The news hit hard and fast, leaving no room for doubt.
Mauro didn't bother to knock. He swung the office door open, his shoulders slightly slumped and his tie hanging loose, as if the weight of the morning had already taken its toll. Laurence glanced up from the tactical diagram he'd been working on, the page cluttered with notes and arrows that suddenly felt pointless.
"He's gone," Mauro said, his tone flat.
Laurence had a sinking feeling before he even asked, but he did anyway. "Cavani?"
Mauro gave a single nod. "His agent confirmed it just an hour ago. Napoli moved quickly — they've already got a pre-contract in place. The announcement will be out in a few days."
Laurence leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath through his nose. "So we missed our chance."
"We were never in the running," Mauro confessed, pulling a crumpled sheet of notes from his jacket and tossing it onto the desk. "Napoli had this set up for weeks. We just didn't see it coming."
Laurence's eyes drifted to the window, where a few youth players were jogging warm-up laps on the training pitch. For a moment, he was silent. It wasn't anger that filled the space; it was contemplation. "We'll regroup," he finally said.
Mauro frowned. "Do you have anyone else in mind?"
"Not yet," Laurence replied, his voice calm and steady. "But I will."
There was no bravado in his words. That was just how he worked — tackling problems quietly and methodically, always preparing for what came next. And the next challenge was already on the horizon.
The season opener awaited at home, the first step into a campaign that everyone on the island knew would shape their future.
------
By the afternoon of August 21st, the Estadio Heliodoro Rodríguez López buzzed with life once more. The Canarian air was thick with warmth and a palpable sense of anticipation, that familiar yet uncertain feeling that comes before a big event.
Tenerife had returned from a summer filled with friendlies, carrying both accolades and a few bruises, but there was a noticeable gap in their attack. Natalio was sidelined for months, and their striker position was in dangerous lack of depth.
But as the teams made their way onto the pitch, none of that seemed to matter.
Laurence stood at the touchline, freshly shaven, his white shirt neatly rolled at the sleeves. Behind him, Victor and the rest of the coaching staff exchanged hushed words while the crowd's excitement cascaded down from the stands. Despite the summer's doubts and adjustments, the game plan remained unchanged.
Koulibaly, De Vrij, and Luna formed a solid back three. Cancelo and Grimaldo took on the wingback roles, both raw yet brimming with confidence after a rigorous preseason. In midfield, Casemiro and Kikoto were tasked with maintaining balance and recovering the ball.
Up front, Joel started on the right, Neymar on the left, and Griezmann — though out of position, was ready to adapt — took the lead in Natalio's absence.
The referee's whistle sliced through the din.
Tenerife kicked off with determination. They pressed high, pushing Osasuna back into their own half almost instantly. The system flowed seamlessly — Cancelo and Grimaldo advanced to pin down the visiting full-backs, while Kikoto stayed close to Casemiro to thwart any counterattacks.
The front three swapped positions fluidly, with Neymar drifting inside and Joel sprinting down the flank.
Laurence remained mostly still, his gaze shifting from line to line as he absorbed the shape and rhythm of the game. It wasn't flawless—early moments rarely are—but it had a sense of coherence. That was what truly mattered.
By the eleventh minute, Tenerife's efforts finally paid off. Neymar dropped into the half-space, skillfully gathering the ball under light pressure, and effortlessly twisted past one defender.
As a second Osasuna player lunged in, Neymar slipped a perfectly weighted pass into the channel. Griezmann sprinted through, took a steady touch, and sent a low shot past the keeper.
The stadium erupted in cheers. Flags waved, and songs filled every corner of the Heliodoro.
Laurence clapped once, sharp and precise, then turned to his assistant, Javier Toledo. "Tell Kikoto to hold deeper when Neymar drops. We're leaving too much space behind the ball."
The adjustment came swiftly. Tenerife's formation tightened up. A few minutes later, Grimaldo's corner nearly made it two, met by Koulibaly's towering header that crashed against the bar before bouncing clear.
Osasuna struggled to push forward before halftime. De Vrij kept their striker in check, Luna swept in behind whenever the line pushed high, and Casemiro's positioning was spot on. Tenerife didn't dazzle, but they looked like a team that knew exactly what they were doing.
In the dressing room, Laurence didn't deliver a grand speech. Just a few straightforward words: "Keep the pressure. Don't force the final pass. They'll open up."
The second half unfolded at a slower pace, more tactical in nature. Osasuna sat back, trying to disrupt Tenerife's rhythm. Their midfield began closing in on Kikoto more quickly, forcing the home side to play wider and rely on the wingbacks to create opportunities. Cancelo's energy down the right kept Osasuna on their toes, even if his final ball wasn't always spot on.
Laurence paced the technical area, occasionally glancing at Victor for confirmation on small details—spacing, tempo, triggers. When Osasuna did manage to cross halfway, Koulibaly was there to intercept.
In the 64th minute, the game took a turn for the better.
Neymar, who had been a bit quiet in the second half, suddenly sprang to life. He picked up the ball near the sideline, faked a move to the outside, then deftly rolled it inside with the sole of his foot, gliding past two defenders before lifting his head. Over by the far post, Joel was sprinting full speed. Neymar sent a beautifully curled ball in his direction.
Joel leaped above his defender and connected perfectly — a clean, confident header.
The net rippled. 2–0.
For a brief moment, the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath in disbelief before erupting into a single, thunderous cheer. The young winger jogged toward the corner flag, pointing skyward, while Neymar playfully nudged him.
Laurence offered a faint smile. He turned to the stands, raised a fist in acknowledgment, and then got back to business.
With twenty minutes remaining, he brought on N'Golo Kanté, the small, energetic midfielder who had pushed himself to the limit during preseason drills. It wasn't just about changing the game — it was about giving someone a chance. And Kanté seized the opportunity, diving into tackles, covering ground, and winning little battles that earned nods from the bench.
Time ticked away steadily. Osasuna pressed late, but never really posed a threat. Aragonéses, who had been quiet all night, confidently claimed the few crosses that came his way.
When the final whistle blew, there was no wild celebration. Just a collective sigh of relief and satisfaction. The supporters cheered, singing the club anthem long after the players had started their lap of appreciation.
Laurence hung back as the coaching staff exchanged congratulatory pats on the back. Victor turned to him, grinning. "Three points. Clean sheet. Can't ask for much more."
Laurence nodded. "We can ask for a striker."
Victor chuckled. "We'll take the win anyway."