I made the decision to return to Mansfield.
I acted immediately. I declined the interim manager position and submitted my resignation.
Next, I liquidated all my assets in Bochum, including my house and everything I had built there.
Seeing this, my father remarked, "You've inherited your mother's temperament exactly."
"My temperament?" I asked.
"Once you make up your mind about something, you act without hesitation."
"Oh, that's just my personality, Uncle Jack."
To my surprise, my parents nodded easily at my decision to return to Mansfield.
They even seemed welcoming. Perhaps their own reasons for living in London played a part.
"Mansfield is struggling these days, but it's a club with a long history. If they can weather this crisis, they'll soar again."
"If you take the interim manager job at Bochum and fail to secure their survival, you'll bear the full responsibility. Starting at Mansfield, even if it's tough, might not be a bad idea."
"It's your hometown team, the club where you spent your youth. And most importantly, Lucy... that child needs you."
The last words, spoken softly by my mother, were likely the biggest reason.
She wasn't wrong. My decision to join Mansfield wasn't driven by love for my hometown team. It was more like a love-hate relationship.
It was simply because of Lucy's situation.
I had achieved countless successes. But what remained for me?
When I popped the championship champagne and lay alone in bed at home...
It was like eating chocolate.
A belated bitterness lingered in my mouth, mingling with the sweetness.
I swam through the emptiness of the past.
Only faint memories surfaced: the stadium where I used to play as a boy, and Lucy's voice chattering beyond the fence.
But Lucy... Lucy above all.
That's why I've made this choice now. To never again feel the pain that remains branded in my mind like a scar, even as I pursue a successful career. I've resolved to have no regrets.
Fortunately, I got off to a good start.
I was frantically settling things in Germany when I heard the news that Bochum had been relegated.
Then Lucy called.
"Colon cancer? If you hadn't forced me to get a thorough checkup at the hospital, I would never have known."
It's a serious illness. The very disease that ultimately claimed Lucy's life.
It wasn't so much that she died because she ran out of money for hospital bills, but rather that her symptoms had already deteriorated beyond any hope of intervention.
Fortunately, we caught it early. The initial checkup showed nothing, so I kept pushing for more tests. We went from hospital to hospital, eventually even traveling to London.
Lucy was exasperated by this absurd ordeal, but when I insisted that my taking on the manager role was contingent on her continuing the checkups, she sighed and silently complied.
Finally, they found the tumor.
It was at such an early stage that the hospital staff marveled at her incredible luck, predicting a complete recovery with no side effects.
This left Lucy less surprised and more genuinely astonished, looking at me with a sense of wonder.
"I asked you to be the manager, and now you've become my life's savior?"
"Forget about club matters for now. Focus entirely on your treatment."
"As the Chairman, how can I just ignore everything? I need to introduce you to the coaching staff. There's also the issue of player transfers. We'll manage to navigate the receivership process somehow, thankfully..."
"Don't worry. I'll handle the coaching staff and players myself. After all, the team doesn't have a proper sporting director or executive leadership anyway, right? You'll give me full authority over transfers, won't you?"
She hesitated for a moment before nodding, then smiled brightly.
"Thank you so much, Eric. For coming."
That smile was all I needed.
As for the contract terms.
And just like that, the managerial contract was finalized. Time had flown by. It felt like only yesterday we'd heard about Bochum's relegation, and now the sweltering summer heat was already bearing down, signaling the start of the new season.
Lower-division leagues typically have more teams, which naturally means more matches. As a result, players get shorter off-seasons compared to those in top-tier leagues, meaning preseason training starts earlier.
After settling all my affairs in Germany, I arrived in Mansfield four days after the preseason training camp had already begun.
I headed straight to the training ground.
Through the car window, I spotted a small crowd gathered outside.
Save Mansfield Town!
Mansfield belongs to Mansfield!
Let's collect 10 cents each to protect our club!
Fans in team jerseys waved signs and chanted slogans.
Mansfield Town was in dire financial straits, plagued by rumors of sales and acquisitions, ownership disputes, and general instability. The club had entered receivership, and if liquidation was ordered, relegation from the Fourth Division would be the least of their worries—they might even lose their professional league status altogether.
Fortunately, the fans rallied to save the club.
Fans pooled their resources and successfully formed a supporters' association to acquire the club.
Lucy's family, the most influential faction within the association, was officially appointed as the chairman.
They had narrowly avoided the worst-case scenario, but the real challenge lay ahead.
The club was already financially struggling, and the city itself wasn't wealthy.
With a small overall population, the number of supporters was even smaller.
The romantic notion of a fan-run club might stir the heart, but reality was harsh. Where would they secure funding? How would they manage the club's massive debt?
To any observer, the club's future looked bleak. It held no appeal for players, and the coaching staff was no different. No manager or coach wanted to come to Mansfield. No foolish captain would willingly command a sinking ship.
I've become a foolish captain.
Eric arrived at the training grounds with a bitter smile. The security guard had already opened the gate, likely alerted by Lucy.
"I heard we have a new manager. Welcome to Mansfield... Eric?"
A portly, middle-aged man greeted him through the window, then his eyes widened in surprise.
"Long time no see, Uncle Jack."
"Eric! Oh, Eric? Is that really you? The kid who skipped school to kick a ball all day and got his butt kicked?"
