Usually a 3 to 0 win meant a relaxed morning. It meant smiles and jokes and maybe a light training session.

But Michael Sterling was not relaxed.

He sat in his office at the Sterling Era Training Complex. The coffee in his mug was black and strong. It tasted like battery acid but he needed it.

Arthur Milton walked in. The Assistant Manager was holding a tray of pastries. He looked happy. He was humming the new song the fans had invented for Endrick.

"Morning Boss," Arthur said putting the tray down. "I brought croissants. Chocolate ones. To celebrate the samba magic."

"No pastry for me Arthur," Michael said staring at the big screen on the wall. "Look at the data."

Arthur sat down. He wiped a crumb from his chin.

"Data?" Arthur asked. "The data says we won 3 to 0. The data says Endrick is a god. The data says Osimhen is a machine. What is the problem?"

"The problem is what we did not see," Michael said.

He clicked a button. The screen showed a replay of the Everton match. But it was not the goals. It was the defensive shape.

"Pause it there," Michael said.

The video froze.

"Look at the midfield Arthur. Look at the space behind Endrick and Erik Olsen."

Arthur squinted.

"It is a big space," Arthur admitted. "You could park a bus in there."

"Exactly," Michael said standing up. "We played Everton. They are a bottom half team. They could not exploit it. But next week? We play Tottenham. They are fast. Son Heung Min is fast. If we give him that space he will kill us."

Michael walked to the tactical table. It was the digital one that Leo Volt had installed.

He moved the virtual players around.

"We need to talk Arthur," Michael said. "Serious talk. Manager to Coach."

Arthur straightened his tie. He put down the croissant.

"Okay Boss. I am listening."

"We have a Super Team," Michael began. "We have the best attack in the league. But football is like a blanket. If you pull it up to cover your neck your toes get cold."

"And our toes are freezing?" Arthur asked.

"Our toes are exposed," Michael corrected. "With Osimhen, Endrick, and Erik all attacking we only have seven players defending. And one of them is Leo Stone who weighs as much as a feather."

"So what do we do?" Arthur asked. "Do we drop one of them? The fans will riot. They just bought the shirts Boss. If you drop Endrick the internet will burn down."

"I do not care about the internet," Michael said. "I care about the title."

He moved the Endrick magnet back.

"I want to change the system for the big games," Michael said. "Against Tottenham I want Endrick to play deeper. almost like a number 8."

Arthur gasped.

"A number 8? Boss... he is a striker. He wants to score goals. If you tell him to chase midfielders he will be sad. A sad Brazilian is a tragedy."

"He is young," Michael said. "He has energy. He needs to learn that if he wants to be the best he has to work like the rest."

"And Osimhen?"

"Osimhen stays up top," Michael said. "He is the spear. But Endrick... Endrick must be the engine."

THE VIEW FROM THE BALCONY

They decided to take a walk. The office was too small for such big decisions.

They walked out onto the balcony that overlooked the training pitches.

Below them the squad was gathering for the recovery session.

It was a beautiful chaos.

Diego Nunez was carrying Endrick on his shoulders. The giant defender was running around making airplane noises.

"I AM AN AIRBUS!" Diego roared. "FLYING TO BRAZIL!"

Endrick was laughing. He was holding onto Diego bald head for safety.

Victor Osimhen was juggling the ball with Sergio Ramos. They were counting in Spanish.

"Uno. Dos. Tres."

"Look at them," Arthur said leaning on the railing. "They are happy Boss. The chemistry is perfect. Are you sure you want to mess with it?"

"I am not messing with it," Michael said. "I am protecting it."

He pointed at Kai Sora.

The Japanese midfielder was stretching alone. He looked tired.

"Kai covered twelve kilometers yesterday," Michael noted. "Because he was covering for Endrick. If Kai burns out the whole system collapses. He is the glue."

"Kai never complains," Arthur said. "He is too cool to complain."

"He will not complain," Michael agreed. "He will just break. We cannot let that happen."

Michael made a decision.

"Call them over," Michael said. "Just the leaders. And the kid."

Ten minutes later Michael sat on a bench by the side of the pitch.

Around him sat the inner circle.

Sergio Ramos. The General.

Diego Nunez. The Enforcer.

Victor Osimhen. The Star.

And Endrick. The Wonderkid.

Arthur stood behind Michael holding his clipboard like a shield.

"Great game yesterday," Michael started. "The world is talking about you. They say we are the new Galacticos."

