January 1st, 1990.
The calendar might mark this as just another day, the first page of a new year, but for me it's so much more. Today I stand at the edge of a dream, ready to step into the life I've been longing for since childhood. I'm 22 years old now, and after years of study, sacrifice, and arguments at home, I've finally earned my coaching license in Germany.
That little booklet, with my name signed neatly across the bottom, isn't just paper—it's the key to my future. My reborn future.
I've kept my secret carefully tucked away all these years. No one knows that I once lived a different life, in a different time, decades ahead of this moment. But I swore that in this new life, I would chase the passion I had abandoned before. Football.
The decision wasn't easy, especially with my family.
I can still picture the evening when I finally told them. The fire crackled faintly in the living room hearth, my father sitting stiff in his armchair with the evening paper, glasses perched low on his nose. My mother sat across from him, knitting quietly, though I knew she had been waiting for me to speak. I had rehearsed my words over and over, but when I finally opened my mouth, the tremor in my voice betrayed me.
"Dad, Mom… I've decided. I want to become a football coach."
The silence that followed was heavier than I expected. My father lowered his paper, eyes narrowing behind the lenses.
Dad: "Why, Duke? Why must it be this? You're a genius with numbers, a natural investor. You could build fortunes, change industries. Why throw that away for something so uncertain?"
His words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were laced with pride and worry. In my past life, I had built fortunes. I had been a master of numbers and investments. But what had that really given me? A hollow existence, full of money but lacking meaning. This time, I wouldn't make the same mistake.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
Me: "Because football is where my heart belongs. It always has been. As a child, I dreamed of the pitch, of the roar of the crowd, of leading men to victory. But I knew I didn't have the talent to make it as a professional player. This… this is my way to still live that dream. Coaching is my path."
He sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.
Dad: "Duke, passion is one thing, but reality is another. Do you know how difficult it is to become a coach? To survive in that world? You're choosing hardship over stability."
Before I could respond, my mother set her knitting aside and placed a gentle hand on his arm.
Mom: "Enough, dear. He's not a boy anymore. He has the right to choose his own future. Don't force him into a life he doesn't want. You taught him to stand firm in what he believes—now let him prove it."
Her words were the lifeline I needed. I swallowed the lump in my throat and managed a small, grateful smile.
Me: "Thanks, Mom. I love you."
And just like that, the decision was sealed. Not accepted by my father, perhaps, but no longer contested. That conversation became the cornerstone of my resolve.
________________________________________
Now, months later, I find myself back in my hometown, standing at the edge of Kenilworth Road.
Luton. My birthplace. My anchor.
The winter air bites at my skin, but the cold hardly matters. In front of me looms the old stadium, its brick façade weathered by decades of wind and rain, its narrow stands a far cry from the grand arenas I'd seen in Germany. And yet, for me, there's no place more sacred.
Luton Town Football Club. Founded in 1885, nicknamed "The Hatters" after the town's famous hat-making trade. For generations, this club has been more than just a football team. It's been the beating heart of the community, a banner of pride for a town too often overlooked.
As a boy, I'd pressed my face against these very gates, peeking through the gaps just to catch a glimpse of the green pitch. I still remember the first time I was inside, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with other supporters, the roar of chants shaking my bones. The smell of fresh-cut grass mixed with beer and cigarette smoke, the sight of scarves waving high, the sound of hope carried on every voice—it was intoxicating.
That memory never left me. Not in my first life, and not now.
I run a hand along the cold metal of the gate, my chest tightening. This is where it begins, I think. One day, I won't just be a supporter on the outside looking in. One day, I'll be the man on the touchline, directing every pass, every movement, every dream.
But dreams alone won't make it happen.
I know the road ahead is brutal. English football isn't forgiving. Coaches are hired and sacked like disposable parts, especially the young and inexperienced. A 22-year-old with a German coaching license will raise more eyebrows than cheers. I'll be seen as a gamble, maybe even a joke.
But I have an advantage no one else does. I carry with me the knowledge of the future—the trends, the tactics, the players who will rise to greatness. And I have my system. A gift from fate, perhaps, or a curse. The FC System that whispered to me the moment I awoke in this life. Its powers are limited, but precise: development and scouting. With it, I can shape players into more than what the world expects, and I can find hidden gems that history itself forgot.
That's my edge. That's my secret weapon.
I take a deep breath, letting the winter wind fill my lungs. For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine the stands full, the Hatters charging forward under my command. I can almost hear the chants of the crowd: "Come on you Hatters!"
When I open them again, the stadium is still empty, silent, waiting.
But it won't be for long.
Because today, on the first day of 1990, I'm not just a young man with a license in his pocket. I'm a dreamer reborn with a mission.
And this mission begins here, in Luton.
________________________________________
I turn away from the stadium, my footsteps crunching against the frosty pavement. My parents still don't fully understand. The world won't understand. But I don't need them to. All I need is the fire burning inside me, the memories of a past life urging me forward, and the belief that someday, the name Duke Rewark will be etched into the history of football.
This is my story. This is my beginning.
And I swear—no matter how long it takes, no matter how many obstacles I face—I will lead a team to glory.
One step at a time.