The training ground was quiet in the wrong way.
Not relaxed. Not focused either.
Muted.
Marcus felt it as soon as he walked through the gates. Conversations didn't stop when he passed. They simply… didn't start. Players stretched in loose clusters, heads down, headphones in. No one joking about the draw. No one angry about it either.
That bothered him more.
A draw meant nothing had broken. It also meant nothing had been solved.
Marcus dropped his bag near the sideline and tied his boots slowly. He glanced up once, just to check.
The midfield group was already passing among themselves. Short, quick exchanges. Marcus raised a hand once, casually.
The ball didn't come.
He lowered it.
The video room was dim, curtains half-drawn.
The coach stood at the front, remote in hand. He didn't waste time.
"This is the clip," he said, pressing play.
The screen showed the twenty-second minute from the last match. Marcus dropping late. Two defenders closing. Passing lane gone.
Freeze-frame.
"Options?" the coach asked.
Silence.
Marcus waited.
The winger shifted in his seat. The central midfielder glanced at the floor.
The coach looked around the room. "Anyone?"
Still nothing.
He nodded slowly. "That's the problem."
He rewound the clip. Played it again. Slower.
"Movement wasn't wrong," the coach said. "Timing wasn't wrong either."
He paused the clip again. This time, just before the pass.
"The read was wrong."
Marcus felt it land.
Not blame. Responsibility.
"If we don't read the same moment," the coach continued, "we're never on the same clock."
A few heads lifted at that.
"Football isn't about ideas," he said. "It's about shared ones."
The screen went dark.
Training started with positional play.
Boxes marked with cones. Two-touch maximum. Pressure constant.
Marcus took his place between the lines.
First sequence.
He stayed high. The ball moved around the box cleanly. The defenders shifted. The pass never came.
Second sequence.
Marcus dropped late, exactly as he'd learned to. The central midfielder released the pass immediately.
Too early.
Marcus stopped mid-step. The ball rolled into empty space.
Turnover.
"RESET," the coach called.
Third sequence.
Marcus stayed high longer this time. Waited. Counted his breath.
The midfielder hesitated, unsure.
The ball went sideways instead.
The drill broke down.
The coach blew the whistle sharply.
"YOU'RE NOT ON THE SAME CLOCK."
The words echoed across the pitch.
Marcus straightened slowly.
The midfielder looked at him. Frustration clear now. "I don't know when you're coming," he said. Not shouting. Worse. Honest.
Marcus stepped closer. "You're watching me," he said. "Watch the space."
The midfielder scoffed. "That's easy for you to say."
Marcus felt the edge rise in his chest. "I'm not hiding."
"You might as well be," the midfielder snapped. "One second you're there, next you're gone."
Around them, the drill reset. Players glanced over, then away.
The coach didn't interrupt.
That silence cut deeper than any whistle.
The next drill made the message clearer.
The coach split the group.
One side played with Marcus.
The other didn't.
The rival striker led the line for the second group. Simple movements. Clear runs. Always available.
The ball moved faster there. Cleaner. Easier.
"GOOD," the coach called once. "KEEP IT SIMPLE."
Marcus heard it.
He hated that he understood it.
On his side, the rhythm stuttered. Not badly. Just enough to feel strained. Players hesitated. Passed safe instead of sharp.
Marcus dropped late once. The pass came early again.
Missed connection.
The rival striker scored at the other end. Clean finish. Applause.
Marcus looked down at the grass.
Water break.
The winger leaned against the fence beside him. "It's harder with you," he said quietly.
Marcus didn't respond immediately.
"Not worse," the winger added. "Just… harder."
Marcus nodded. "I know."
"You can't expect everyone to read it," the winger continued. "Some of us need the ball where we can see it."
Marcus turned to him. "And if I give it to you there, they step up. The space disappears."
The winger frowned. "So what? We just guess?"
Marcus shook his head. "We sync."
The winger let out a short laugh. "That's easy to say."
Marcus didn't argue.
He couldn't.
The rival striker passed by as they headed back onto the pitch.
"See?" he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Sometimes simple works."
Marcus stopped walking.
The rival turned. Smiling.
"Nothing personal," he said. "You're just… complicated."
Marcus held his gaze. "Football is."
The rival shrugged. "Not if you keep it honest."
He jogged away.
Marcus stood still for a moment longer before moving again.
The final drill of the session was telling.
The coach ran a full attacking sequence without Marcus.
The team flowed. Not brilliantly. Not creatively.
But smoothly.
Pass. Move. Pass.
No hesitation.
No second-guessing.
Marcus watched from the side, arms folded loosely, chest tight.
This was the danger.
Ease.
The coach wasn't smiling. He wasn't frowning either.
He was observing.
When Marcus was called back in, the difference was immediate. The shape changed. The defenders hesitated again. The rhythm slowed.
The drill ended without a clear winner.
The coach blew the whistle.
"That's enough," he said.
No lecture.
No conclusion.
That was worse.
The pitch emptied gradually.
Marcus stayed.
He always did.
He stood near the centre circle, ball at his feet, watching the shadows stretch across the grass. He replayed the session in his head.
The missed pass.
The hesitation.
The way the drill looked easier without him.
Being unpredictable made him dangerous.
It also made him difficult to follow.
If they couldn't read him, they couldn't trust him.
The thought settled heavily.
This wasn't about defenders anymore.
It was about teammates.
Marcus rolled the ball forward and stopped it with his sole. Stayed still. Counted. Then moved late.
Again.
And again.
He needed to find a way to be read without being obvious.
That was the next step.
In the locker room, most of the squad was already gone.
The central midfielder was still there, unlacing his boots.
Marcus hesitated, then walked over.
"Earlier," Marcus said. "I wasn't ignoring you."
The midfielder looked up. "I know."
"I'll give you a cue," Marcus continued. "Not a run. A look. Or a pause."
The midfielder considered that. "You do that… I'll wait."
It wasn't agreement.
But it wasn't dismissal either.
That mattered.
Marcus left the training ground as the lights came on.
The silence followed him all the way to the gate.
It wasn't hostile.
It wasn't kind.
It was uncertain.
That was worse than either.
As he walked, Marcus understood something clearly for the first time.
Controlling space wasn't enough.
If no one followed, control meant nothing.
CONTROL MEANS NOTHING IF NO ONE FOLLOWS.
He didn't slow his steps.
Tomorrow, he'd have to teach them how to move with him.
Not by talking.
By timing it right.