The tunnel leading back to the pitch was a tunnel in name only—a narrow, concrete hallway that seemed to close in on Eric Maddox and his Silvergate Youth Sailors with every step.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of stale turf pellets, the damp musk of wet socks left too long in a kit bag, and the sharp, chemical bite of industrial detergent, the kind so potent it could strip paint off a locker door.
The walls, cold and unyielding, bore the scars of countless matches—scuff marks from errant boots, faded graffiti scratched into the concrete, and patches of peeling paint that hinted at years of neglect. This was the home ground of the senior Crestford Team afterall.
The sound of the players' boots clicking against the hard surface echoed like a slow, ominous drumroll, each step amplifying the nervous energy that crackled through the air like static before a storm.
Eric Maddox walked at the rear of the pack, his posture steady, his eyes fixed ahead, but his mind was elsewhere, locked on a different plane of reality.
The moment his players had crossed the threshold of the dressing room, the Pro Manager System's translucent interface had flickered back to life in the corner of his vision, its ethereal glow a stark contrast to the grim surroundings.
[Player Cards Now Available.
Bond Visibility: Fading.
System Tip: Frequent Check-ins Maintain Seamless Connection.]
The system's notification was an unwelcome reminder of the fragility of the connection he'd forged with his team during the halftime talk.
He could feel it—the tenuous thread that had briefly bound them together was thinning, the adrenaline of his motivational speech bleeding away as the reality of stepping back onto the battlefield loomed closer.
The roar of the crowd grew louder with every step, a distant rumble that promised both judgment and opportunity. Maddox knew he couldn't let that connection fray any further—not if he wanted to keep his players fighting in the second half.
So he opened the deck.
Not all at once—that would be overwhelming, a deluge of information he wasn't ready to process. No, he started small, methodical, like a coach scanning his chessboard before making the first move.
One by one, he pulled up the Player Cards, each one materializing as a holographic panel in his vision, shimmering with stats and insights that felt both alien and invaluable.
---
[Silvergate Youth Sailors – Average Talent: ★★☆☆☆ (2-Star)]
[1: Callum Harker (GK)
Age: 17
Foot: Right
Current Ability: ★☆☆☆☆
Potential: ★★☆☆☆
Overall Rating: 40/100
Tall frame. Good in 1v1s. Nervous. Twitchy under pressure. Handling like a squirrel on caffeine.
Physical: 7 | Positioning: 5 | Decisions: 3
Avg Performance Rating (Season): 6.1
---
Maddox winced, his jaw tightening as he read the description. "Hope you like shot volume, kid," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the echoing footsteps. "You're getting plenty of it today."
Harker, a gangly teenager with a mop of sandy hair, walked a few paces ahead, his gloves tucked under his arm. The boy's shoulders were hunched, his movements jittery, as if he could still feel the sting of the five goals that had flown past him in the first half.
Maddox made a mental note to work on the keeper's composure—nerves like that could sink a team faster than a leaky defense.
---
[2: Jamie Dunstall (RB)
Age: 16
Foot: Right
Current Ability: ★☆☆☆☆
Potential: ★★☆☆☆
Overall Rating: 42/100
Pace like a sprinter, stamina like a grandma. Dreams of track & field. He might outrun the ball but not his responsibilities.
Pace: 9 | Defending: 6 | Movement: 6
Avg Performance Rating (Season): 6.1
---
Maddox's gaze shifted to Jamie Dunstall, who was jogging nervously a few steps ahead, his wiry frame bouncing with every step. "He's got pace," Maddox thought, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Now if only you could keep it going for more than thirty seconds without gasping like you've run a marathon."
The boy's speed was a weapon, but his lack of endurance made him a liability against a relentless team like the Colts. Maddox filed that away—maybe a substitute could spell him later if the game stayed within reach.
---
3: Dean Halberg (CB)
Age: 17
Foot: Left
Current Ability: ★☆☆☆☆
Potential: ★★☆☆☆
Overall Rating: 44/100
A human fridge. Strong, loyal, brave… and gets torched by anyone with legs.
Physical: 9 | Defending: 7 | Aggression: 6
Avg Performance Rating (Season): 6.0
---
Maddox's brow furrowed as he read Dean's card, his eyes narrowing. "I'll have to take him off few minutes in," he thought grimly.
Dean Halberg was a towering figure, broad-shouldered and built like a linebacker, but his lack of speed had been painfully exposed in the first half.
The Colts' forwards had danced around him like he was a training cone, and Maddox knew the second half would be no kinder unless they tightened up their defensive shape.
---
[4: Lewis Chaney (CB)
Age: 16
Foot: Right
Current Ability: ★☆☆☆☆
Potential: ★★½☆☆
Overall Rating: 45/100
Leads better than he plays. But damn, does he read the game like a paperback novel.
Defending: 8 | Positioning: 7 |Leadership: 7
Avg Performance Rating (Season): 6.4
---
Now this—this was something to work with. Maddox's expression softened slightly as he read Lewis Chaney's card. A spine. A voice. A future captain if nurtured properly.
Lewis, a lanky center-back with sharp cheekbones and a quiet intensity, had been one of the few bright spots in the first half, barking orders to his teammates even as the defense crumbled around him.
His ability to read the game was a rare gift for a youth player, and Maddox made a mental note to lean on him as a leader in the second half.
---
[5: Ollie Waters (LB)
Age: 16
Foot: Left
Current Ability: ★☆☆☆☆
Potential: ★★☆☆☆
Overall Rating: 43/100
Coasts through games like he's on vacation. Decent technique, but never in a hurry to use it (because it barely exists).
Dribbling: 5 | Pace: 6 | Stamina: 5
Avg Performance Rating (Season): 6.1
---
Maddox resisted the urge to groan aloud, his frustration mounting. "Don't save energy, Ollie," he thought, his tone sharp with exasperation. "Burn it. That's the whole point of being out there."
Ollie Waters, a stocky left-back with a lazy gait, had spent most of the first half jogging at half-speed, conserving energy as if he were on a leisurely stroll rather than in the middle of a 5-0 drubbing.
His lack of urgency was infuriating, but Maddox noted the decent technique—maybe a stern word at training could light a fire under the kid.
They were all rough gems afterall and only needed polishing to shine bright... Well, maybe not all.