight of his frustration, but the ferocity in his eyes sent a ripple of unease through the group. A few players shifted nervously, caught off guard by the young coach's intensity. 

"A lot of people are saying we're finished," Aymar began, his voice sharp and commanding. "That Hellas Verona is done for." 

He paced back and forth in front of the players, his movements deliberate and his tone biting. "I heard it all back when I was coaching the second team. Do you know what I thought when they said it?" He stopped abruptly, raising a defiant middle finger. "That's what I thought." 

The players stared, some surprised, others fighting back smirks. Aymar let the gesture hang in the air for a moment before continuing. 

"I was pissed," he said, his voice rising. "Because those so-called experts, those photographers and columnists who wouldn't know the first thing about football, had the nerve to say we were done. They judged us as relegation fodder. They didn't just insult me—they insulted all of you. They're calling you weak, saying you don't have what it takes." 

His finger jabbed toward the players, the accusation hanging heavily in the air. A few of them bristled, anger flickering in their expressions. 

One player, emboldened by the tension, spoke up. "And what about you, coach? Are you saying you're not part of the mess we're in?" 

Aymar paused, a smile spreading across his face. "Good. You're angry. That's a start. But let me ask you this—if you're so angry, why don't you show it on the pitch? Why don't you take that fury out on our opponents instead of sulking in the dressing room or bickering amongst yourselves?" 

He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a scathing tone. "Or are you only tough off the field? If that's the case, congratulations—you've just earned the title of the softest team in football." 

The insult landed like a slap. Aymar watched as indignation simmered among the players, their expressions hardening. He pressed on. 

"I'm not Gillo Urso," Aymar said firmly. "I'm not afraid of you, and I'm certainly not worried about what you might say behind my back. But let me make one thing very clear: if any of you step out of line, I'll retaliate tenfold. Test me if you don't believe it." 

The players, many of whom had faced tougher challenges in their careers, felt an unfamiliar sense of trepidation. There was something about Aymar's conviction that left even the most hardened among them momentarily speechless. 

"I'm here for one reason," Aymar continued, his voice rising with passion. "To win. To avoid relegation. I refuse to let this team leave the professional leagues in disgrace. If we lose, we'll lose fighting. We'll make every opponent regret underestimating us. And when they leave the pitch, they'll have no choice but to respect us." 

He stopped pacing and turned to face the group fully, his tone hardening. "If you can't meet my expectations, leave now. I won't beg you to stay, and I won't compromise my goals for anyone. If I have to field a team of second-string players, I will—and we'll still fight. But if you choose to stay, understand this: every single one of you will work harder than you've ever worked before. You'll sweat, you'll bleed, and you'll push past every limit you think you have. If you slack off, I promise you'll regret it." 

He paused, his intense gaze sweeping over the players. "But if you give everything—if you fight like hell—then I promise you this: we'll earn our redemption. Football is fair to those who commit." 

Aymar gestured toward the exit. "You have a choice. If you want out, now's the time. If you stay, know that you're staying to fight." 

The silence that followed was heavy. One by one, the players looked around, searching for someone to make the first move. But no one left. Slowly, the unease gave way to determination. They stayed. 

Aymar's expression softened into a satisfied smile. "Good. You didn't let me down. Welcome to hell, gentlemen." 

With that, he turned sharply and strode toward the training pitch, leaving the players standing taller than they had moments ago. The fire had been lit, and the battle to save Hellas Verona had begun. 

... 

... 

While Aymar Zambo was sternly punishing latecomers on the training ground, a group of reporters gathered in Hellas Verona's modest, cluttered office to hear Giambattista Pastorello address the press. The atmosphere was as bleak as the club's current fortunes, with faded walls and outdated furniture mirroring its struggles. 

The media's skepticism was palpable. They questioned the club's bold decision to entrust the first team to a 23-year-old head coach. While Aymar's achievements with the second team in the Serie Leggera had been impressive, they argued it was hardly comparable to the pressure and challenges of managing a squad in Serie B. 

"How can you entrust the future of the first team to someone so inexperienced?" one reporter asked pointedly. 

Pastorello's response was calm but resolute. "We have full confidence in Aymar Zambo. His work with the second team demonstrated his potential, and under the current circumstances, this is the best decision for the club. Sometimes, bold decisions lead to great outcomes." 

The press conference was brief, lasting no more than a few minutes. When Pastorello announced its conclusion, a reporter from La Gazzetta dello Sport requested an interview with Aymar himself. Pastorello hesitated, clearly reluctant, but eventually yielded to the journalist's persistence. 

The reporters followed Pastorello out to the training ground, arriving just as Aymar was leading an intense session. Players were visibly struggling under the demanding drills, their exhaustion evident, but Aymar showed no sign of relenting. His dark eyes burned with focus as he pushed the team harder than any of them had expected. 

"He's really the head coach?" one journalist muttered with a mocking laugh. 

Another chimed in, shaking his head. "Everyone knows you don't ramp up the training load mid-season—it's a surefire way to get players injured. And they just played a match yesterday! What's he trying to do, break them?" 

The group of reporters exchanged disdainful glances, their skepticism deepening as they observed the session. Still, curiosity got the better of them, and they began walking toward the training ground. 

Just as they were about to step onto the pitch, Pierino Fanna appeared from the sidelines, jogging briskly to intercept them.