"We are better," Diego said chewing gum loudly. "Galacticos were soft. We are hard."

"We are good," Michael said. "But we are open. Too open."

He looked at Endrick.

The boy was smiling. He was still high on the adrenaline of his debut goal.

"Endrick," Michael said.

"Yes Boss?"

"You scored a rocket. It was beautiful."

"Thank you Boss. Left foot. Boom."

"But," Michael said. "Do you remember minute 35? When Mykolenko ran past you?"

Endrick stopped smiling. He scratched his head.

"I remember. He is fast for a defender."

"He ran past you," Michael said. "And because you did not track back Sergio had to step out. And because Sergio stepped out Diego had to move across. It caused a chain reaction. We almost conceded."

Endrick looked down at his boots. They were gold. Very shiny.

"I am an attacker Boss," Endrick mumbled. "I attack."

"In this team," Michael said softly. "Everyone attacks. And everyone defends. Even the King."

Michael looked at Victor Osimhen.

"Victor. Tell him."

Osimhen took off his mask. He looked serious.

"The Boss is right little brother," Osimhen said. his voice deep. "In Napoli we won the league. Do you know why?"

"Because you scored thirty goals?" Endrick asked.

"No," Osimhen said. "Because I ran. I chased the defenders. I made them panic. If you press high the midfielders do not have to run so much. We help the family."

Sergio Ramos leaned forward. He put a hand on Endrick shoulder.

"Listen chico," Ramos said. "I played with Ronaldo. Cristiano. He scored fifty goals a season. But in the big games... even he had to understand the system. If you want to win the Ballon d Or you have to score. If you want to win the Champions League you have to suffer."

Endrick looked at the three men. The Manager. The Striker. The Legend.

He looked at Arthur who gave him an encouraging nod.

"I want to win everything," Endrick said quietly.

"Then you have to run," Michael said. "Against Tottenham next week I need you to play deeper. I need you to fight in the midfield. Can you do that?"

Endrick thought for a moment. He looked at Diego Nunez.

"Will Diego protect me if they kick me?"

"I will eat them," Diego promised.

Endrick smiled. The light returned to his eyes.

"Okay Boss. I will run. I will be a dog. A samba dog."

The meeting broke up. The players went back to training.

Michael and Arthur walked back to the office.

"That went well," Arthur said letting out a breath he had been holding for ten minutes. "I thought he would cry. Or call his agent."

"He is a winner Arthur," Michael said. "Winners want to know how to get better. Only losers get offended by the truth."

"So we stick with the 4 3 3?" Arthur asked.

"Yes," Michael said. "But it evolves. When we have the ball it is 4 3 3. When we lose the ball it becomes 4 4 2. Endrick drops in. It makes us solid."

"It is smart," Arthur admitted. "It saves Kai Sora legs."

"And it wins titles," Michael added.

They reached the office.

Michael walked to the window. The view of the training ground was his favorite thing in the world.

"Arthur," Michael said.

"Yes Boss?"

"Yesterday you were scared to say the word."

"Which word? Croissant?"

"Title," Michael said.

Arthur went quiet. He walked over to the league table on the wall.

1. Manchester City - 65 Points

2. Liverpool - 63 Points

3. Barnsley - 62 Points

Twelve games left.

"It is real isn't it?" Arthur whispered. "We are actually in the race."

"We are not just in the race," Michael said. "We are the car that nobody expects to overtake. City have the pressure. They have to win. Liverpool are desperate. They need to win."

"And us?"

"We are the Misfits," Michael smiled. "Nobody expects us to be here. We are playing with house money. That makes us dangerous."

He turned to Arthur.

"I need you to do something for me."

"Anything Boss. Do you want me to spy on Guardiola? I have a fake moustache."

"No spying," Michael laughed. "I need you to plan the rotation. We have the FA Cup. We have Europe. We have the League. We need every single player. Even the ones who are unhappy."

"Like who?"

"Like Isaiah King," Michael said. "He didn't play yesterday. He is probably posting sad songs on Instagram right now. Go talk to him. Buy him a new pair of boots. Tell him his time is coming."

"I am on it," Arthur said. "I am the whisperer of unhappy wingers."

Arthur left to do his job.

Michael sat alone in his office.

The conversation with the players had been vital. A team of stars can easily become a team of egos. It is the job of the manager to keep the gravity balanced.

He looked at the photo on his desk. It was him and Sarah.

She was due in two weeks.

A baby. And a title race.

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