"You're still as blunt as ever, Uncle Jack, dredging up embarrassing memories like that."
"Wait a minute. Hold on, this is the club car, isn't it? Then...!"
Uncle Jack's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. They were already somewhat buried in his fleshy face, but now they seemed about to burst from their sockets.
"That's right. It's me."
"Oh my god! I heard you were coaching in Germany, but a manager? Oh, this is...!"
"Whoa, hold on a second, Uncle Jack. Just a moment."
Uncle Jack squeezed his bulky frame through the window, leaving me breathless.
"Oh my god. Our youth star is coming back as manager?"
"Disappointed? Because I don't have any managerial experience?"
Uncle Jack shook his head vigorously and extended his large, calloused hand.
"Absolutely not! Welcome back home, Eric."
"..."
"What's wrong? Is there something on my face?"
"No. I'm just... happy to see you."
"Aigoo, look at you! The stubborn kid who used to live and breathe training. Going to Germany seems to have softened you up a bit, huh?"
Soft and gentle? What nonsense.
If you were to see the face of someone you once knew after more than twenty years...
Especially if it were the face of someone who had departed for a world you could never reach again...
If you could see that person's smile once more...
Wouldn't my current reaction be far too stiff, even dry?
"Stop eating the donuts."
"What did you say?"
"Donuts with black tea. It's bad for you. Really bad. How much sugar are you putting in that tea anyway? Go to the hospital on your day off."
"How can you drink black tea without sugar?"
"Don't drink it at all."
"Huh?"
"And go to the hospital. No, wait. There's a hospital the players use, right? I'll make an appointment for you. Go as soon as possible."
"Wait a minute..."
Uncle Jack wore an awkward expression, as if unsure what to say.
I felt just as awkward.
While I was glad to see him... not all my memories of this club were good.
I forced a clumsy smile and slowly drove inside.
At that moment, Uncle Jack shouted clearly, "Thank you for taking on the role of our team's manager! Thank you so much, Eric!"
I smiled bitterly.
I hadn't even led the team to success yet, and already I was hearing words of gratitude. That shout made me realize I wouldn't regret coming here, clearly defining the situation.
I'm back.
In Mansfield.
And in the past, at this exact moment.
To be honest, I hadn't been completely calm at first.
Lucy's voice, long since silenced by death, echoed through the phone.
The date on the screen showed the past.
In a daze, I had rushed to England, and only when I saw Lucy's face did the realization sink in: I had returned to the past. I had come back to Mansfield, the place I had sworn never to return to.
There was no denying it now.
After speaking with Uncle Jack, whom I had only heard had passed away from diabetes, I took a deep breath.
"If I had stayed in Bochum, I would have continued to rise to success, just like before."
Now, I was confident I could do even better. The failed player transfers, the misguided team selections, and even the future tactical trends I had already witnessed—all of that knowledge was now stored in my mind.
I was certain I could do better.
But I abandoned all of that and returned to Mansfield.
As the captain of a sinking ship, facing the worst possible circumstances, with every passenger trying to abandon ship.
This was the reason I had to be here.
Can I do this?
The doubt surfaced clearly in my mind.
Doubt about myself.
A promising talent of the future? The genius who would succeed Messi? A hidden gem buried in the mud, unknown to the world?
What good was knowing that?
"No one would want to join this team."
That's the kind of team it is. At least, that's what Mansfield is right now.
I can't do this alone. Stay calm. Stay calm.
The Eric who won the Champions League as a manager doesn't exist yet.
The Eric who lifted the championship trophies in the English Premier League, German Bundesliga, Italian Serie A, and Spanish La Liga—the so-called "Big Four" leagues—doesn't exist yet.
I'm now a rookie manager starting my first coaching career with a bottom-tier team in the Fourth Division.
I must acknowledge and accept this harsh reality.
Only by objectively assessing my situation can I prepare and overcome the challenges ahead.
I parked my car in the empty parking lot and rubbed my face dry.
Someone once told me I was too sensitive and negative, making me difficult to work with.
Yes, that's true. My personality is inherently negative.
But I believe this very trait is the key to my success as a manager.
My negativity stems from my ability to quickly identify and recognize glaring weaknesses.
Unless I find a way to overcome and eliminate these flaws, I feel like I'm breaking out in hives.
In this situation, there's only one thing I need to do:
"Sailing the ship of Mansfield alone is impossible."
A captain needs a skilled helmsman and a capable deck officer.
I pulled out my phone and typed a message:
-Hey. Still stuck writing reports for your bonus?
No reply.
But that was fine. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist responding to the next message:
Isn't it time you joined the coaching staff for real?
Ding.
As expected, a reply came:
-What are you talking about?
He'd taken the bait.
So I followed up:
-How about starting as head coach right away?
Time to reel him in. No hesitation, just a sharp, decisive yank.
You have to snatch him up.That's how you catch the big one.
Ding, ding, ding.
A phone call replaced the texts.
The name flashed clearly on the screen:
Maximilian.
Currently a contract-based performance analyst for a semi-pro team.
Living day-to-day on temporary contracts and bonuses.
But his passion for soccer burned brighter than anyone else's.
The future manager of Real Madrid.
A true tactical genius.
From now on, he would be my head coach, assisting me by my side.