"Wow!"
As Aymar opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a large mouth with thick, puckered lips, almost like a chrysanthemum in full bloom. Startled, he jerked backward from the ground, only to accidentally bump his forehead against the figure leaning over him—a figure who seemed ready to perform CPR.
The sudden impact sent a jolt through him, his head spinning as a sharp, pulsing pain spread from his temple.
"Haha! Pippo, did you skip brushing your teeth this morning?" one of the onlookers laughed, amused by the sight. "We tried calling out to him, but he didn't budge. Then the moment you leaned in for artificial respiration, he shot up like he'd seen a ghost!"
The small crowd around them chuckled, their faces blurring in Aymar's vision as he struggled to focus. The lights above seemed far too bright, and the ache in his chest only intensified as he gasped for air.
Aymar tried to clear his throat, but only a weak rasp escaped, barely audible.
The team doctor stepped in, gently nudging Pippo away. "Alright, Pippo, ease up. You're a bit too eager with the resuscitation. If you keep pushing, we might actually have to call an ambulance for a whole new reason!"
With practiced precision, the doctor held up a small flashlight, shining it directly into Aymar's eyes. Aymar instinctively squinted, then shut his eyes tightly against the bright light.
"How are you feeling? Can you hear me clearly?" the doctor asked, his tone calm and steady, exuding reassurance.
Aymar could only muster a slight nod. His body felt leaden, as if every muscle resisted his attempts to move.
"Do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened?"
The question floated through his foggy mind, but exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He attempted to shake his head, his movements sluggish, unable to piece together a response.
"Damn, Gillo didn't pull any punches, did he?" the doctor muttered, almost to himself, before looking over his shoulder at the others.
"It's not exactly a surprise," one of the bystanders murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "The team's performance has been dragging, and Gillo's under relentless pressure. Then this new guy, Aymar, steps in and starts challenging him on tactics right in front of everyone. Anyone would be close to snapping."
"Gillo Urso's name is practically etched in Italian football history. He made waves early in his coaching career, taking an obscure lower-division team all the way to a Serie C1 championship. His knack for recognizing raw talent and molding it into formidable skill was almost legendary. He had players like Fabrizio Cammarata training under him, talents who went on to thrive because of his mentorship. For a newcomer like Aymar to question a man with that kind of track record, well, you can see why it didn't go down well."
Another figure spoke up quietly, as though hesitant to break the tension. "Anyway, Gillo laid down the gauntlet for him. He told Aymar flat-out that if he can't get the youth squad to put up results this season, he won't see a single cent of his salary. Gillo's not making it easy for him, that's for sure."
A brief chuckle came from the back of the group. "Sounds like Gillo's way of pushing him to throw in the towel."
The murmurs continued, a blend of voices all sharing the same thought. "But Aymar doesn't look like the type to give up, does he? I heard he told Gillo he'd rather go his own way than take orders from him."
"Well, that didn't exactly work out in his favor," another voice interjected with a chuckle. "Gillo's in his fifties now, but he still packs a punch like it's his early days as a manager. Aymar's got this calm, composed vibe, but standing up to someone like Gillo? That takes a whole other level of courage."
The voices continued, each person speaking in turn, as if oblivious to Aymar's silent attentiveness. He lay motionless on the ground, his eyes closed, straining to catch every word, every hint that might explain his disorientation.
Then it struck him like a bolt—he had transmigrated. Just like the novels and anime he'd sometimes devoured, he'd somehow ended up in a completely different situation, far from his home in Cameroon. Judging by the accents and Italian names he kept hearing, he was likely in Italy. But was he still in his own time, or had he been cast back to some distant past?
As he listened carefully, the fragments of conversation revealed flashes of his new reality. Apparently, he'd been punched after clashing with a man named Gillo.
But who was this Gillo? And why had things escalated to violence?
Then the conversation shifted, and he caught references that seemed oddly misplaced—names of Italian players like Del Piero and Totti, both spoken of as if they were at the peak of their careers. Someone mentioned Juventus's recent relegation and the scandal rocking Serie A, their words filled with fresh outrage.
Why were they talking about these events as though they'd just happened?
The realization hit him like a tidal wave. Could he have ended up back in 2006? Everything seemed to point to that—the people around him, the topics of discussion, the way they spoke of legendary players as active stars.
The implications overwhelmed him, his mind spinning as a torrent of thoughts and memories surged through him, wave after relentless wave. It was as if his brain couldn't process the sheer weight of it all, his mind spiraling, overloaded like a machine pushed to its breaking point.
