Chapter 5: The Weight of the Badge
The victory felt like it had lasted an entire week.
In the days following their 2–1 win in the cup, Crawley's mood was lighter. The papers had picked up on their underdog performance, calling it a "hard-fought victory," but Niels could see the shift around the training ground. It wasn't just the players who had changed; the coaching staff seemed to walk with a little more purpose, the board members nodded more often when passing by, and even the tea lady greeted him by name.
But for Niels, the weight of it all began to settle like a stone in his chest.
The morning after the match, as he stood in the shower, water beating down over his tired limbs, it all hit him: this wasn't just a fluke. This wasn't just about winning a cup match against lower-league opposition. They'd asked him to step up, and he had. The pressure wasn't going anywhere. If anything, it was only going to get heavier.
He wiped the mirror clear of steam and looked at his reflection, wondering if he was still the same person he'd been just a week ago. Back then, the weight of the world felt crushing. Now, it was different. He'd come through something. Proved something.
But the next step wasn't guaranteed. And the higher you climbed, the harder you fell.
Tuesday Morning
Niels stood at the touchline, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets as he watched the players run through their drills. He was still adjusting to the idea that he was in charge. The players were looking to him now, not Milan. They respected him, but there was a quiet edge that came with responsibility—a new pressure, one he hadn't quite learned to carry yet.
Luka, the young winger who'd scored the decisive goal, jogged up to him with a smile.
"What's next, coach?" Luka asked, eyes gleaming with youthful excitement.
Niels paused for a second, weighing his words carefully. Luka's energy was infectious, but Niels had learned quickly that enthusiasm didn't always translate into good decisions. He couldn't just let things slip.
"We work harder," Niels said simply. "We don't take the next game lightly. Every match is an opportunity to show what we're made of."
Luka nodded, then hesitated before asking, "Do you think we could make a push for the league? I mean, after the cup, the lads are buzzing."
Niels considered the question. Could they make a run for promotion? It was still early in the season, but with the right momentum, it was possible. But that would take more than just hustle. It would take discipline. Tactical consistency. Something Crawley had lacked for a while.
"Let's focus on the next game first," Niels replied, "One match at a time."
Luka didn't argue. He respected the decision, though Niels could tell he was hoping for something bolder. They all were. But that was the thing about coaching; it wasn't just about boldness. It was about managing expectations, being steady. And for Niels, that was still a lesson he was learning.
Wednesday Afternoon
Wallace's message came through just as Niels was reviewing their upcoming opponent's lineup. Another cup match, but this one was against a more formidable team—a mid-table League One side with a decent record. They were bigger, faster, and stronger. The usual route of relying on grit and hustle wasn't going to be enough.
Niels read the email with a sinking feeling.
'You've done well so far. We're happy with your progress. But now, we need you to make a statement. Show that you can handle the pressure in these bigger games. The board's watching. Don't let us down.'
He re-read the last line a few times. Don't let us down.
A message that was equal parts praise and warning. A reminder that he wasn't just carrying the team; he was carrying expectations now.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. There was no time to second-guess himself. He had to make a plan.
Thursday
By Thursday afternoon, Niels had already mapped out a strategy, balancing defense with an aggressive counter-attack. They couldn't afford to let the opposition dominate the ball—Crawley would have to be clever with possession, waiting for opportunities rather than forcing them. The more time spent on defense, the more chances the opposition would have to break through.
The squad took to it well in training, but Niels was already thinking ahead. He could sense the pressure mounting, even in the training drills. It was as though the players were waiting for him to give them that one line, that moment of belief.
"Listen up," Niels called as they gathered around the center circle. "We know what they'll throw at us. They'll push hard. They'll hit us with their size and speed. But that's where we have the advantage. We're quicker. We've got heart. And we know what it takes to fight for the result. Don't let anyone outwork you, and when we get our chance, we take it."
He paused, watching their eyes. It was a familiar sight—players who were ready to run through walls for you. But this time, the difference was that Niels had to show them he could lead them through it. He had to prove he wasn't just lucky; he was capable.
Saturday: The Big Test
The match day arrived. Crawley was about to face off against a League One team that had been in the mix for promotion the year before. Their squad had players who knew what it was like to play under pressure. But Niels wasn't about to back down. Not now.
As the teams walked out onto the field, the weather turned foul, as if nature itself was throwing a curveball at them. The rain fell in sheets, the wind howled. Niels stood in his coat, holding his breath as the players lined up.
The atmosphere was electric, both teams under the lights. But it wasn't the roar of the crowd that struck Niels. It was the silence in his own chest. A calmness.
In the dressing room, he'd given his final speech. They were ready. He was ready.
"Let's go out there and show them who we are," he said quietly, voice steady.
The game kicked off, and immediately, Crawley found themselves under pressure. The opposition's physicality was overwhelming, but Crawley fought back with speed. Niels adjusted tactics on the fly—shifting formations, making changes when needed. He managed to keep the squad focused, though the minutes seemed to stretch on forever.
In the 72nd minute, with the score still tied at 0–0, Luka found himself on the break, racing past two defenders before curling a beautiful shot into the far corner.
1–0.
It wasn't over yet. But for a fleeting moment, Niels allowed himself to feel something. It wasn't the euphoria of a victory yet, but it was the realization that his plan had worked.
The final whistle blew. 1–0. They'd done it.
The players ran to him, roaring, faces lit with joy. But all Niels could do was breathe, letting the moment settle in his chest.
He wasn't just leading a team. He was becoming the manager he always wanted to be. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't afraid of what was coming next.
Back in the locker room, the celebration was wild. Music blared. Laughter echoed. But through it all, Niels stood quietly, watching as his players basked in the glory of the win.
Then Milan entered, still wearing his suit from the stands. He walked up to Niels and slapped him on the back.
"Not bad, kid," Milan said with a grin. "Not bad at all."
Niels smiled, feeling the weight of it all—but with it came something else, too. Something he hadn't expected.
Respect.
He wasn't just a temporary figure anymore. He was starting to leave his mark.