First Training Session

The summer heat in Verona was intense, typical of northern Italy in July. Though it wasn't as humid as his home in Cameroon, the sun bore down steadily, and Aymar could feel the warmth rising from the ground as he arrived early at Hellas Verona's training facilities. 

Hellas Verona's second team was essentially the club's reserve squad, following a structured training regimen but with limited resources. As a mid-tier club working with a tight budget, Verona prioritized its senior team. The facilities for the reserve and youth squads were functional but modest—good enough to maintain standards, though not as polished as those of Italy's top-flight clubs. 

Curious to assess his squad's abilities, Aymar accessed the CoachMaster Guidance System, scanning the rosters of both Verona's second team and youth academy. The system confirmed what he suspected: there was depth in numbers, but few players with standout potential. However, he saw opportunities for improvement, sensing that with the right training, he could draw out their hidden capabilities. 

Discipline, however, was a clear strength of the team. Italian clubs, known for their attention to structure and routine, valued punctuality and respect for hierarchy, and Hellas Verona's players were no exception. No one arrived late, and everyone followed orders closely—a solid foundation for team cohesion. 

When training time arrived, Aymar moved to the sidelines. The players assembled with precision, forming three orderly lines, their expressions serious and attentive. Each player stood silently, eyes fixed on the young head coach in front of them, prepared to tackle the day's session. 

After sweeping his gaze over the team, Aymar noted that the youngest player was only 16, his face fresh and youthful. Some of the older players were closer to his own age but looked worn out. Now, they all stood before him, obedient and attentive, like students before a strict teacher. A sense of satisfaction stirred in Aymar. 

But what truly caught his attention was a familiar figure in the group. 

"Hey, who's that young guy?" one of the parents whispered from the sidelines. 

"He's so young—is he the new coach for the youth team?" 

"Yeah, he's been around the club for a couple of months now. He came here at the end of last season and had been working with Gillo and the first team. But he apparently got into it with Gillo yesterday, got himself punched, and now he's been sent to the youth team as a warning!" 

"And look at his face—still swollen from the hit! It's probably a lesson from Gillo." 

The spectators around the field, many of them parents of the players, murmured among themselves. Some were retirees who came to watch their children or grandchildren play, offering encouragement whenever they could. 

But Aymar didn't see this encouragement as helpful—it was, in fact, counterproductive in his eyes. 

Just then, he saw Pippo Glaviano approaching with a reluctant expression. Aymar called out, "Hey, Pippo, perfect timing! I need a favor!" 

Pippo gave a wry smile. "Is this my first task now that I'm officially on the youth team?" 

Aymar's eyes widened. "Wait, demoted to the youth team? Does that mean…" 

Pippo shrugged. "Yeah, Gillo threw me down here too." 

"God… I'm sorry, Pippo. This is my fault. If it weren't for me…" Aymar's heart sank, recalling the talk they'd had about Pippo's deep connection to Verona and his father's legacy. 

"Don't apologize—it's not your fault," Pippo interrupted. "If anything, I'm unlucky for getting dragged into it." 

Aymar took a deep breath, glancing toward the first-team training area. Not far off, he saw Gillo Urso observing them, his expression one of indifference. Aymar clenched his fists. "It's fine, Pippo. Trust me, Gillo won't be on his high horse for long. I'll make sure he's out of here." 

Pippo followed Aymar's gaze toward Gillo, gritting his teeth. "Yeah, he deserves a lesson. It's time to prove that his outdated methods have no place here. This isn't the Verona of the past; Italian football is changing, and he's been left behind." 

"Exactly!" Aymar replied, clapping Pippo on the shoulder with a grin. 

"So, what do you need from me, Aymar?" Pippo asked, his motivation renewed. 

Aymar pointed toward the group of parents on the sidelines. "Get them all out of the training area." 

Pippo's jaw dropped. "Them? Those are the players' parents—they're here to support their kids!" 

"I know," Aymar replied calmly. "If they weren't, I wouldn't be asking you to send them off." 

"Why?" Pippo asked, still baffled. 

