Chapter 1: Whistle of Rebirth

  Nicholas Marjan had always lived and breathed football.Not in the flashy, stadium-hopping, selfie-posting kind of way—but in the quiet, obsessive way that made people wonder if he was okay. To the few who knew him, he was just "Niels"—a name shaped by his mix of Asian roots and European football obsession.

  He didn't play. He didn't coach. He didn't even ref.He was the guy who spent nights running FIFA Career Mode until sunrise, watching tactical breakdowns in three languages, and memorizing youth prospects from obscure leagues no one else had heard of.

  Football wasn't just a passion. It was the only thing that ever made sense.

  Then one rainy night, he died.

  No warning. No drama. Just a slippery pavement on a midnight snack run. One bad step. A crack. A flash—And then, darkness.

  But when he opened his eyes, it wasn't to hospital lights or sirens.It was sky. Open sky. Pale blue, dotted with clouds. Grass beneath him. A training pitch.

  His body screamed in pain—his right knee throbbed with a sharp, burning ache. ACL-level agony.Not just pain—familiar pain.

  He sat up slowly, scanning the scene. The field was uneven, fenced with rusting wire. Old banners flapped in the breeze.

  2008? 2009?

  He stumbled toward the nearest building. Inside the musty locker room, a cracked mirror hung on the wall.

  The face staring back wasn't his.

  This wasn't a dream.This wasn't his world anymore.

  He was Nicholas Marjan now—or rather, a version of him that once existed in an obscure corner of football history. A youth prodigy from Eastern Europe. A name he'd seen long ago on old Football Manager forums. Tipped for greatness, derailed by a career-ending injury.

  His mind spun. He wasn't a star player, not here. That part had already passed.

  And then the memories returned, thick and slow, like syrup poured too cold.

  Years of trying to recover. Of fighting to return. Of being alone. Of shutting everyone out.

  Until one call changed everything.

  It was late. Rain tapped gently against his window. His knee ached more than usual.

  He stared at his phone for almost an hour before pressing dial.

  The phone rang once. Twice.

  Then—

  "Niels?"

  The voice on the other end was gravelly, familiar.Coach Milan.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Niels's throat tightened. "Coach… I—I don't think I can do it anymore."

  A pause."Your rehab—?"

  "It's not working. It's been years." His voice cracked. "I've tried everything. The physios, the surgeries… but I can't move like I used to. I can't even jog without feeling like my knee's going to snap."

  More silence.

  "I've given up, Coach. I don't think I'll ever play again."

  Niels swallowed hard. "And if I can't play... I don't know who I am anymore."

  It came out in a whisper, but Milan heard every word.

  Then, softly, the older man said, "I know, lad. I know football is everything to you. It always has been. But maybe… maybe there's another way."

  Niels blinked. "Another way?"

  "You may never make it as a player again," Milan said, voice low but firm. "But that doesn't mean you can't make your name in football."

  For the first time in months, Niels felt something flicker—like the faintest spark of light in the dark.

  "What way?" he asked, almost afraid to hope.

  Milan smiled on the other end of the line. "You can be a coach."

  Niels laughed, bitter and broken. "A coach? But I've never coached anyone. I wouldn't even know where to start."

  "That's why you'll start with me," Milan said. "Come be my assistant. Learn. Watch. Grow. You already see the game better than most people I know. You just need direction."

  "You really think I could do that?"

  "I wouldn't offer if I didn't."

  The silence that followed wasn't heavy—it was filled with possibility.

  "…Alright," Niels finally said. "I'm in."

  Now, in this strange new life, Niels stood at the edge of a ragged training ground—assistant coach of Crawley Town, a club clinging to survival in England's EFL League Two.

  The grass was patchy. The nets were torn. The morale was worse than the facilities.

  But it was real.

  And Coach Milan—gruff, dependable—greeted him just like always.

  He gave Niels a quick once-over and smirked. "You look like hell. Still sure you want to deal with moody teenagers again?"

  Niels let out a dry chuckle. "Better than being dead, I guess."

  He didn't mention the rest. The strange flashes in his vision. The way his instincts seemed upgraded—like some internal scout report embedded in his brain.

  It started during training.

  A wiry 17-year-old winger—Luka—jogged past. A flicker crossed Niels's sight, like a heads-up display only he could see.

  Luka RadevAge: 17Potential Rating: 87Hidden Trait: Clutch FinisherWeakness: Inconsistent Defensive Work Rate

  Niels blinked. It vanished.

  Then it happened again. Another player. Another flash.Marko Simic – CB – Potential: 62 – Weakness: Poor Tactical Discipline

  No sounds. No icons. Just raw, instinctive insight.

  He didn't question it. He just used it.

  Luka got more minutes. Marko got benched for key drills. The changes weren't drastic, but the difference showed. The tempo in training lifted. Luka started scoring.

  Then, one day, Milan handed him the whistle.

  "Your turn. Run the next drill. Let's see if you've still got the brain."

  The whistle felt heavier than it should.

  But not with fear—with purpose.

  "Alright. Split into two lines. We're changing things today."

  Because Niels had seen where football was going: false nines, high pressing, inverted fullbacks.And he knew players—the hidden gems. The future stars.

  Crawley Town would be the start.

  He wouldn't be a forgotten talent this time.

  He'd be the mind behind the magic.