The second half started with Trafford showing more urgency. They pressed higher, tried to disrupt Moss Side's rhythm. In the fifty-second minute, they won a corner.

The delivery was good, and their center-back rose highest to power a header into the net. 3-1. I felt a familiar pang of anxiety, my body tensing, my mind already analyzing what had gone wrong with the defensive shape.

"It's a friendly, Danny," Emma reminded me gently, her hand on my arm.

I knew she was right, but the competitive fire still burned. Old habits died hard.

I needn't have worried. Scott made a tactical adjustment, bringing on a fresh midfielder to shore up the center. Moss Side regained control, their passing sharp, their movement intelligent. In the sixty-seventh minute, they broke on a devastating counter-attack.

Trafford committed too many men forward, leaving space in behind. Jamie Scott picked up the ball in his own half, drove forward with purpose, and played a perfectly weighted through ball that split the defense. The striker was clear, one-on-one with the keeper, and he made no mistake. 4-1.

Scott then spent the last twenty minutes bringing on youth team players, giving them a taste of first-team action. A sixteen-year-old midfielder, a seventeen-year-old winger, and a young center-back who looked nervous but determined. It was smart management, building for the future, giving the next generation their chance.

The final whistle blew. 4-1. A comprehensive, dominant performance. My team. Scott's team. Our team.

The clubhouse was a scene of joyous chaos. The players dragged me into the middle of the room, chanting my name. Big Dave, my captain, my rock, called for quiet. His speech was simple, heartfelt, and it broke me.

"This man," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "changed our lives. We were a pub team, going nowhere. He made us champions. He made us believe. We'll never forget him."

I tried to speak, but my voice cracked. I took a breath, the roar of the crowd washing over me.

"You changed my life," I finally managed. "I was stacking shelves at three in the morning, going nowhere. You believed in a nobody with crazy ideas. You made me a manager. You gave me a chance. Thank you. I'll never forget this club. Never forget you. You'll always be my first team. My family. My home."

Terry presented me with a framed Moss Side shirt, number 1, "WALSH" on the back, "CHAMPIONS 2015/16" printed below, signed by every player. "You'll always be our gaffer," he said, hugging me tightly. "Go be brilliant at Palace. Make us proud."

The rest of the evening was a blur of private goodbyes, each one a fresh wave of emotion.

JJ found me first, looking every inch the professional footballer now. He'd filled out, his shoulders broader, his posture more confident.

"Start at Brighton Monday, gaffer," he said, his voice a mix of excitement and nerves. "Championship football. Can't believe it. A year ago, I was playing Sunday League, thinking I'd never get a chance. Thanks for everything."

I pulled him into a hug. "You earned it, JJ. Every bit of it. Now go prove you belong there. Make me proud. Score goals. Get to the Premier League. I'll be watching every game."

"When I score my first Championship goal," he said, his eyes glistening, "I'm pointing at you, gaffer. I promise."

Jamie Scott came next, still wearing the captain's armband, his face flushed from the match. "I'm staying another season, gaffer," he said. "Scott wants me to lead us in the new league. Rochdale and Bury are watching. Scott says I'll have offers by Christmas. I'll be a pro within a year. I promise."

"I know you will," I said, my heart swelling with pride. "Front row, when you sign that contract. I promise. I'll be there."

He teared up, his voice breaking. "You saved me, gaffer. After what happened... after I lost my dad... I was lost. I didn't know who I was anymore. You gave me purpose. You gave me a reason to keep going."

"You saved yourself, Jamie," I said, my own voice thick. "I just gave you the tools. You did the work. You're going to be a star. I know it."

Big Dave was next, his massive frame somehow looking even bigger in his coaching tracksuit. "Loving it, gaffer," he said, his voice full of genuine joy. "Coaching the youth team. The kids listen to me. They look up to me. Never thought I'd be a coach. Thought I'd just fade away after playing."

"You were the best captain I could have asked for," I said. "You made everything possible. You held that team together when it could have fallen apart."

"You gave me the best moment of my career," he said, his eyes shining. "Lifting that trophy. I'll never forget it. I was ready to quit football, gaffer. You made me fall in love with it again."

We embraced, both of us crying now, the weight of the journey we'd shared too much to bear without tears.

Mark Crossley approached quietly, his eyes full of a quiet gratitude. "I know I don't deserve to be here," he said, his voice low. "After what I did. After I betrayed you."

"You earned your way back," I said. "That's what matters. You're a good coach, Mark. You just needed to remember why you love this game."

"Thank you," he said simply. "For the second chance. For believing I could change. I won't let you down. I'll help Scott keep this team up. I'll make this right."

And finally, Scott. He pulled me aside, away from the crowd, his face a mix of pride and fear. "I'm terrified, mate," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "We got promoted because of you. Now I have to keep us up in the North West Counties League. That's a massive step up. What if I'm not good enough?"

"You are good enough," I said firmly. "You proved that today. You've made the system your own. You're thinking tactically, making adjustments, building for the future. You're a manager, Scott. A proper manager."

"We're looking at signings," he said, his voice gaining confidence. "A midfielder from Curzon Ashton, a center-back from Stalybridge. Terry's backing me with a bit of budget. We need depth for the higher level."

"Smart," I said. "Build from the back. You know what you're doing."

***

Thank you nameyelus for the inspiration capsule.

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