In the midst of this mental chaos, one last thought rose to the surface—a strange sensation, as though information was being gathered within him, images and names of world-renowned players, like an unexplainable data download.
What…is happening to me? he wondered faintly.
And with that, consciousness slipped from his grasp. Aymar's mind went blank, and he passed out completely.
...
....
When Aymar awoke again, he found himself lying on a soft bed, the dull ache in his head gradually subsiding. The pain had lessened, but his mind remained foggy, crowded with fragments of unfamiliar memories that seemed to jumble and overlap.
It felt like trying to untangle a dense web of thoughts, but he knew he needed clarity. Bit by bit, he began mentally sorting through these new memories, arranging each piece of information with care, determined to make sense of his situation.
The first thing he gathered was that he was now in Italy, in the historic city of Verona. Oddly enough, the person whose life he had stepped into shared his name—Aymar Zambo—his age of 23, and even his Cameroonian heritage. This Italian Aymar had traveled to Italy with the ambition to study sports management and coaching, enrolling at the University of Verona, a reputable institution for aspiring coaches.
As he sifted through these memories, more details surfaced. This other Aymar had pursued his studies at Verona's School of Sports Science, majoring in coaching theory with a minor in computer science. The combination of these disciplines equipped him with both the tactical insight and technical skills sought after in the football industry. Recently, he had achieved a significant milestone: a UEFA-recognized coaching certificate, a prestigious credential, especially for an international student.
Italian football regulations required youth team coaches to hold proper certifications, but in Verona, qualified coaches with such credentials were scarce. Many certified professionals aimed for more competitive leagues or larger clubs, creating a gap in the local system—a gap that this Aymar had been brought in to help fill.
The opportunity with Hellas Verona's youth team had come about through Pippo Glaviano, an old classmate and fellow student from the University of Verona. Pippo, a native Veronese, had pursued advanced training techniques, even spending time abroad to hone his methods. Upon returning, he chose to work for his hometown club, hoping to uplift the local youth team. With Aymar's fresh perspective and international outlook, Pippo believed they could introduce more modern, effective approaches to the team.
Yet Aymar soon realized that his presence was met with resistance. Gillo Urso, the head coach, as well as other staff members, viewed him with suspicion. His foreign background and unconventional coaching ideas seemed to clash with their traditional mindset. Gillo, especially, embodied the old-school mentality, believing that a coach's primary role was strict discipline and unwavering control over players rather than adaptation or individualized approaches.
A few days after Aymar joined, he witnessed Gillo dismissing Pippo's progressive suggestions, choosing instead to enforce rigid, outdated methods. Aymar's defense of Pippo escalated into a tense exchange with Gillo, who clearly felt his authority was being challenged. Today, tensions finally erupted. Gillo, visibly losing patience, had issued a harsh ultimatum: if Aymar couldn't lead the youth team to achieve substantial results, he wouldn't receive a single euro of his promised pay.
Aymar, outraged, responded with biting criticism. He pointedly remarked that if Gillo's methods were as effective as he claimed, Verona's youth squad wouldn't be languishing as it was. He even highlighted the recent struggles of Gillo's previous teams, questioning his suitability for the role. Enraged, Gillo's response had been swift and brutal—a punch that left Aymar sprawled on the ground, bruised and stunned.
As Aymar lay there, more memories surfaced, layering upon one another. This past Aymar had been remarkably skilled in languages—a necessity for passing the UEFA coaching certification. Besides his fluent Italian, he spoke German and English with confidence, and he had even developed conversational abilities in Spanish and Portuguese. These linguistic skills had been invaluable, broadening his understanding of different footballing philosophies and facilitating his connections with international colleagues.
As he processed this flood of new information, Aymar felt a spark of excitement. His multilingual abilities would be invaluable in the world of football, opening doors to connect with players, coaches, and staff from various backgrounds. Even if things didn't go as planned in Italy, his language skills alone could lead to new career paths, though they might not offer the same thrill as his computer science work back in Cameroon. But football had always captured his imagination. The challenges, the teamwork, the strategy—it all felt far more exhilarating and meaningful. He was determined to make the most of this unexpected opportunity.
Just as he organized his thoughts and started to feel a sense of calm, a faint, semi-transparent interface suddenly appeared in his mind, like something out of a video game. Clear text displayed on the screen, written in French:
"Local data collection complete. Would you like to expand the scope?"
Below this message were two options: [Yes] and [No].
Aymar stared at the interface in bewilderment. What is this? he wondered. He wasn't sure what it meant, but his curiosity got the better of him. If this interface is in my mind now, does that mean it's a part of me? Feeling hesitant yet intrigued, he decided to select [Yes].