Aymar looked at him with a serious expression. "Time is valuable, Pippo. I'll explain later. Just do it for now, please." 

With a resigned sigh, Pippo gathered a few staff members and politely started directing the parents away from the training ground. It didn't take long for a chorus of protests to rise up, with some of the parents muttering under their breath and even resorting to racial slurs against Aymar. The tension was clear, but the staff remained calm as they escorted the parents out. 

The commotion on the sidelines caught the players' attention, and they turned to watch. 

"Like what you're seeing?" Aymar asked with a smirk. 

A few players nodded, but Aymar's expression grew stern. 

"If you're interested, you're free to join them outside. Because from now on, this isn't a playground—this is a training ground, and more importantly, a battlefield," Aymar said, his tone hardening. "Not a battlefield of fouls and cheap shots, but one of discipline and skill. When you're here, you follow the rules of football. Yet from what I've seen, you've been far from that." 

Aymar's voice was filled with contempt. He knew from the memories he'd absorbed that the youth team had a reputation for overly aggressive, sloppy play, with frequent fouling. Instead of correcting this behavior, coaches and parents alike had allowed it to continue, hindering the players' development. 

Pippo listened in silence, finally understanding why Aymar had sent the parents away; they were part of the reason for the youth team's lack of discipline. 

Aymar continued, "I've reviewed your past performances. Many of you have played in youth leagues over the last two seasons. And let me be clear: I don't see anything to be proud of. In fact, I'm embarrassed for you, because you didn't win a single game last season." 

A player at the front opened his mouth to speak, but Aymar cut him off with a wave. "I know what you're going to say—many of your opponents in the regional league were adult teams. But that's no excuse. They're amateurs, while you're aiming to be professionals!" 

The players fell silent, unable to argue. They hadn't produced any results that could refute Aymar's words. 

"Today marks my first training session with you. And the first thing you need to understand is that all those fouling tricks and shortcuts stop here. If you waste time on those, your opponents will already be past you, scoring goals." 

Aymar's tone was firm. "My demand for this team is simple: no unnecessary fouls. I want to win matches fairly, with skill, not by relying on cheap tactics. Every one of you is expected to give 100% for the entire 90 minutes, no exceptions. I won't tolerate any lack of discipline, any shortcuts. That is my first rule, and you'd better remember it." 

"Second, my tactics are precise and detailed. The team will need to be restructured—there are too many players here right now. The ideal number for me is 23 to 25, which means at least 10 players will need to be cut. And I'm not ruling out the possibility of bringing in new players from outside, so it's likely that even more of you will be leaving." 

"Let me make this very clear: don't think you can keep your spot by pulling strings or putting pressure on me. I've already agreed with Gillo that I have full authority over the youth team. If I say you stay, you stay. If I say you go, then even if God himself speaks for you, you're out!" 

Aymar's words were firm and unyielding, sending a clear message to the players of his stern determination. 

"As for how I'll be selecting players, it's simple. I value players with skill and tactical awareness. I have no use for players who rely solely on fouling or underhanded tricks. If you want to stay, you'll have to prove yourself to me in terms of both technique and intelligence." 

"Finally, my third point is about rewards. There will be rewards and penalties. This is my rule. For every game, whether it's a warm-up or a league match, I'll rate each player's performance based on their position and impact on the field. The top three players will receive a reward of €5 each, while the bottom three will face penalties. My penalty is simple: double the training workload, and the worst performer risks being cut from the team." 

As soon as Aymar finished speaking, the players began murmuring among themselves in surprise. 

Five euros may not sound like much, but for these young players who didn't even have a salary, it was a significant amount, comparable to a day's pay for an adult. Their eyes lit up with excitement. 

Pippo, however, was uneasy. He leaned over to Aymar and whispered, "Are you sure about this? I don't think the club has any kind of budget for rewards. Even the senior players only get a minimal salary without bonuses. This isn't normal for the youth team." 

"The rules are made by people, Pippo. And as the head coach of the youth team, I get to decide our rules. Don't worry—I know the club won't cover this, so I'll be paying out of my own salary," Aymar replied with a grin. To him, results were more important than the small portion of his pay he'd be sacrificing. 

