The away bench exploded in celebration, the players on the field couldn't contain their job, they have done the impossible, the fans were exploding with joy they couldn't believe it, the players rush towards Malik, carried him and throw him up, Ms. Alvarez was smiling in the stand, the opponent team were all broken down, coach Darren couldn't believe what just happened, he just lost to a rookie coach who never had a coaching experience, this event will be an unforgettable experience for both side.
The final whistle blew and for a second, everything stopped. My breath caught in my throat. My pulse didn't slow. If anything, it quickened.
Then the sound hit me.
That roar. That unmistakable sound of jubilation. From the stands, from the bench, even from some of the staff who usually barely cracked a smile.
They were on their feet. Parents, academy staff, even a few kids waving East-Bridge scarves like they'd just witnessed a miracle.
We'd done it.
East-Bridge Academy 1-0 West-Bridge academy.
On my first day.
I should've screamed. Thrown a fist into the sky. Collapsed to my knees like those dramatic managers on TV.
But I didn't. I just stood there, stunned.
My heart pounded, not from fear anymore, but from something else something raw and real. Pride? Relief? Joy? I didn't know yet. Maybe all of them. Maybe more.
It was my first match as a coach. Not just any match. Against Fairview. The golden boys of the league. The ones everyone said were untouchable.
Well, not today.
A blur of limbs rushed toward me Tariq, grinning like a maniac, arms wide like he was about to take flight.
"Coach Malik! We freaking did it!" he shouted, nearly tackling me with a hug.
I laughed, pulling him in and then shoving him back playfully. "Oi! Easy! These knees have mileage, you know."
"You were jumping like a madman on the sideline," he said, still buzzing.
I smiled. I hadn't even realized it. Maybe I had jumped. Maybe I needed to.
Then the rest came shouting, cheering, slapping my back, dragging me into the center like I was the one who scored both goals. But I hadn't done a damn thing like that.
They had.
"Coach, man," said Darnell, stepping forward with sweat pouring off his forehead, "you called it all. The subs, the midfield switch you made this happen."
I shook my head, hard. "Nah. That's not how this works."
I pulled them into a tight circle, drawing them in with a look. No whiteboards, no shouting this time. Just truth.
"You boys did this," I said, voice low but steady. "Every press, every sprint, every time you covered for each other when Fairview tried to run through you like they always do… you held the line. That wasn't me. That was you."
Tariq grinned. "Yeah, well… I blacked out on that last tackle. Thought I was done."
"You black out like that again and I'll buy you new boots," I said with a smirk.
Laughter rippled around me, honest and loose.
I looked at Jamal the keeper who'd denied that final header with a fingertip save I still couldn't believe. Then I looked at Noah, who'd pulled off a slick backheel assist like he'd been waiting his whole life for that one moment.
And all I could think was, they did this.
"Don't let them say I won this game," I told them. "Let them say East-Bridge showed up. Let them say you made Fairview look human."
They went wild again hugging, jumping, shouting things like "Coach is the G.O.A.T!" and "First win of many!"
Behind them, I caught Kenny walking up my assistant coach, my old strike partner from before the injury, before the rehab, before everything changed. Still had that same walk, like he'd just stepped off a pitch.
He stopped beside me and grinned. "Feels like the old days, huh?"
"Back when we used to play instead of shout from the sidelines," I replied, laughing under my breath.
"You still barked like a striker today."
"More like panicked like one," I said. "Inside, I was a mess."
Kenny nudged my shoulder. "You hid it well. You did good, Malik."
I paused. Took in the pitch, the kids still celebrating, the sound of chants echoing across the academy.
Maybe I did. But deep down, I knew it wasn't about me.
This was about second chances. Not just mine but ours. Those boys wanted to matter. And today… they did.
As the sun began to dip and the crowd slowly filtered out, I stood alone at the edge of the field, boots planted in the grass, hands in my jacket pockets.
My heart still beat too fast. It wasn't nerves anymore. It was something more powerful.
Hope.
Tomorrow, I'd drill them harder. Tomorrow, we'd study the tape and iron out every mistake. But tonight…
Tonight belonged to them. And quietly, maybe a little bit, it belonged to me too.
The following day, some were still rejoicing from the victory of the previous match and some were disappointed cause they didn't get to play in the match.
I was trying to motivate those who were disappointed when the door swung open and Ms. Alvarez stepped inside. Her sharp heels clicked against the tiles. Instantly the noise died down, replaced by a nervous shuffle.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, scanning the room like a principal after a food fight. Then her eyes landed on me.
"Well, Malik," she said slowly, "I gave you a condition. Win, or the team folds."
My stomach tightened. I could almost hear the boys holding their breath.
She let the pause drag, then finally said: "You won. Which means the team stands. For now."
A cheer erupted water bottles banged on benches, towels flung into the air.
Ms. Alvarez raised a hand, silencing them again. "Don't celebrate too loudly. This doesn't mean you're safe. A team is more than one upset victory. You want East-Bridge to survive? Then prove it. Consistently. Week after week."
She turned to me, her gaze heavy. "And you, Malik… if you want to keep calling yourself coach, you'll need more than chalk and enthusiasm. Come by the council office Monday morning. We'll discuss terms. Don't be late."
And with that, she was gone.
The boys erupted again, but I barely heard them. My chest was pounding. Monday. Office. Terms.
I had just stepped into a world I wasn't sure I was ready for.