The screen blinked away momentarily before another prompt appeared, bolder this time:
"Would you like to activate the CoachMaster Guidance System?"
Again, two options appeared below: [Yes] and [No].
Aymar's heart raced as he read the words. CoachMaster Guidance System? The name alone filled him with both disbelief and excitement. Is this some kind of ability that came along with transmigrating? Like in the novels and anime I used to read and watch back home?
He remembered stories where characters gained unique systems or abilities after arriving in a different world. If he activated this, who knew what might happen? It could be a valuable tool—or it could bring more complications than he could handle. But leaving it inactive felt just as unsettling, like a mystery hanging over him.
...
Just as he was deliberating, the quiet click of a key turning broke his thoughts, followed by the creak of the dormitory door opening. An Italian young man stepped in, his gaze lighting up when he saw Aymar awake.
"Hey, you're up! That's a relief!" he said, a warm smile spreading across his face as he walked over.
Aymar recognized him right away—it was the Italian who'd nearly tried to give him CPR, Pippo Glaviano.
"Glad to see you're feeling better!" Pippo said, inspecting Aymar's face. "Just a couple of bruises; they'll fade soon enough."
He moved over to a small table, filled a glass of water, and handed it to Aymar. "Here, drink this. You must be thirsty."
Aymar accepted the glass with a slight nod, his throat indeed dry and parched. "Thank you," he said, taking a long, refreshing drink.
"No need to be so formal," Pippo replied with a chuckle as he took a seat across from Aymar, his expression warm and easygoing.
As Aymar looked at Pippo, he felt an odd mix of familiarity and strangeness. Though they shared a connection through the memories in his mind, he hadn't quite adjusted to this life yet. He wanted to say something, to bridge the gap between them, but he struggled to find the words, unsure of where to start.
It seemed Pippo sensed the hesitation. He shifted slightly, an uncomfortable look crossing his face, as if he thought Aymar might be holding a grudge for recent events.
After a few moments of silence, Pippo cleared his throat, breaking the uneasy quiet. "Aymar, I… I'm sorry," he started, his voice wavering.
Pippo seemed to wrestle with his words, as if the weight of his emotions held him back. "I've been thinking about everything that's happened… and maybe… maybe you'd be better off leaving."
"Leaving? Where would I go?" Aymar asked, confused.
"Head north," Pippo replied, standing up and looking out the window, his gaze distant. "The clubs up there—Milan, Turin, even Florence—they're on a different level. Better facilities, higher salaries, a more professional atmosphere. With your talent and that coaching certificate, finding a good position wouldn't be hard. Staying here in Verona… it isn't worth it."
Aymar followed Pippo's gaze to the modest stadium visible through the window, its faded blue walls bearing the history of countless games. It was Hellas Verona's home, but the once-proud stadium had seen better days.
"I used to believe that if I studied hard, went abroad, and brought back new ideas, I could help my hometown club rise above its struggles," Pippo continued, his voice filled with both passion and a hint of bitterness. "But maybe that was all just… a fantasy."
Pippo drew a deep breath, his shoulders tense, and Aymar could sense the frustration boiling beneath his words.
"When I was a kid, my father used to bring me to this stadium every Sunday," Pippo said, his voice softer. "He was a die-hard Verona fan, believed in this club like it was part of his soul. I made a promise to myself—and to him—that I'd stay loyal to Hellas Verona, to the team we both loved. He used to say that one day, I'd lead them to a championship."
He paused, his voice faltering. "But… the game's changed. Italian football isn't what it used to be. Verona has been fighting off relegation year after year. My father… he never saw this decline. He'd be heartbroken if he did."
Aymar felt a surge of empathy as Pippo's story unfolded. In his new memories, he saw glimpses of Pippo's past—a young man driven by his father's legacy, returning home with a heart full of dreams. But his father's death before Verona's last relegation had left Pippo with a loyalty he could never shake, even when better offers from other clubs tempted him to leave.
"I don't think I have a choice anymore," Pippo admitted, his voice strained with resignation. "But you… you still do. You should leave, Aymar."
The sincerity of Pippo's words struck a chord with Aymar. Memories from his past life surfaced: his own journey with Gazelle FA, where he'd led the team from MTN Elite Two to MTN Elite One, ultimately winning a league championship. He understood Pippo's dreams, and he also understood the sting of reality.
But he couldn't ignore Gillo's challenge—a wager that carried the weight of destiny. If Aymar managed to lead the youth team to success, he would earn his salary and be promoted to a more senior role within the club, with Gillo agreeing to step back. However, if he failed, he'd forfeit his season's pay and remain in a subordinate role under Gillo's watchful eye.
