Laurence was slumped over the small kitchen table in his cozy Tenerife apartment, the blinds half-open, allowing a faint stream of Canary sunlight to filter in. A cup of coffee sat next to him, lukewarm and untouched for the last half hour. His gaze was locked onto the whiteboard propped up against the wall, a chaotic mix of swirling arrows, hastily scribbled notes, and messy diagrams. Positions overlapped, rotations intertwined, and shapes sprawled across the board like a restless artist's canvas.
He wasn't searching for a flawless blueprint—such a thing didn't exist in football. What he wanted was something that would hold up when the weight of Europe pressed down on them in the upcoming season.
A thought had been brewing inside him ever since their Copa del Rey victory and the ripples from their La Liga campaign. It had taken shape during his weeks in Tokyo, jotted down in notebooks over bowls of ramen and refined in quiet cafés: a back three.
Not because it was trendy, or because coaches all over were experimenting with it. But because it made sense for Tenerife.
The 3-4-3 formation offered him stability where last season had revealed vulnerabilities. With traditional full-backs in short supply and wingers who thrived higher up the pitch, this setup provided balance. The width could come from tireless wing-backs instead of defenders stuck in their own half. The double pivot in midfield could shield the back line while allowing Neymar and Griezmann to operate closer to goal.
More than anything, it provided a sense of flexibility. They could easily switch from a 3-4-3 formation to a 3-4-1-2 when they needed to chase a game or tighten up the midfield. With just a few subtle adjustments, Tenerife could change their style without losing their flow.
But every solution came with its own set of challenges.
Laurence leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing at the half-finished diagram in front of him. A 3-4-3 formation required three solid central defenders, and Tenerife barely had one.
Luna had been a reliable presence, steady when others faltered. He might not have been flashy, but he stood firm in crucial matches, keeping his cool under pressure. Laurence had faith in him. But one player couldn't hold down the entire defense. He needed two more—different types to support Luna.
One should be aggressive, a defender who thrived on stepping up, tackling hard, and snuffing out threats before they could develop. The other needed to be more composed, someone who could read the game, manage space, and transition from defense to attack without panicking.
He let out a sigh, rubbing his temples. No matter how many formations he sketched out, without the right players, his ideas would fall apart.
Laurence picked up his phone and dialed.
Mauro answered after two rings, his voice steady but tinged with fatigue. Tenerife's sporting director had been deep in negotiations for weeks; Laurence could hear the weariness in his greeting.
"There are two players I want you to seriously consider," Laurence said, his voice clipped from exhaustion but filled with determination. "Kalidou Koulibaly. Stefan de Vrij."
A moment of silence hung in the air. He pictured Mauro leaning back in his office chair, eyebrows raised in surprise.
"They're still works in progress," Mauro finally replied. "Koulibaly's hardly getting any minutes in France. De Vrij isn't exactly a guaranteed starter in the Eredivisie. They're not established products."
"Neither were Neymar, Casemiro, Griezmann or Joel. But look where that got us?" Laurence retorted.
There was silence for a while.
Mauro let out a soft hiss as he exhaled. "Alright. I'll reach out and see what's realistic. Anything else on your mind?"
Laurence paused for a moment, tapping the capped marker against the edge of the whiteboard. "Yeah, we need another midfielder. Not too expensive—just someone solid and reliable, good for rotation. I trust Ricardo, but we can't keep running Casemiro and Kikoto into the ground. They'll be worn out before Christmas if we do."
"And what about the number ten?" Mauro inquired.
Laurence took a moment, his eyes drifting back to the board, landing on the circle he'd drawn behind Neymar and Griezmann.
"Still mulling it over," he confessed. "I want someone who can connect the play. Just someone with awareness and intelligence—a player who can see the whole picture before anyone else. I'll circle back to you on that."
Once the call ended, the apartment fell silent again. Laurence sat for a moment, staring at the whiteboard, then got up and started pacing.
The headaches were creeping in from the sides.
Wing-backs.
Laurence rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. His current full-backs were hard workers, but they were more suited for a defensive game than the relentless running and quick recoveries this system required.
He needed players who could thrive on the touchline—constantly sprinting, recovering, crossing, and switching from defense to attack in the blink of an eye. He needed workhorses with iron lungs. And with Tenerife's budget, finding them was no easy task. The market for wide players was always limited, and the ones with genuine two-way stamina had already been snatched up.
He made a note to talk it over with Mauro. They needed at least one versatile wide player—someone who could fill the gaps until a more permanent solution came along.
Then there was the number ten.
Laurence picked up the marker again and circled the area between midfield and attack. That role was crucial in the 3-4-1-2 setup. Neymar couldn't be the one to link everything all the time. Griezmann was more effective when he was making runs off the shoulder rather than trying to orchestrate play. They needed a connector, a player who could ease the pressure on the stars and keep the ball flowing. Someone who prioritized the team above all else.
He still hadn't found the right fit. It would require scouting, patience, and maybe even a bit of risk. But he wasn't feeling desperate. Not just yet. There was still time.