Chapter 19: The Beginnings of Great Coaches
"What are you doing?!"
The furious shout shattered the silence of the courtyard.
Joshua Smith and Roy Saul both turned at the same time.
Standing at the entrance, still dressed in his work clothes, was a middle-aged man with an expression so dark it looked as if he were preparing to strangle someone on the spot.
"Uncle Saul!"
"Dad!"
The two voices rang out almost simultaneously.
Then—
Joshua and Roy turned toward each other with identical looks of surprise.
York Saul was on the verge of exploding.
He had just returned from his dental clinic after a long day of work, only to witness a scene that nearly stopped his heart.
His daughter—
Pinned against a wall.
At night.
By a man.
And not just any man—
The new head coach of Luton Town.
To make matters worse, the posture between the two looked unbelievably ambiguous.
Roy was barefoot, one shoe missing somewhere near the gate, her cheeks flushed from anger and embarrassment. One knee was raised instinctively against Joshua's waist while his hand gripped her wrist firmly to stop her from swinging the remaining heel.
Under the dim courtyard lights—
It looked terrible.
York Saul's face twitched.
For years, he had considered himself a reasonable man.
Calm.
Educated.
Patient.
But at this moment—
All he saw was a pig trying to steal his cabbage.
No.
His precious daughter.
Before tonight, York had actually held a favorable impression of Joshua Smith.
As a lifelong supporter of Luton Town FC, York maintained close relationships with many club staff members. He had heard stories from the training ground security guard about how hard the new Jamaican coach worked.
Sleeping in the office.
Training all day.
Analyzing football until dawn.
York respected dedication.
Even with the criticism surrounding Joshua, York had quietly supported him.
But now?
That support was collapsing rapidly.
Roy reacted first.
She shoved Joshua backward immediately.
"Dad! It's not what you think!"
Joshua rubbed his forehead helplessly.
This misunderstanding was becoming ridiculous.
York pointed furiously between the two of them.
"I should hope not! What exactly is going on here?!"
Then he looked directly at Joshua.
"And who exactly are you to my daughter?!"
"Uncle Saul, I can explain—"
"Shut up!"
Both father and daughter shouted at Joshua simultaneously.
The courtyard fell silent again.
Joshua blinked.
"…Right."
Fortunately, after several chaotic minutes—and after Roy angrily explained the flying-shoe incident—the misunderstanding was eventually cleared up.
Mostly.
At least nobody was being arrested.
Still, neither Roy nor her father looked particularly pleased.
Especially York Saul.
The man stared at Joshua the way a goalkeeper stares at a striker preparing for a penalty.
Suspicious.
Hostile.
Protective.
Joshua ultimately gave up trying to repair the situation.
With a helpless shrug, he simply returned to his apartment.
And for the first time in nearly two months—
He slept properly.
The bed was soft.
Warm.
Comfortable enough that Joshua almost forgot where he was when he opened his eyes the next morning.
He stretched slowly, hearing his bones crack in satisfaction.
A genuine smile appeared on his face.
"This," he muttered, "is how humans are supposed to sleep."
Today—
Was match day.
The first official match of the season.
The beginning of everything.
Joshua rose quickly and prepared himself carefully.
Unlike previous days, he didn't wear training gear.
Instead, he opened the wardrobe and removed a fitted black suit.
Sharp.
Simple.
Professional.
Today, he would stand on the sidelines as a true head coach.
And appearances mattered.
Breakfast was equally simple.
Fried eggs.
Toast.
A banana.
Juice.
Nothing extravagant.
Just enough.
Before sitting down, Joshua opened the mailbox outside the apartment and retrieved the morning paper.
He had gradually developed the English habit of reading newspapers over breakfast.
And unsurprisingly—
The first thing he heard was Roy Saul's voice.
"Enjoying your last day before exposure, Mr. Smith?"
Joshua turned calmly.
Roy had clearly just returned from a morning run.
She wore a white athletic vest and dark running shorts, her breathing still slightly uneven. Sweat glistened lightly against her skin beneath the cool morning sunlight.
Joshua glanced at her once, then looked away naturally.
"Good morning to you, too," he said.
Roy crossed her arms.
"You should read page nine."
Joshua raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"Sam Parker has a lot to say about you."
There was unmistakable satisfaction in her tone.
Joshua unfolded The Hatters newspaper and quickly flipped through the pages.
Soon—
He found it.
A large interview.
Former Luton striker Sam Parker.
And almost every sentence was aimed directly at him.
"Joshua Smith is a fraud."
"Nobody has even seen proof of his coaching qualifications."
"He doesn't understand professional football."
"He's dragging players out of non-league obscurity and pretending they belong here."
"He's arrogant, controlling, and obsessed with authority."
"This match against Port Vale will expose him completely."
Joshua read every line calmly.
Without anger.
Without reaction.
Then—
He folded the paper neatly.
Roy watched him closely.
Waiting.
Expecting frustration.
Or maybe panic.
Instead—
Joshua smiled faintly.
"You seem very confident," Roy said.
Joshua looked at her.
"No," he replied calmly.
"I'm prepared."
Roy scoffed.
"After today, everyone will realize you're a liar."
Joshua tilted his head slightly.
The morning sunlight reflected softly in his dark eyes.
"No, Miss Saul," he said quietly.
"This match…"
He rolled up the newspaper slowly.
"Will be the beginning of a great coach."
For a brief moment—
Roy forgot how to respond.
Because the confidence in his voice wasn't forced.
Wasn't arrogant.
It was certain.
Absolute certainty.
Joshua turned and walked away toward the training ground.
The suit fit him perfectly.
Sharp shoulders.
Steady posture.
Calm steps.
Like a man walking toward something he had already seen long ago.
Roy stood silently outside the apartment entrance, watching his back disappear down the street.
Then she frowned slightly.
"…Bastard."
But strangely—
The word no longer sounded as convincing as before.
(End of Chapter 19)
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