The first training session wasn't a disaster.
William wasn't sure why he expected it to be. He'd done this before, at least from his memories of his alternate life. But there was something uniquely terrifying about standing in front of a squad that you'd watched on television for years, in a life where you weren't supposed to be there yet.
Still. Not a disaster.
The fitness tests had come back and the results were... mixed. A few players were in reasonable shape, having kept themselves active during the off-season. A few others looked like they'd spent the break doing absolutely nothing useful.
'Cavani and Paulista would've been in the second group anyway.' William thought as he looked over the data on his tablet.
He was sitting in his office now, which still smelled faintly of the previous manager. He made a mental note to get some sort of air freshener. That felt important.
"You're staring at that tablet like it owes you money." Aaron said from the couch in the corner, where he had made himself entirely too comfortable for someone who had only been in the country for three days.
"I'm analysing."
"You've been analysing for forty minutes."
"Football is a game of details." William said without looking up.
"Right." Aaron said, and went back to whatever he was doing on his phone. After a few seconds, he looked up again. "You know I still don't understand a single word anyone here is saying."
"That's a you problem."
"I'm your assistant coach."
"Then assist. Learn the language." William said, finally setting the tablet down. "Alejandro can translate for you until you do."
Aaron looked genuinely offended. "I played professional football for twelve years and nobody ever asked me to learn a language."
"You played for Stoke, Aaron. Stoke. You were hardly globetrotting."
Aaron had no response to that, which was the correct response.
William pulled up the system interface. He'd been doing this quietly whenever he had a moment to himself, just going through the available features and working out what he could actually afford to use with his current balance.
[Balance: 10 Credits]
[Available Features:]
[Scouting Report - Single Player: 3 Credits] [Tactical Optimization - Single Match: 5 Credits] [Academy Prospect Evaluation: 4 Credits] [Staff Recommendation: 2 Credits]
He'd already used ten credits on the tactical insights before the season started, which had been the most humbling experience of his adult life. He wasn't going to make the same mistake of going in blind twice, so he needed to be careful about how he spent what he had left.
'Ten credits. That's it. That's all you have until you start winning things.'
He pulled up the squad list and stared at it for a while.
Yunus Musah was the name at the top of his mental shortlist. Not because he was the best player in the squad, Mamardashvili probably was, and the goalkeeper market being what it was, William had already sent Miguel a strongly worded message about making him untouchable in negotiations, but because Musah was the most likely to be stolen from him.
In his previous life, he'd watched the American midfielder leave Valencia for AC Milan. Technically correct decision for the player. Absolutely catastrophic for the club. The problem was that it was the sort of transfer that happened quietly, the way good midfielders always seemed to leave mid-table Spanish clubs quietly, without much fuss, until one day you looked up and he was wearing a different shirt and the gap he left behind was three seasons wide.
William wasn't going to let that happen.
He drafted a message to Miguel, kept it brief. He was learning that Miguel preferred brevity. A list of players he wanted formally designated as unavailable for transfer regardless of incoming offers. Musah's name was at the top. Mamardashvili second. José Gayà third, on the grounds that you didn't sell your one-club man while you were still trying to build an identity.
After sending the message, he leaned back in his chair.
The squad itself wasn't in a terrible place if you looked at it charitably. There was pace in the wide areas, some genuine quality in midfield, and with Mamardashvili behind them, they could afford to be slightly more aggressive in their defensive line without losing composure. What they lacked was a presence in the final third. Cavani's departure had opened a hole that fifteen million euros, minus whatever creative accounting Miguel would inevitably apply to the budget, wasn't going to fill with anything comparable.
That left him with Hugo Duro as his central option, and while William didn't think Duro was a bad footballer, he also didn't think Duro was a man who was going to carry a team's attacking ambitions on his own for an entire season.
'This is fine.' William told himself. 'You've worked with worse.'
He had. Leicester's squad when he'd taken over in his alternate life made this one look like Barcelona.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it.
Miguel, responding to his message.
Musah is already attracting attention. There are conversations happening that I cannot currently halt. We will need to discuss.
William stared at the message for a long moment.
"Everything alright?" Aaron asked from the couch, apparently reading his expression.
"Milan are circling." William said.
Aaron winced. "Already? You've been manager for less than a week."
"Yes, well." William set his phone face down on the desk. "Welcome to Valencia."
He picked up his tablet again and pulled up Musah's assessment from the system database. He didn't need to run a formal scouting report, he already knew the player well enough. What he needed was ammunition. Something concrete he could bring to the meeting with Miguel and Peter Lim and use to make the case that letting Musah walk now was the single most counterproductive thing they could do at the start of a new managerial cycle.
'You do not rebuild stability by selling your best midfielder in the first transfer window. That's not stability. That's just rearranging the rubble.'
He started typing out notes.
It was going to be a long evening.
A/N:
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