The tactics board stretched across the wall like a vast canvas; pristine, orderly, and immaculate. Beside it stood a handful of individuals clad in sharp uniforms, their posture radiating professionalism.
"Have all of them arrived?" The speaker, a man with short, dark hair, possessed a peculiar appearance, with his irises appearing as if carved into his sockets, giving him an almost otherworldly gaze.
"Yes, sir. Except for those injured, everyone is present," responded one of the assistants, tablet in hand.
"Then let’s begin."
He issued the command before turning to face the assembled group.
The players before him wore matching uniforms, a striking combination of red and blue, each bearing a pentagonal logo emblazoned on the chest. Their expressions ranged from curious to anxious, a quiet tension humming through the room.
"So, as you all know," Diego began, his voice cutting through the silence, "the draw has been made."
The screen behind him flickered to life, displaying the contents of the group stage opponents.
GROUP B
Atletico Madrid
Chelsea
FK Bodo/Glimt
Celtic F.C.
The room fell into a stunned hush.
Then, the murmurs rippled.
"Champions of Spain. Champions of Norway. Champions of Scotland." A player’s voice dripped with disbelief. "All three in the same group?" He shook his head, frustration bleeding into his tone. "Are you kidding me?"
"On top of that, there’s Chelsea, too." Another voice chimed in, darker, more resigned. "This is basically the Group of Death."
The chatter swelled, complaints rising like a tide. Shoulders tensed. Brows furrowed. The weight of the draw pressed down on every player in the room.
Diego watched them silently, his carved irises sweeping across the restless faces.
He had expected this reaction.
Well, considering the opponents drawn by their rivals, it did seem like they had been placed in a group of death. Both Barcelona and Real Madrid had drawn significantly easier opponents. Though that didn’t mean the others had it easy either.
Among the rumbling crowd, Hiro remained silent.
He didn’t complain like the rest. Though the contents of the screen bothered him, gnawing at the edges of his mind. He knew complaining would get him nowhere. So he chose composure over chaos. Silence over noise.
"I know. I know." Diego raised his hands, attempting to calm the rising tide. "I know we’ve drawn some unfortunate opponents."
He paused, letting the murmurs settle.
"But should we be acting like this?"
His tone sharpened.
"Should we be the ones cowering?" His voice cut through the room like a blade. "Since when did we fear our opponents? Since when did it matter who we face?"
He swept his gaze across the room, his carved irises boring into each player in turn.
"Sure, we’re facing the champions of other leagues." He took a step forward, his presence expanding, commanding. "But did you forget? We are the Champions of Spain." Another step. "Champions of Europe."
His gaze intensified as the fire underneath burnt crisp and bright.
"Remember who we are."
A beat of silence.
"Who are we?"
His voice rose, a challenge hurled into the crowd.
The players couldn’t tear their eyes away. They were drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet—pulled by the gravity of his conviction.
"The Champions."
Julian was the first to speak. Though a little muffled, his voice cut through the silence, and Diego couldn’t help but provide him a nod.
Then others chimed in, voices rising one by one.
"The Champions."
"The Champions."
Their voices swelled, echoing off the walls, filling the room with a thunderous rhythm. The previous nervousness evaporated, replaced by something fiercer—something unbreakable.
Diego nodded, a fierce pride flickering in his eyes.
"That’s right." He clenched his fist. "WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!"
The room erupted.
The atmosphere in the room shifted, the previous confusion nowhere to be seen.
For a while, this charged energy persisted before things settled. Then the tactical meeting regarding their upcoming opponent began in earnest.
The discussion unfolded as the coach dissected the strengths and shortcomings of their rivals. Though Diego favored a rather straightforward approach, his understanding of the game ran far deeper than most coaches. With nearly two decades of experience under his belt, his wisdom was among the finest in the sport.
He explained the things the players had already witnessed: the obvious patterns, the predictable movements.
But that wasn’t all.
He also revealed the tactics others had failed to notice. The subtle shifts. The hidden vulnerabilities. The tells that only years of study could uncover.
This insight earned him the silent marvel of those listening.
Hiro, as perceptive as any scholar, found himself utterly captivated. The more he listened, the more he felt as though he were uncovering something profound, like layers of understanding he hadn’t known existed.
The sheer depth of knowledge this man possessed was breathtaking.
"Look for the flanks. Especially their fullbacks." Diego pointed at the screen, which flickered with tactical diagrams. Arrowheads and circles were scribbled across the display, creating a chaotic web of instructions.
It looked messy. Unpolished.
But Diego couldn’t be bothered with elegance. He was a practical man, more concerned with substance than style.
If he had to compare himself to Guardiola, the master painter of modern football, Diego would appear like an amateur who had only recently picked up the brush, despite his decades of experience.
But that didn’t mean he would lose to him.
He had trampled on Guardiola’s tactics before. Many times. Though he had also lost, and the losses outnumbered the wins.
Still, he stood here. Still, he fought.
"Don’t let their striker loose in the box." Diego’s voice dropped, turning grave. "If we let him roam freely, this is what will happen to us."
The screen flickered again.
A video began to play.
On it, a towering, blonde figure dominated the frame. He rose above his markers like a colossus, leaping with an almost casual grace. Those tasked with marking him seemed insignificant, like mere shadows clinging to his frame.
Then he headed the ball.
Effortless. Unstoppable.
The ball thundered into the net.
The room fell silent.
Diego let the image linger, a warning etched into their minds.
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