The morning sun bled through the grey clouds hanging low over Lecce's training ground, casting a kind of rusty glow over everything. It wasn't raining, not yet anyway, but there was a stillness in the air, a tension that mirrored the upcoming fixture against Fiorentina. The silence was broken only by the occasional clink of metal and the soft murmur of early morning conversations. Alex Walker stood in front of his squad, hands clasped behind his back, as he took in the sight of his players finishing up their warm-ups. The faint hum of cleats scraping against the gravel set a steady, rhythmic sound in the background.
He looked around at his team. Some of the boys still had groggy eyes as they shuffled in, barely awake, while others had already bounced on their feet, full of focus and eagerness. There was a mix of determination and nervous energy in the air, like the calm before the storm that was Fiorentina.
"Alright," Alex began, his voice sharp and commanding as he stepped forward. It cut through the quiet like a blade through paper. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. Fiorentina? They're good. Really fucking good. Their quality is, let's be honest, miles ahead of where we are right now."
A few heads nodded in agreement, though some of the younger players stiffened at the brutal honesty. Alex knew that sometimes the truth hurt at first, but it was necessary. His eyes swept across the room until they found those of his captain, Baschirotto. The old pro still had that edge in him, even as the team was trying to find its own identity.
"But here's the thing," Alex continued, locking eyes with Baschirotto as if daring him to disagree. "We don't give a shit about quality gaps. Not this week, not on that pitch. Because we're not going to try to play pretty football. No tiki-taka, no positional play. We're going full Haram Ball."
At that moment, the entire locker room erupted into laughter. The tension broke for a moment and the boys began exchanging amused, almost incredulous looks.
"Coach said the forbidden word!" Dorgu grinned widely as he pointed dramatically at his teammates.
"You mean long balls Insha'Allah?" Ramadani chuckled, his voice mixing sarcasm with approval.
Alex let a small, satisfied smirk creep onto his face. "No, I mean blocks so low they belong in Mordor. I mean defending like your mother's life depends on it. I mean tactical fouls, time-wasting, and counter-attacks like lightning striking outta nowhere."
A ripple of laughter and a few playful boos went around the room. "So… Mourinho football?" asked Krstovic with a cheeky tone, clearly teasing but also hinting at his admiration for the hard-nosed style.
"Hey, if parking the bus gets us three points, I'll drive the damn thing myself," Alex shot back, and just like that, the room burst into more laughter. The tension had shifted, and now a sense of camaraderie mixed with the seriousness of their task.
But then, as the laughter died down, Alex's tone shifted to something more serious, more grounded. He locked eyes with each of them in turn, ensuring that every boy knew the importance of what was coming next.
"Look, all jokes aside. The most important thing is this: we win. That's it. That's the whole goal. Because history never remembers the team that played well and lost. They only remember the winners." His words hung heavy in the room for a moment as silence replaced the earlier mirth. Slowly, every player straightened their back a little more, and the fire in their eyes started to spark. They might not yet fully grasp the magnitude of the task, but they understood what was at stake.
Alex then walked over to a small table and picked up a remote control. With a click, he turned to the projector screen behind him and illuminated a tactical board. The bright colors of the formations and annotations brought the training ground into sharper focus for everyone gathered there.
"We're playing a 3-5-2. Or 5-3-2 depending on how you see it," he explained, his voice firm and unwavering. "The wingbacks, you are gonna be deep. I mean deep. Gallo, Dorgu, when they come at you down your side, I want you practically sitting in our box."
"Sounds comfy," Dorgu muttered under his breath, earning a few chuckles from his teammates.
Alex continued without missing a beat. "If they're attacking on one side, the opposite wingback pushes just a little higher. Just enough to become an outlet for counters. If they're on the left, Gallo, you are the release valve. If they're on the right, Dorgu, that's your cue."
He clicked the remote again to advance to the next slide on the tactical board. "Midfield trio, Ramadani, Berisha, and Gonzalez, you'll need to be smart. When they switch flanks, one of you slides deep to cover the weak side. Anticipate the switch. Don't ball-watch."
Ramadani raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "So, we're playing the whole match like underdogs?" he asked, trying to mask both the challenge and his excitement.
Alex nodded firmly. "Yeah. But underdogs with teeth. You're not chasing the ball, you are setting traps. You're cutting lanes. And when we get the ball, we hit hard, fast, and ruthlessly."
The players looked around at each other, sharing a mixture of disbelief and adrenaline-fueled determination. They might not have had the quality of Fiorentina, but they had heart. And sometimes heart was the best weapon of all.
"And remember," Alex added, his voice dropping to a tone heavy with conviction, "Fiorentina will underestimate us. Good, let them. Because when the whistle blows, they won't know what hit them."
With the plan laid out in precise detail, the squad spilled out onto the pitch. The training session progressed from simple warm-ups to more intricate passing drills, and eventually evolved into full-blown tactical simulation. Alex was everywhere at once, barking orders, correcting body positions, pulling players aside to demonstrate adjustments. He wasn't just coaching today; he was building a wall, a barrier that would hold up against any attack. His eyes, sharp and assessing, missed nothing.
Later, as the session shifted its focus, Alex turned his attention to the forwards. They stayed behind for extra work. Krstovic, Piccoli, Dorgu, and Banda huddled together on one side of the pitch as they worked through finishing drills. They practiced sharp cuts, one-touch finishes, and rapid movements in confined spaces. Alex paced behind them, occasionally stepping in to reposition a leg, adjust a run, or correct a shot. His tone was rough but caring.
Alex decided to let Dorgu train with them. He was trying to make him into an Alphonso Davies type of player. A winger/fullback hybrid.
Man I really hope that United don't come and take him away
"Too soft!" he roared, frustration mingling with his passion. "If you're going to shoot like that, you might as well hand the keeper a fucking pillow every time!"
"Yes, coach!" Banda yelled, half laughing, half out of sheer determination to improve.
The drills continued until the sun began its slow descent behind the low grey clouds, painting the sky with shades of orange and red. By the time training wrapped up, most of the first-team squad had filtered toward the showers. They were exhausted, drenched in sweat, but a buzz of tactical preparation still thrummed in their veins. It wasn't glamorous, and it wasn't sexy, but it felt like something real, something different from the everyday game.
A/N: Bonus chapter if we make it to 50 Power Stones this week, or three reviews. Two if we smash both targets