To Aymar, this wasn't just a risk; it was a rare opportunity. He'd read countless novels about protagonists transported to new worlds, and this wager felt like one of those pivotal moments—a chance to prove himself, not just as a coach from Cameroon, but in the highly competitive world of European football.
Leading Verona's youth team to success wouldn't be easy. Italian football was steeped in tradition, and he'd be up against Gillo's outdated but entrenched methods. But a successful season would give him a solid foundation, a chance to establish his reputation and forge a path forward.
Of course, failure meant forfeiting everything. But for Aymar, the gamble was worth it. He had been given a new life, a new chance to shape his future in football. And he wasn't about to let it slip away.
Heading north to a bigger club was certainly an option, but Italy was saturated with talent—ambitious players and seasoned coaches alike vying for limited opportunities. If Aymar left Verona now, his prospects elsewhere might be slim. Staying with Hellas Verona, even for just a season, would allow him to gain invaluable coaching experience and establish a foundation.
"This season, Hellas Verona's Primavera team should still be playing in the Campionato Primavera 2, right?" Aymar asked, drawing on his knowledge of Italian football. The Campionato Primavera 2 was a tough proving ground for youth players, a vital step for those hoping to break into the senior teams.
"Yeah, we were in Campionato Primavera 2 last season," Pippo replied, his expression darkening. "But honestly, it was rough. We didn't win a single match and avoided relegation purely by chance. A few lucky draws, and one of our competitors got hit with financial penalties, which kept us from dropping."
The dire state of Verona's youth team had earned it a reputation as a club on the brink, with few holding out hope for improvement in the coming season.
And Hellas Verona's struggles weren't limited to the youth team. The senior team was fighting to stay afloat in Serie B. In an effort to stabilize, Gillo had brought in a handful of experienced players from other clubs, but there were no guarantees they'd gel as a team.
With the senior team's future uncertain, investing in youth development had fallen to the wayside. The reality was harsh: if it weren't for league requirements, Pippo suspected the youth team might have been dissolved already.
Italian football, especially in mid-tier clubs like Verona, wasn't particularly nurturing to young talent. Developing future stars took a back seat to the urgent need to survive and compete in the here and now.
"Look, Aymar," Pippo said earnestly, "that bet Gillo made? It's just his way of putting pressure on you. Don't take it too seriously. Leave Verona, head north, and you'll find better opportunities to prove yourself!"
But Aymar shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving, Pippo—not yet, at least."
Pippo looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Why not?"
Aymar stood up, stretching as he felt more in tune with his new body. A small smile crept onto his face. "Don't you see? This is an interesting challenge."
"A challenge?" Pippo echoed, clearly taken aback.
"Yes. Everyone thinks Verona's youth team is a lost cause. But if I can lead this team to a decent season, it'll be proof of my coaching ability. When everyone expects failure, I see a rare opportunity to turn things around."
Aymar had always embraced bold moves, especially when the stakes were high but the risk wasn't dire. At only 23, he felt he had time to take risks, test his limits, and learn as much as he could. Life, to him, was about exploring new challenges, pushing past boundaries, and daring to fail. That's what made it worthwhile.
Pippo looked at Aymar in awe, unable to fully grasp his choice. To most, leaving Verona for better prospects was a no-brainer. But here was Aymar, choosing to stay in the face of adversity. Why?
After a pause, Pippo wondered if Aymar was staying out of loyalty, a thought that stirred something deeply appreciative within him. He looked at Aymar, his eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and gratitude.
"Uh… could you start cooking? I'm starving!" Aymar said, chuckling awkwardly as he noticed Pippo's intense gaze. He quickly excused himself, sidestepping the awkward moment.
Despite the challenges, Aymar had to admit the dorm provided by Hellas Verona was decent. It was a modest two-bedroom apartment with a small living area—humble, yet a definite improvement over the dorms he'd known in his past life. Even better, it had a small balcony.
He stepped outside, watching as the sun dipped below the Verona skyline, casting a warm, golden glow over the city.
Another day had ended.
"Well," he murmured to himself, "if fate has brought me here, then I owe it to myself to make the most of it. I've always dreamed of working abroad, and now that I'm here, I'm not backing down. I'm going to make this work. I will succeed!"
Just then, the message in Aymar's mind reappeared.
"Do you want to activate the CoachMaster Guidance System immediately?"
Aymar sat back in the wicker chair on the balcony, rubbing his temples as he stared at the strange prompt in his mind. What on earth is going on? The persistent window had him baffled and more than a little annoyed. If he didn't deal with this, it seemed likely to linger, haunting him like a recurring nightmare.
