The training facility conference room was unremarkable but functional — white walls with fluorescent lights and a worn-down AC unit to fight off the oppressive June heat. Sitting at the end of the table was a familiar sight: stocky build, baldy with sophistication, arms crossed over a CD Tenerife training coat. His name tag on an office supply from Santa Cruz de Tenerife read: Víctor Ortega – Asistente Técnico.
As soon as Laurence entered the room, Víctor stood.
"Míster," he said, nodding and sounding very low and gravelly — probably from all the years screaming directives from dugouts across Spain. "You alright? You haven't said a peep since we were promoted; thought you were going to pop and bounce off the walls after the Granada game."
Laurence pivoted mentally. This was the assumed right-hand man from season past. He had no intention of letting on how lost he truly was. So, he managed a nonchalant nod but slightly cautious.
"Just...collecting my thoughts. It has been a few days — a whirlwind."
Víctor's gruff laugh emerged. "That's fair. You deserve it. But we have to get down to business, míster. We have a sporting director hanging around."
He motioned toward the glass door, and the two walked quickly to the neighboring office, where another man sat, flipping through documents like someone who had done the exact same thing dozens of times before. He was tall, thin, clean-shaven, and despite the heat he was wearing a nicely fitted navy suit. The man was standing when they entered.
"Laurence," he said with a pleasant smile, and a formal handshake. "Glad to see you. I'm Santiago Llorente. We met last season, but you were a little... preoccupied with the playoff chase."
Laurence offered a half-smile. "Yes, sorry--life was a little crazy."
"Not a problem. You achieved what no one expected. Now we have to achieve what everyone expects."
They found seats around the desk. Santiago slid a folder towards Laurence.
"Here's the whole story--squad status, contract situations, budget, loans, and... well, the unhappy ones."
Laurence opened the folder, and the first sheet was blunt and straight to the point.
Transfer Requests / Exit Interests:
Nino (ST, 36): Requested to leave based on age and lack of guarantees in top flight. Has clubs in the Segunda interested but no formal offers. If presented with a coaching pathway, he may go back on that request.
Mikel Alonso (CM, 30): Wants to move back to the Basque Country for family reasons.
Juanlu Hens (RW, 26): Agent is pushing for a move to a mid-table La Liga team. Valencia and Getafe have made inquiries.
Marc Bertrán (RB, 28): Willing to renew, but expects wages to increase. Girona are interested.
Laurence grimaced. "Nino wants to leave?"
Víctor moved in closer with a whisper. "He has been our heart the last two seasons. But he is too realistic. He is tired. He does not think he can finish a full campaign in the top flight, He would rather go out with dignity than sit on the bench for a year.
"He would be right," Santiago said. "But he is contracted for another year. You can ask him. I think he respects you."
Laurence nodded slowly. Nino was a player, and the top scorer last season, and a real locker-room figurehead to his team, and a real symbol to the fans. But 36 years old in La Liga is a ballpark, and Laurence appreciated that in this world, this timeline, romance isn't always in sync with reality.
He turned the page.
Loan Players returning to Parent Club:
Saúl Fernández (AM): Returning to Deportivo.
Cristian García (LB): Return confirmed to Córdoba.
Aitor Núñez (RB): Loan expired.
The squad's depth was already being whittled away, and preseason hadn't even started.
Laurence turned to Santiago. "What's the budget?"
The sporting director brought out a sheet of paper and slid it toward them.
2020–11 CD Tenerife Budget Summary:
Transfer Budget: €2.4mn
Wage budget: ~€9.2mn total
Wage cap available: ~€1.1mn left to spend
La Liga TV Revenue Projection: +€5.5mn (total allocation made across club)
Laurence did not break his gaze from the numbers. By La Liga standards, La Liga TV Revenues were at their lowest. Even at this point last year with promoted sides such as Hércules and Levante, they were better off marginally.
"We are poor," he said bluntly, feeling the enormity of the situation.
"We're broke," Víctor easily smiled throughout his correction.
"However we are shrewd," Santiago added. "And what we are doing is thinking ahead. Preparing ourselves almost in advance for the timeframe we have left. Because we have already had some success with free agents and our eye is on Segunda captains with contracts expiring. We need robustness, not luxury. The players we want are those who are going to bleed to survive".
Laurence ran his fingertips across the table. "We can't outspend, so we will outthink. Organised mid-blocks. Quick transitions. Set plays must be our staple diet".
Víctor smiled. "You sound like last year again."
"Only this year it matters ten times more."
Laurence turned to the next page and there was a list of scout targets and future meetings listed. One name stood out.
Neymar - Santos FC (17) - Scouted during Copa São Paulo. No idea on the asking price.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is this real?"
Santiago laughed. "Just a note from our Brazilian contact. It's not possible for us - he's already monitored by Madrid, Chelsea, and Milan. But our scout thinks he's the real deal."
Laurence closed the folder, feeling a little smile emerge. "Sometimes the real deals come out of nowhere. But I'm okay with being realistic for now."
Víctor stood up, arms stretched out. "Preseason starts July 5th. We have two weeks to fill in the holes, míster."
Santiago looked over and shook his hand, firmly. "We'll get you everything we can. You just keep us in this league."
As Laurence walked out the door, with Víctor walking next to him, he felt it again - not dread, but anticipation.
This was his group now. His fight. And the level of readiness didn't matter - La Liga was on its way.