"Sometimes, you have to take risks to get results," Aymar thought, seeing it as an investment. His modest salary would cover the rewards, and if it could buy him stronger performances and a better reputation, the money was well spent. 

Pippo was stunned but impressed. He saw that Aymar wasn't just about scaring the players into obedience. He was serious about motivating them, using both rewards and discipline to get the best results. 

"And finally," Aymar announced, "I'm setting new discipline rules for the youth team. First, no one is to be late for training. Sessions will start on time. Anyone who is late will be barred from that day's training and will have to work out alone in the gym. Persistent lateness will result in expulsion from the team." 

Aymar's words sent a shock through the players. They were used to a more relaxed structure, but his intense gaze silenced any objections. 

Aymar could see the players' reactions as he laid out the new discipline. Once the rules were clear, he took it a step further to drive the message home. 

"I know some of you are upset," he said, glancing around. "But I don't care, because whether you like it or not, I am now your head coach. I have the final say on your future here, and you will follow my instructions. Football is survival of the fittest. If you don't like my methods, show me something better." 

He paused, taking note of the determination—or lack thereof—in the faces of these young players. "Don't doubt for a second that my discipline will fade over time. As long as I'm here, these standards remain. Without iron discipline, it's impossible to create a team with the strength and unity needed to win." 

"Some of you might be promising players, some of you may have been regular starters, and some of you might even have connections in the club. But none of that matters to me. In my team, I value one thing above all—attitude. My goal is to turn each of you, from scattered individuals, into a cohesive unit capable of dominating on the field." 

"Physical fitness, attitude, technique, tactics, awareness—these are the fundamentals of football, just as important as our own hands and feet. I won't separate them, but instead, through training, I aim to blend them seamlessly and push each of you to improve." 

Aymar's gaze was intense as he continued. "My football philosophy is simple: attack, attack, and attack. We'll use offense to dismantle the opposition's defense, to crush their will, and to secure victory with more goals. Every player on my team must have the fighting spirit to push forward relentlessly, right until the final whistle." 

He could see a spark in some of the players' eyes as they listened. "You went an entire season without a win. I don't know how that sits with you, but I believe that anyone with ambition and pride wouldn't accept such a failure. You should want to prove yourselves, to fight against that record, not just roll over and accept it." 

"I won't allow cowards to stay on my team. If you lack the desire to win, you're free to leave right now. I won't hold anyone back. But for those who choose to stay and prove their worth, know that you're in for grueling training. And I promise that if you endure, you'll see the rewards." 

These words were ones Aymar had thought about carefully. This was his first time coaching an official team, and he was determined to make a lasting impression and set a clear standard from the beginning. 

After he finished speaking, a few minutes passed as the players whispered among themselves. Not one of them left the field, and Aymar exchanged a glance with Pippo, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It was a good start, though he knew the real test was yet to come. 

That morning, Aymar had arranged a pre-season training session focused on building physical endurance. Pippo, who had studied training methods at the prestigious Coverciano National Technical Center—Italy's top institution for coaching and sports science—and had experience with professional fitness routines, was well-equipped to lead this part of the session. 

In the afternoon, Aymar introduced ball control drills and small-group exercises. For the last 30 minutes, he split the players into teams for a full-field scrimmage, ensuring they experienced the intensity of live gameplay. 

The players quickly noticed that Aymar's approach was different from past coaches. The training schedule was compact, with every drill and exercise carefully organized. Though each session was limited to 90 minutes, the intensity was high, and each player had just enough time to recover before moving to the next drill. It was clear that Aymar had come prepared. 

Despite the short duration, the training was exhausting. 

Throughout the session, Aymar moved along the sidelines, calling out players by name whenever he noticed someone slacking off. He'd spent the night memorizing each player's name, and by now he knew them all. 

When the 90 minutes ended, the players were utterly spent, collapsing onto the field in exhaustion. 

By the end of the first day, three or four players were already complaining in the locker room. And this was just the beginning. They could only imagine what it would be like if such intense training continued every day—and wondered how long they could keep up.