"Yes, gaffer," ca David’s voice, echoing slightly in his apartnt.
A mont ago, he had been locked in a brutal one-on-one Call of duty match with Zoey, where he was losing embarrassingly. Every tactical decision he made had been countered, every Offensive maneuver shredded apart. He was staring down yet another humiliating defeat—until, like a lifeline from the heavens, his phone rang.
Seeing the caller ID, he had instantly picked up. It was Ole Gunnar Solskjær. His coach—well, ex-coach now. It was a convenient escape from his virtual thrashing, but more than that, the call carried a certain weight.
As he settled into the conversation, David couldn’t help but find the situation a little ironic. He hadn’t even played 20 professional matches, and he was already about to have his third manager. A revolving door of authority figures, each bringing their own ideas, expectations, and visions for him. He was still adjusting to life as a professional footballer, yet the club’s instability made it feel like he was already a veteran in the chaos. The whole thing would’ve been amusing—if it wasn’t also a little concerning.
From the other end of the call, Ole’s familiar voice ca through, calm yet subdued.
"You don’t have to call gaffer anymore. Just call Ole."
There was sothing in his tone—sothing David imdiately picked up on. It wasn’t bitterness, nor was it anger. If anything, it was resignation. A quiet acceptance of a fate that had long been written.
David hesitated for a second before replying. "Okay, Ole."
He didn’t know how to console him, and he wasn’t about to try. There was no point in saying sothing empty like, "You did your best" or "You’ll bounce back." He doubted Ole wanted pity, and forcing sympathy into the conversation might only make things worse. Instead, he decided the best approach was to act normal—speak to him just like he always had.
"Good, good," Ole murmured, but the sigh that followed carried an unmistakable weight. Disappointnt laced his voice as he continued.
"Honestly... it pains that I won’t be able to coach you."
David remained silent, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way they were said. There was sothing deeply personal about them, sothing beyond just professional regret.
The silence stretched, but if Ole noticed it, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he kept speaking, his voice growing slightly stronger, as if montarily fueled by the passion of what could have been.
"Lord knows what I would have done... the plans I had for you—"
He cut himself off mid-sentence, exhaling sharply. There was no point in finishing.
Another pause. A sigh.
Then, with a mixture of reluctant acceptance, he simply said, "Well, all that is over now."
Ole let out another deep sigh before speaking again, his tone steady but firm.
Ole let out another deep sigh before speaking again, his tone steady but firm.
"But David, you know what you need to do."
David, still seated on his couch, leaned back slightly, gripping his phone tighter. "What?"
It was almost as if Ole had been waiting for him to ask. Without hesitation, he continued, his voice carrying the weight of experience.
"You need to show your willingness. Unlike , the new coach doesn’t know you—he has no idea what you can offer. So, you have to prove yourself. And I don’t just an your talent with the ball. Your work ethic, your discipline—that’s what will set you apart. Co in hours earlier than required, stay later than everyone else. Show him how dedicated you are. If you do that, and he sees your ability on the pitch, he won’t be able to ignore you. You’ll integrate well with the team."
Ole paused for a mont, as if choosing his next words carefully. What he didn’t say, however, was that he had already spoken to so of the assistant coaches, urging them to keep an eye on David and put in a good word where necessary. But he wasn’t going to tell him that. The last thing he wanted was for David to rely on soone else’s influence instead of earning his place the right way. Football was ruthless—nothing was guaranteed, and he needed to learn that early.
David, taking in every word, felt a surge of determination rising within him. He straightened his posture, his voice filled with energy as he responded. "Of course! You can count on for that. I was already planning to work even harder, but now I’ll take it up another level."
He ant it. If there was one thing David hated, it was being overlooked. And with a new coach coming in, he wasn’t about to let himself slip into the background. He had worked too hard to get here.
Ole, however, wasn’t done. His tone suddenly shifted, becoming more serious.
"And listen to , David—don’t get influenced by so of the players."
David furrowed his brows slightly. He knew where this was going.
"You’re still underage, so technically, a lot of things should be off-limits for you. But I’m not naive—I know how money and fa change things. You’ll have more freedom than most kids your age, and with that cos temptation. You need to watch out for those vices—no clubbing, no drinking, no unnecessary distractions."
