Chapter 248: Starting Spot

Chapter 248: Starting Spot

Two days later, Jamal was back in full training.

He was one of the last to get fully cleared. His ankle was completely healed. The medical staff gave him the green light the tape came off and his fitness numbers were right back to where they were in November.

He was one hundred percent fit.

But Kieron was still the coach’s pick for the starting pivot role.

Niels stood on the edge of the pitch on Wednesday morning, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets as he watched the squad run through high-intensity passing circuits.

He had made his stance clear without holding a single meeting. Kieron had started the last three games, handling the immense pressure of the holiday schedule while anchoring the midfield and grinding out crucial results.

He had earned his minutes.

Taking his spot away simply because a senior player was healthy again would undermine the culture Niels had spent months building.

Everyone got a chance based on how well they played.

If you deserved to play, you played.

It was that simple.

And everyone understood it.

"Pace on the ball! Keep it moving!" Gary shouted, blowing his whistle as the squad transitioned into a nine-on-nine possession drill.

The drill was set up on a condensed pitch to force quick decisions and heavy pressing. Niels deliberately put Kieron in orange and Jamal in blue.

They were playing the exact same role for opposing sides, fighting for the same crowded pockets of grass in the middle of the park.

From the first whistle, the intensity was a massive step up from last week.

Jamal took a pass from his center-back. Usually, he relied on his elite vision and spatial awareness, taking a smooth touch gliding away from a defender and casually running the game.

But today, there was a sharp, aggressive edge to his movement.

As an orange shirt closed in, Jamal didn’t just pass and jog into space. He snapped the ball to his winger, dropped his shoulder, and sprinted thirty yards forward for the return pass, cutting right through the midfield.

When the winger lost the ball a second later, Jamal didn’t stop to complain. He dug his boots into the turf busted a gut to get back and threw himself into a hard sliding tackle on the wet grass to win it back.

It was a brilliant, aggressive challenge. The kind of tackle Jamal rarely had to make.

Niels watched quietly, giving a small nod. Jamal wasn’t just relying on his talent anymore. He was working for it. He was pushing his lungs and legs, proving to the manager he had the grit to win his spot back.

But if Jamal was turning up the dial physically, Kieron was evolving in a completely different way.

Before December, Kieron had been a quiet player. He was disciplined and aggressive he did his job, but he rarely spoke too much. He always left the shouting and organizing to the senior players.

But not anymore.

"Step up, Dev! Squeeze the space! Don’t let him turn!"

Kieron’s voice cut through the cold air, loud and commanding. He pointed sharply, directing the orange team’s backline.

When the blue team tried to force a pass into the channel, Kieron was already there, calmly stepping in to intercept.

"Hold it!" Kieron shouted. He put his foot on the ball, slowing the play and setting the tempo. He waved his right-back wider before pinging a simple, perfect twenty-yard pass into his stride.

Niels glanced at Gary. The assistant manager raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on his face.

"The kid found his voice," Gary muttered quietly.

"He found his confidence," Niels corrected, his eyes still locked on the pitch. "He finally realizes he belongs out there. He’s not just filling in anymore. He actually believes he runs that midfield."

"Makes your job a bit of a headache for Saturday, doesn’t it?" Gary asked.

"It’s the best headache a manager can have," Niels replied. "Look at the rest of them."

Gary looked past the two midfielders to watch the rest of the drill.

Niels was right. The battle between Jamal and Kieron was sending ripples through the entire squad.

With the two guys in the middle giving absolutely everything tackling harder, running faster, and shouting louder everyone else was forced to match the standard.

You couldn’t just jog through a drill when pivot was sliding through the mud to win a loose ball. You couldn’t hide when a twenty-year-old kid was screaming at you to hold the defensive line.

The passing was sharper. The pressing was suffocating. It was easily the highest quality session of the entire season.

The whistle blew to end the drill, and the players collapsed hands on their knees chests heaving in the freezing air.

Niels walked out into the middle of the pitch. He didn’t offer any grand praise. He just looked at the exhausted squad.

"Good tempo," he said simply. "That’s the baseline. Grab a drink. Back out here in two minutes for set pieces."

As the players trudged to the touchline for water, Niels lingered near the center circle. He watched Jamal and Kieron walk off together, both covered in mud and sweat.

There were no dirty looks or hostility. Jamal handed Kieron a water bottle, and they exchanged a quiet word about the torn-up pitch before taking a drink.

It was completely professional. They’d had their talk in the dressing room weeks ago and understood the terms. They were on the same team but once they stepped on the grass, they were going to war over the same spot in the lineup.

Later that afternoon, Niels sat in his office with his laptop screen glowing. The sports science team had just uploaded the morning’s GPS data. He sorted the spreadsheet by total distance and high-intensity sprints.

Jamal was at the very top. He had covered more ground today than in any session since Niels took over. He was pushing his absolute physical limits. Right below him, trailing by just a fraction of a kilometer was Kieron.

Niels leaned back staring at the two names. It was a massive decision, and a dangerous game. Keeping a player of Jamal’s caliber benched for too long would eventually breed resentment, no matter how well he was handling it right now.

But dropping Kieron when he was in the form of his life commanding the pitch and doing exactly what was asked could shatter his confidence and send a terrible message to the rest of the dressing room.

Someone was going to be disappointed when the team sheet went up on Friday.

That was unavoidable.

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Gary walked in and dropped a clipboard with the weekend’s finalized set-piece routines onto the desk.

"You figured out the midfield yet, boss?" Gary asked.

Niels closed his laptop, a quiet sense of resolve settling over him.

"I’ll figure it out on Friday," Niels said. "Let them keep fighting for it tomorrow. Let them keep raising the standard."

Gary nodded and turned toward the door. "They both want it."

"Of course, they do," Niels agreed with a smile, looking out the window at the empty training pitches.

The number six shirt wasn’t a given anymore. It wasn’t something you kept just because of your name, your salary, or what you did last season.

Jamal and Kieron both understood that perfectly now. And the squad was infinitely better for it.