He closed his eyes, and the message appeared vividly in his mind—a transparent window, its options [Yes] and [No] clear as day.
How should I handle this? Aymar wondered, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and caution. After hesitating a moment, he let out a sigh. The longer he ignored it, the longer it would continue to pester him.
"Fine," he muttered to himself. If this goes wrong, maybe I'll end up in another world again. It's not like I didn't survive it once already. Who knows, maybe this is part of the journey. With a resigned chuckle, he selected [Yes].
The moment he did, a new sensation filled his mind, like a computer booting up. He envisioned a digital scroll bar loading information—player stats, staff data, league details—all streaming before him as if downloading into his mind.
For a few seconds, he was entirely absorbed, unable to focus on anything else but the data streaming in.
Then, as the progress bar reached completion, a rectangular window appeared in his mind, displaying several messages in rapid succession.
"Welcome to the CoachMaster Guidance System!"
"As the first user of this auxiliary system, you have immediate access to two functions. Please select from the following: [Transfer Evaluation] / [Tactical Analysis] / [Staff Recommendation] / [Scoring Report] / [Game Preparation]…"
As Aymar focused on each option, brief explanations appeared, offering a glimpse into the system's capabilities. Each choice felt like it held immense potential, promising insights and support that could give him a unique edge in this world of competitive football.
The Transfer Evaluation function provided an assessment of player transfer possibilities, estimating the price another club might demand. When selling players, it could also gauge the ideal price other teams would likely consider reasonable.
Tactical Analysis offered detailed insights into the team's lineup, providing feasibility assessments for various tactical formations. It analyzed each player's unique strengths and abilities to help the head coach craft the most effective tactical setup.
Staff Recommendation suggested top candidates for specific coaching roles, tailored to the team's needs.
The Scoring Report evaluated player abilities and habits, highlighting each player's strengths and weaknesses based on their position and tendencies. This function would help the head coach select the most suitable players for each tactical setup.
Finally, Game Preparation analyzed the opponent's likely lineup and tactics before a match, identifying strengths and vulnerabilities to develop targeted strategies. During the game, it offered real-time tactical adjustments based on the unfolding match dynamics, and afterward, it summarized key takeaways to help the coach improve with each game.
Scrolling further, Aymar saw other auxiliary skills, each designed to assist the head coach in specific areas.
It was clear these functions held immense potential. Aymar's excitement grew as he realized how valuable this system could be. But he also understood that his selections couldn't be changed, so he had to choose wisely.
For now, Staff Recommendation wasn't a priority. As an assistant with no authority to hire or assign staff, the option was of little use.
Tactical Analysis seemed tempting, yet Aymar sensed it might have limitations given his unique perspective. As someone from the future, he had insights into how tactics would evolve in the coming years. This foresight could give him a strategic advantage, allowing him to anticipate and counter the early-2000s formations most teams still used. While a valuable function, tactical analysis wasn't his most pressing need.
Assessing player characteristics would also be useful, but at this stage, it wasn't essential.
Strengthening Hellas Verona's youth team was Aymar's top priority, and that meant scouting potential recruits within a limited budget. Transfer Evaluation was therefore vital to finding affordable talent.
Equally critical was the need to secure consistent wins. Without room for major tactical shifts, careful preparation for each game would be essential. The Game Preparation function could help maximize the team's chances on the field through tailored strategies and live adjustments.
With these two choices clear in his mind, Aymar selected Transfer Evaluation and Game Preparation. The remaining options dimmed, and a new prompt appeared on the screen.
"Because the complete world player data is still being collected, only players within a 50-kilometer radius are currently available for search. Would you like to begin the search?"
Aymar froze, his mind racing as he processed the message, before a wave of excitement washed over him.
In the past, he had played Football Manager obsessively, using scout tools to locate talent across the globe. Now, it seemed that the search function in this CoachMaster Guidance System worked similarly, allowing him to identify players not only locally but eventually worldwide.
Of course, he thought. Given the vast amount of data, it makes sense that only local players are accessible for now. But once it's complete, I'll have an entire database of players at my fingertips. This tool could make me a coach, scout, or even an agent!
Without a second thought, Aymar selected [Yes] to initiate the search.
An array of sorting options appeared—he could rank players by name, potential, age, current ability, and more. Driven by habit, he chose to rank by potential.
In an instant, a long list of player names, each accompanied by basic stats, materialized before him. As he scanned the list, his eyes landed on the top name, and he froze in shock.
He knew this player well.