David parted his lips, ready to reassure him that he wasn’t the type to get carried away, but before he could get a word in, Ole continued.
"I know I might be overstepping. I’m not even your coach anymore."
David imdiately jumped in. "No, I nev—"
But Ole cut him off, his voice unwavering, carrying an unmistakable conviction.
"But before anything else, I’m a United fan. And as a fan, I want this club to shine. And David, you... you are the key to that."
There was no hesitation in his words. No doubt. Just pure belief.
David sat there, phone pressed to his ear, montarily speechless. It wasn’t just about football anymore—it was about responsibility. Expectations. The weight of carrying sothing bigger than himself.
And in that mont, he knew—this wasn’t just another conversation. This was a challenge. A call to step up.
And he was ready for it.
Before David could say anything else, Ole continued, his voice steady but filled with sincerity.
"I’m not trying to add pressure on you or anything—I just truly believe you are exactly what United needs. You have everything it takes to be one of the greats. The way you move with the ball at your age, your control, your decision-making in the final third—everything. Yeah, you still need work, but with a little polish... what you could beco."
Ole trailed off, suddenly going quiet. The silence stretched between them, and for a mont, David thought the call had disconnected. Then, finally, Ole spoke again, his voice softer, almost hesitant.
"Sorry, I seem to have gone on a rant... forgetting I’m not your coach anymore."
His laugh followed, dry and tinged with sothing that sounded almost like regret.
David, hearing that, shook his head slightly. "It’s all good. And about what you said—I feel no pressure. I was born to play. I want to help United rise again. Thanks for bringing to the club, gaffer. I truly appreciate it. And I promise—I’ll make United great again."
There was determination in his words, an unwavering belief.
Ole let out a small chuckle. "Good, then. Good."
David hesitated for a mont before speaking again. "About the new coach, uh..." He started but trailed off, unsure if he should ask.
Ole caught on imdiately. "What is it?"
David hesitated again before shaking his head. "No, it’s fine. Don’t worry."
But Ole only laughed, a genuine one this ti. "You wanted to know if I know who it is, right?"
David exhaled, a little embarrassed. "Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up."
Ole just laughed more. "It’s fine."
There was a brief pause before he continued, his tone more asured. "Well, I don’t actually know who it is."
David frowned slightly, but Ole wasn’t finished.
"But I guess Ed should know—or at the very least, who the likely candidates are."
A longer silence followed before Ole spoke again, his voice lower, almost reluctant. "But... I’m not exactly on speaking terms with him right now, so I’m sorry—I can’t help you in that regard."
David could sense the weight behind those words, but he chose not to press. "No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have even asked. And honestly, it doesn’t matter who the new coach is. Once he sees my determination, he won’t have a choice but to acknowledge ."
That earned a loud, hearty laugh from Ole. "That’s the mindset, kid. Just be you. I’m sure you’ll go far."
They spoke for a little while longer, but soon, the call ended.
David sat there, phone still in his hand, staring blankly ahead. He should’ve felt relieved. Motivated, even. But instead, sothing heavier settled in his chest.
The weight of everything—the coaching change, the responsibility of leading United’s future, the uncertainty of what lay ahead—it was all there. But what lingered the most was sothing simpler, sothing he hadn’t really allowed himself to acknowledge.
Loneliness.
He had been living alone for months now, ever since moving from Derby County. But back then, it hadn’t felt like this. Maybe because he had still been able to talk to his parents, especially his mom. But after that argunt with his dad, the calls had beco practically nonexistent. His mom still called when she had the ti, but with her work schedule, those monts were few and far between.
David exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing at his console. Zoey had gone offline. He wasn’t in the mood to play anymore, anyway.
He sighed again, standing up and grabbing the half-eaten cheesecake—the good one and the burnt one. He carried them to the kitchen, tossing them into the trash without a second thought.
Then, without really thinking, he started tidying up. It was sothing to do, at least. When he was done, he dropped onto the floor, stretching out his legs and beginning his usual exercises. The repetition, the familiar burn in his muscles—it was grounding. It was the only thing that felt stable now.
After that, he took a long shower, letting the warm water wash over him.
A normal day in his life now.
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