Chapter 250: Valencia Noise

Chapter 250: Valencia Noise

The January transfer window doesn’t sound like cheering fans or a kicked ball. It’s more of a constant buzz of vibrating phones, quiet hallway chats and endless trade rumors.

By the second week of January, that buzz around Crawley Town had become impossible to ignore.

Niels sat in his office, staring at the iPad that Sports Director Emma Hayes had just slid across his desk. She looked tired holding a black coffee in one hand as she tapped the screen.

"They aren’t just testing the waters anymore," Emma said. "His agent is feeding stories to the Spanish press twice a day. Marca ran a two-page spread this morning, and AS has him on their homepage."

Niels looked at the tablet. The translated Spanish article featured a big photo of Dev Patel in his Crawley jersey right next to Valencia’s Mestalla stadium.

The headline read: The £27 Million Diamond: Valencia’s Future Attacking Option.

27 million pounds.

For a League One club like Crawley, that was life-changing money. It could pay for a new training facility, rebuild the academy, and secure the team’s finances for a decade.

"Richard and Mr. Hargreaves are trying to keep a lid on it," Emma said, sitting down across from Niels. "But the board is getting anxious. You can’t just ignore a 27million pound bid. I’m doing my best with the agent, but he’s pushing hard. He wants Dev in Spain by the end of the month."

Niels sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And what does the player want?"

"He says he wants to focus on playing," Emma replied, though she didn’t sound completely convinced. "But he’s only twenty. You can’t be linked to a major La Liga club for that kind of money and pretend it isn’t happening. All this noise is getting to him."

"I’ll handle the player," Niels said, sliding the iPad back to her. "You keep the board calm. We have a promotion to win. I can’t have my best winger daydreaming about Spain when we’ve got a freezing match in Yorkshire coming up."

Emma gave a tight smile, grabbed her iPad and walked out.

An hour later, Niels was out on the training pitch. Thomas, the fitness coach was running the squad through short sprints, checking his tablet as they hit their marks.

"Heart rates look good," Thomas said, stepping back so Niels and Gary could take over. "They’ve recovered well from Colchester. Legs are fresh."

"Good," Niels nodded. "Gary, set up the small-sided games. Tight spaces. I want the ball moving fast. Two touches maximum in the middle, free play out wide."

As the team put on their practice bibs, Niels kept a close eye on Dev.

On the surface, the young winger seemed fine. He joked with Thiago, adjusted his snood against the cold and went through his stretches. If the multi-million-pound price tag was getting to him, he was hiding it well.

But Niels knew the truth would come out once the whistle blew.

The drill started fast, the ball zipping across the slick grass. Tom Whitehall and Kieron held down the middle, making sharp tackles and pushing the tempo.

A couple of minutes in, the ball was pinged out to Dev in space on the right wing.

Normally, Dev’s instincts were spot on. He’d take a soft touch, read the defender, and make a quick decision. If the space was there, he’d drive. If not, he’d pass and make a run.

This time, right-back Reece Darby sprinted past him on an overlap.

"Yes, Dev! Line! Line!" Reece shouted, pointing to all the empty space ahead. It was the easiest, most obvious pass to make.

Dev completely ignored him.

Instead of playing the ball down the line, Dev stopped it dead. He waited for Harry Thompson to step up and challenge him. When the big center-back got close, Dev tried a flashy double-stepover to nutmeg him and cut inside.

Thompson wasn’t having it. The veteran defender just planted his feet, read the trick, and stepped in with a hard, clean tackle to take the ball away.

"Unlucky, Dev. Keep it moving!" Gary shouted from the sideline.

Dev muttered something under his breath and jogged back into position, looking frustrated.

Five minutes later, it happened again.

Dev picked up a loose ball on the turn. Marc Jennings was closing in from the left, and Callum Haines cut off his angle to the goal.

Nate Sutton was standing wide open just ten yards away, waving for a simple pass.

Again, Dev put his head down. He tried to drag the ball back, spin away from Jennings, and thread an impossible pass with the outside of his foot through a gap that just wasn’t there.

The ball hit Haines right in the shins and bounced away.

"Come on, Dev! I’m right here!" Nate shouted, throwing his arms up.

Dev just waved him off, his jaw tight. He was forcing it. Instead of making the simple play, he was trying to do something spectacular every time he touched the ball.

He wasn’t playing the game in front of him, he was trying to play the way he thought a 27million pound player should.

Niels had seen enough.

"Hold it!" he shouted, blowing his whistle.

The drill stopped. The players paused, catching their breath as they looked at the manager.

Niels walked slowly across the pitch, his eyes locked on the young winger. He didn’t yell or wave his arms. He just stopped a few feet in front of Dev, his face completely blank.

"What are you doing?" Niels asked. His voice was low, but it carried enough weight to quiet the entire pitch.

Dev wiped sweat from his forehead, looking defensive. "Just trying to make something happen, boss. They were sitting deep."

"Reece overlapped," Niels said flatly. "He gave you a ten-yard passing lane, but you tried to nutmeg Harry. Then you had Nate completely open in the pocket, and you tried a trivela through two men."

"I saw the gap," Dev argued, frustration leaking into his voice. "I can make that pass."

"I don’t care if you can make it in training. It was the wrong decision."

Dev tensed. "I’m just trying to impact the game."

Niels stepped closer, looking Dev right in the eye. "You’re playing for Valencia instead of Crawley."

The comment landed hard. A few of the senior players, Liam and Max exchanged quiet glances, but no one said a word.

Dev’s face flushed. "That’s not fair. I’m not thinking about the transfer, boss. I’m right here. I’m giving everything for this club."

"Are you?" Niels asked quietly. There was no anger in his voice, just heavy disappointment. "Because we had this exact conversation a month ago in my office."

Dev swallowed hard, his defensive stance faltering for a second.

"You looked me in the eye and told me you wanted to wait until the end of the season," Niels continued, taking another step closer. "You said you wanted to win promotion with this group. I respected that. I backed you. I fought with the board members. But right now, I don’t see that player. I see a kid trying to produce a viral highlight reel every time he touches the ball, just to justify what’s in the Spanish papers."

Dev opened his mouth to argue, his fists clenched. "Boss, I’m just trying to.."

"If you want to leave, then leave," Niels cut in, his voice firm. "If your head is already in Spain, I’ll go upstairs, tell Emma to take the 27 million right now, and you can pack your bags today. I won’t hold you hostage."

Dev just stared at him, stunned into silence.

Niels pointed at the muddy grass beneath Dev’s boots.

"But if you’re staying," Niels said quietly, "then you give everything for this club. Stop playing like you have a price tag on your back, and start playing for the shirt. Words are cheap, Dev. Let your football answer the question."

Niels didn’t wait for a response. He held Dev’s gaze for a second before turning to his assistant.

"Gary. Blow the whistle. Start it again."

When the whistle blew, Dev froze. His chest was tight with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and an uncomfortable realization.

He wanted to be furious with Niels. He wanted to blame the manager for calling him out and giving him an ultimatum in front of everyone.

But as he dug his boots back into the wet turf and the drill restarted the truth sank in.

Niels was right.