Matchday mornings felt different.
The air itself changed.
Even the stadium looked more alive.
Scarves hung from balconies around the city. Bars filled earlier than usual. Local newspapers piled near shop entrances with Malik's face plastered across the back pages.
---
BOY WONDER'S FIRST TEST
MIRAFLORES OR MEDIA CIRCUS?
CAN MALIK SURVIVE PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALL?
---
By noon, Estadio Municipal de Miraflores was already humming.
Not full.
But restless.
Curious.
People didn't come expecting greatness.
They came expecting drama.
And football always delivered drama.
---
Inside the tunnel area, Malik stood alone for a moment adjusting his tie slightly.
First professional match.
As manager.
The sounds echoed around him:
boots against concrete,
fans chanting outside,
staff radios crackling,
players shouting across corridors.
Professional football.
Real football.
Not youth tournaments. Not academy matches.
This was where careers started dying.
And where legends began.
Elena approached quietly beside him.
"Nervous?"
Malik answered honestly again.
"Yes."
She smirked faintly.
"Good. Means you understand the situation."
Then she handed him the lineup sheet.
Real Oviedo B. 4-2-3-1. Aggressive wingers. High pressing fullbacks.
Exactly as expected.
Malik studied it carefully.
Then nodded once.
"We can hurt them."
Elena looked at him like he was slightly insane.
Miraflores hadn't won in seven matches.
And he was talking about hurting opponents already.
Interesting manager indeed.
---
The dressing room atmosphere before kickoff felt tense.
Not fearful.
Sharp.
Players sat quietly taping wrists and adjusting boots while stadium noise vibrated through the walls.
Malik walked slowly through the room.
Observing.
Raúl looked calm. Adrian looked excited. Some veterans looked skeptical still.
Fearless teams were stupid. Nervous teams were human.
Malik finally stood before them.
No long speech.
No movie dialogue.
Just football.
"The first fifteen minutes matter most."
Players looked up immediately.
"If they press high, we bait the press and attack wide spaces."
Magnetic board clicks echoed softly.
"Our midfield rotates aggressively during buildup. Do not stay static."
Point.
Point.
Point.
"When we lose possession, immediate recovery sprint. No complaints. No hands in the air. React."
The players nodded slowly.
More focused now.
Then Malik paused briefly.
And looked around the room carefully.
"You know what they expect today?"
Silence.
"They expect chaos."
A few players smirked slightly.
"They expect us to panic after conceding."
Now the room sharpened.
Malik's voice lowered slightly.
"So if we suffer…"
His eyes hardened.
"…we suffer properly."
That one landed.
Professional football language.
No fake motivation. No empty passion.
Just resilience.
Then finally:
"Compete."
---
The roar hit differently when Malik stepped onto the touchline.
Louder than television ever captured.
Thousands of voices crashing together beneath gray skies.
Some cheering. Some booing. Some simply curious.
And somewhere high above the stadium…
The cameras focused tightly on him.
Youngest manager in the division.
The experiment.
The gamble.
The potential disaster.
Malik barely noticed anymore.
His eyes stayed fixed on the pitch.
Always the pitch.
---
Kickoff.
Immediately, chaos.
Real Oviedo B pressed aggressively from the first whistle, their front line swarming Miraflores' buildup structure.
Malik watched carefully.
Good pressing shape. Fast recoveries.
But vulnerable wide transitions.
Interesting.
"Wider!" Malik shouted instantly.
"Stretch them!"
Miraflores adjusted.
And suddenly…
It worked.
Minute 11.
Quick central rotation. One-touch escape through midfield. Adrian bursting into space.
The stadium gasped.
Low cross.
GOAL.
0-1
Miraflores scores
Estadio Municipal exploded.
Players sprinted toward the corner flag screaming while Malik remained near the touchline, fists clenched tightly but expression controlled.
Inside?
Fire.
Pure fire.
First professional goal. First tactical sequence executed correctly.
Even Elena looked stunned in the directors' box.
The movement was clean. Deliberate. Coached.
The commentators noticed immediately.
"This is not random football from Miraflores!"
"Look at the spacing!"
"The young manager has clearly worked on transitional structure!"
But professional football punished joy brutally.
Minute 19.
Miraflores lost possession cheaply.
One failed recovery run.
One slow defensive rotation.
One hesitation.
GOAL.
1–1.
Then another.
Minute 27.
High press bypassed. Defensive line exposed.
2–1.
The stadium atmosphere shifted nervously.
And Malik saw it instantly.
Heads dropping. Panic returning. Structure collapsing emotionally.
There.
That was the real weakness.
Not tactics.
Mentality under pressure.
"RESET!" Malik screamed from the touchline.
"RESET YOUR SHAPE!"
But football momentum was merciless.
Minute 36.
3–1.
Deflection.
Bad luck.
But still punishment.
The cameras immediately cut toward Malik.
Waiting for panic.
Instead…
He kept giving instructions.
Constantly.
Sharp hand movements. Adjustments. Corrections.
Thinking.
Always thinking.
---
Halftime.
The dressing room felt suffocated.
Heavy breathing. Sweat. Frustration.
One player slammed a water bottle violently.
Another cursed under his breath.
But Malik entered calmly.
Too calmly.
That immediately got attention.
He grabbed the tactical board.
"No panic."
The players stared.
"You know why we're losing?"
Nobody answered.
"Because you stop trusting the structure after setbacks."
He pointed sharply.
"The first goal against us changed your emotions. Then your football disappeared."
Silence.
Harsh truth again.
"But listen carefully."
He looked around the room.
"We are creating chances."
Now several players looked up.
"Real chances."
Another point at the board.
"Their fullbacks are vulnerable after transition."
Move.
Move.
Move.
"We attack there harder second half."
Raúl slowly nodded.
He saw it too.
Malik's voice sharpened.
"You wanted intensity?"
He pointed toward the tunnel.
"Good. Professional football is intensity."
Then finally:
"Now go suffer properly."
---
Second half.
Miraflores came out like wounded animals.
Aggressive. Fearless. Unstable.
And suddenly the match became madness.
Minute 52.
GOAL.
3–2.
Crowd roaring again.
Minute 58.
Real Oviedo counterattack.
4–2.
Minute 64.
Adrian Vega dribbled past two defenders and smashed one into the roof of the net.
4–3.
The stadium lost its mind completely now.
Even commentators sounded breathless.
"This match is insane!"
"But look at Miraflores! They refuse to die!"
And through all the chaos…
People started noticing something.
Miraflores actually looked dangerous.
Organized at times. Aggressive. Alive.
For the first time in months.
Then reality arrived again.
Late match fatigue.
Poor conditioning. Slow recovery runs. Defensive panic.
Minute 83.
5–3.
Game over.
Not because of tactics.
Because Miraflores physically collapsed.
Malik knew it instantly.
The players knew it too.
The final whistle eventually came beneath exhausted applause.
A loss.
But not an ordinary loss.
As players walked off the pitch breathing heavily, the stadium atmosphere felt strangely conflicted.
They lost.
Conceded five.
Yet somehow…
Miraflores looked more alive than they had all season.
Even the fans recognized it.
And as Malik stood near the touchline staring at the pitch quietly…
The commentators delivered the sentence that would dominate football media all week.
"They may have lost today…"
A pause.
"…but something has clearly changed at Miraflores."