After the session, as the players were heading back to the changing rooms, I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. I asked Lewis to stay behind. He nodded, his face a blank, emotionless mask. We stood on the empty training pitch, the silence between us stretching into an eternity.
"You've been brilliant, Lewis," I started, the words feeling pathetic, inadequate. "You've been everything I could have asked for." He just stared at me, his eyes empty.
"But Tyler's back," I finished, the words tasting like poison. He didn't say anything for a long time, just stood there, the wind whipping at his training kit. Then, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"I know," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I always knew." And then he turned and walked away, leaving me alone on the pitch with the wreckage of my own making. The system, my cold, impartial observer, delivered its verdict with brutal efficiency.
