London, England – March, 2010
The cold air pressed through the cracks of the tiny window as Adam Black sat on the edge of his bed. The room was quiet except for the ticking clock and the occasional sound of children laughing downstairs. His mother worked as a nanny for the kids who lived in the apartment below. She was already gone before sunrise, like always.
Adam stared at the poster on his wall—a team of red shirts lifting the Premier League trophy. Arsenal's Invincibles. He had watched that season a hundred times. He had studied every move Arsène Wenger made. Every goal. Every comeback. Every moment.
"Arsenal is family," he whispered to himself, placing a hand on the worn-out badge on his red t-shirt.
His father, Mr. Black, came in quietly, holding two mugs of tea. "Morning, son," he said with a tired smile. His security guard uniform was still on.
"Morning, Dad," Adam replied, accepting the tea.
"You were up all night again?"
"Yeah. Watching Arsenal's unbeaten season again."
His father chuckled. "You love that team more than food."
They sipped in silence for a while. The old heater rattled.
"Any calls from the clubs?" his dad asked.
Adam shook his head. "Only Sunday league teams. And one non-league club in Bath. They want me as an assistant, unpaid. I told them no."
"I know things are hard," his father said gently. "But maybe it's time to try somewhere else. Maybe even… Nigeria."
Adam raised an eyebrow. "Nigeria? For what?"
Before Mr. Black could reply, his phone rang. He checked the screen. "Ah, it's Salisu. My old friend from Jos."
He picked up. "Salisu! Long time. How's life?"
Adam half-listened as the two men laughed and caught up. He wasn't paying attention—until he heard something that made his heart pause.
"Wait—Plateau United sacked their coach?"
Mr. Black sat up straight.
"Yeah," Salisu's voice said from the phone speaker, "I just saw it in the newspaper this morning. Big headline. The team's down in the table. They're begging for someone new before relegation swallows them. Can you believe that? Plateau United! They're even asking for applications now."
Adam leaned forward.
Mr. Black covered the speaker. "Adam… you hear that?"
Adam's eyes were already wide. "I heard."
Salisu continued, "You know, if someone who even knows a bit about football management applies, they might just take him. They're desperate. Ten games left."
Adam stood up. "Tell him I want to try."
Mr. Black looked shocked. "Are you sure?"
Adam nodded. "I've got coaching certificates. I know the game. I've been studying tactics for years. This… this could be the start. This could be how I make it."
He looked at the Arsenal poster again.
"This is where the dream begins."
...........
In a blink of an eye the days seems like its moving fast its been 2 days after the call. And Adam have already finish all his process for his trip to Nigeria.
The cold air in London didn't feel as heavy as the weight on Adam Black's chest. He sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the ticket in his hand. A one-way flight to Jos, Nigeria. Departure: tomorrow. Everything felt both sudden and strangely slow. Like the world had paused just to let him think one last time.
He looked around his tiny room. The posters of Arsenal's invincibles still hung proudly above his desk. Thierry Henry, Patrick Vieira, and his idol, Arsène Wenger. Every night, Adam would watch their matches, especially the 2003/04 season. He didn't just enjoy them; he studied them. Their movements, the formation, the transitions. Football wasn't just a game. It was his school.
His father entered the room quietly. "You sure about this, son?" he asked.
Adam nodded, though his stomach twisted with doubt. "Yeah. I mean, I have to try. This could be it. Plateau United needs a coach. And I... I need a chance."
Jos, Nigeria – Two weeks later
The warm sun hit his face as Adam stepped off the bus. The streets of Jos were loud and full of energy. Motorcycles zipped by, vendors shouted prices, and the scent of roasted corn filled the air.
He carried only one bag and a folder full of papers—his coaching certificates, personal plans, and match analysis. Everything he had learned from Wenger and Mourinho was in that folder.
His father's voice echoed in his head:
"Stay calm in every storm, Adam. Football is chaos. Be the calm."
His grandmother met him at the station. She was short, kind-eyed, and full of joy when she saw him.
"You look just like your father," she said, hugging him tight. "Come. Let's get you settled before your interview."
That night, Adam stayed in a small room with a shaky ceiling fan. He couldn't sleep. He watched the Invincibles season again, quietly on his old laptop. He studied the formations, the confidence, the belief.
Then, he opened a fresh notebook and wrote at the top:
"Plan for Plateau United: How to Survive in 10 Matches."
Plateau United Office – Next Morning
The club's general manager, Mr. Dogo, was a serious man with thick glasses and a thin mustache. He looked at Adam like he was a joke.
"You're 31?" he asked. "And you've never managed a club before?"
Adam nodded. "That's true. But I've studied. I know tactics. I know how to build a team. Give me ten matches. If I fail, you never hear from me again."
Mr. Dogo stared at him for a long moment. Then looked at the pile of failed applications on his table.
"You're confident," he said.
"I believe in football," Adam replied. "And I believe in calmness under pressure."
Dogo leaned back in his chair. "Alright. You'll start tomorrow. Training at 8AM. We're ten points away from safety. You have ten games. God help you."
Adam smiled for the first time in weeks.
"Thank you, sir."
Late Afternoon – Club Office, After Contract Signing
The contract sat in front of him like a loaded weapon.
Adam's signature had barely dried when Mr. Dogo clapped him on the back. "Congratulations, Coach Black," he said with a sly grin. "You've got the steering wheel now. Just don't crash the bus."
Adam managed a nod, heart pounding.
As the older men drifted out with murmurs of "Let's see what the young man can do," Adam stayed behind. The office was quiet. Just him, the chair, and the weight of the badge.
He looked at the framed picture on the wall—an old squad from 2003. The club's last promotion year. Everyone was smiling in faded sepia.
He wasn't smiling.
He sat down, pulled out his journal, and wrote a single line:
"Make them think. Make them feel. Make football come alive."
He tucked the journal away and stepped outside into the late Jos sun. The smell of dust, diesel, and roasted corn hit him. Life outside hadn't changed.
But Adam Black had.
He didn't go home right away. Instead, he walked to the training pitch, empty and still, and stood in the center circle.
Tomorrow, it would all begin.