"Who is that person, Pippo?" During training, Aymar Zambo leaned in and asked Pippo Glaviano.
Pippo turned his attention to the edge of the pitch and immediately recognized the figure standing there. "That's Pierino Fanna, a former Italian international who played for Verona during their golden years in the 1980s. He now runs a sports shop in the heart of Verona and is well-regarded in the community. Before the club brought in Gillo Urso, he was one of the top candidates for the head coach position."
"Oh?" Aymar responded, casting a curious glance at the man. Pierino Fanna noticed Aymar's gaze and nodded with a polite smile, which Aymar returned out of courtesy.
"He doesn't seem particularly young!" Aymar remarked casually, his first impression being that Fanna didn't look like someone with extensive coaching experience.
"And you're not exactly a veteran yourself—you're just 23!" Pippo quipped, though his tone carried clear respect.
It was obvious that Pippo held Fanna in high regard and wasn't about to let Aymar dismiss him lightly.
"Why didn't he take the coaching job?" Aymar asked, puzzled. Running a sports shop was one thing, but being the head coach of Verona would surely complement that, wouldn't it?
"I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that he has a good relationship with Giambattista Pastorello. At the time, he told him he didn't think his personality was suited to being a head coach. Who knows?"
Perhaps sensing Aymar's skepticism, Pippo quickly added, "But I still believe that if Pierino Fanna had become the head coach, he'd be the best in Verona—better than Gillo!"
Aymar raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so sure?"
"I've spoken to him a few times. His tactical understanding and knowledge are incredible!" Pippo said with conviction.
Aymar turned his gaze back toward the edge of the pitch. The middle-aged man in an outdated suit, who seemed so out of place in the stadium, was he really as brilliant as Pippo claimed? There hadn't been any mention of such a figure in the modern Italian football landscape.
...
...
When Aymar Zambo had been engrossed in training the second-team players, Pierino Fanna stood nearby, observing him intently. Despite the first team's practice taking place on the same field, Fanna paid no attention to it, nor did he go over to greet Gillo Urso.
It wasn't hard to deduce from his actions that he didn't hold Gillo in high regard either.
After some time, Giambattista Pastorello, having heard of Fanna's presence, approached him.
"This must be your first time setting foot on this training ground, Pierino!" Pastorello remarked with a smile.
Fanna nodded and addressed him familiarly. "Yes, Giambattista! But I still think the old training ground had more character. Sure, these facilities are better, but the old place had passion and soul. This one feels lifeless."
"You could be the one to change all that, Pierino!" Pastorello said with a glint of expectation in his eyes.
Fanna shook his head. "That's impossible, Giambattista. I'm not cut out to be a head coach."
"But I've always believed that if you ever coached a team, you'd become one of the best managers Verona has ever seen," Pastorello insisted.
"And what of it?" Fanna retorted with a faint smile and a bitter shake of his head. "Giambattista, the glory days of Verona are behind us. Times have changed, and so should our perspective. We need to stop clinging to old ideas and start embracing new ways of thinking. We should be looking outward, learning and adapting."
Perhaps Pierino Fanna could have been a remarkable coach, but he wasn't satisfied with the thought of being remembered as just a great local figure. Having traveled and interacted with a wide range of people in football, he understood that even being the best in Verona or Italy might not mean much on the world stage. He didn't want to be confined to such limits.
"This young man's training methods and tactics are fascinating," Fanna said after a pause, steering the conversation in a new direction.
Fanna and Pastorello had often clashed on the topic of coaching, but he remained steadfast in his views.
"I heard he strictly keeps his training sessions to 90 minutes—never a minute more or less!"
"What's so special about that?" Pastorello asked curiously. After all, it was just a matter of time, wasn't it?
Fanna sighed, then asked, "How long is a standard football match?"
Pastorello, no stranger to the sport after years as club chairman, immediately understood. "90 minutes… Wait, are you saying…?"
"Exactly. By replicating the 90-minute duration during training, he conditions his players to handle the exact physical and mental demands of a match. The idea is to ensure that their bodies adapt fully to the time frame, making them more comfortable and efficient during games."
Fanna smiled as he continued. "Look at how intense his sessions are. The players are practically going at each other like it's a real match. To an outsider, it might even look like two rival teams scrimmaging. Injuries, cramps, tempers flaring—it's all part of the process."
"But isn't there a risk of disrupting team unity with such competitive training?" Pastorello asked, still skeptical, especially after hearing the subtle admiration in Fanna's tone for Aymar.
"That's the key," Fanna said thoughtfully. "It all depends on how Aymar handles it. From what I can see, he's done a remarkable job so far. The high-intensity training pushes players to their limits, testing their fitness, technique, and tactical awareness. As a result, when they step onto the pitch for an official match, they're better prepared, both physically and mentally."
Giambattista Pastorello didn't look convinced but didn't know how to refute Pierino Fanna. "Do you really think Aymar can lead the second team to a successful season?"
Coming from the club president, it almost sounded as if he hoped Aymar's team would struggle. Pierino Fanna frowned, understanding that Pastorello's pride and loyalty to Gillo Urso made him resist the idea of Urso facing challenges or setbacks.
Perhaps, in their eyes, defending Gillo's prestige as Verona's head coach brought them a sense of security or nostalgia.
Even for people like Pierino Fanna and Pippo Glaviano, who had more progressive ideas despite their local roots, understanding this mindset often proved difficult.
"I don't know," Fanna admitted, "but I'm confident he'll surprise us in ways we don't expect."
Pastorello felt a twinge of unease. Fanna's words were eerily similar to something Aymar had said just before leaving his office.
"Giambattista, could I ask you a favor?" Fanna suddenly asked, his tone polite but measured.
"Of course!" Pastorello replied eagerly, almost hoping the favor would be a challenging one. He thought that if Fanna owed him, it might make it easier to draw him back into a formal role with the club in the future.
"I'd like you to arrange a pass for me so I can observe the training sessions and matches of the second team."
Pastorello felt a pang of disappointment. The request seemed so minor, almost trivial. Nevertheless, he nodded in agreement. "I'll speak to Gillo personally. I'm sure he'll welcome you."
Fanna smiled but gently corrected him. "You misunderstood, Giambattista. I'm not interested in the first team. I want to follow Aymar's second team. But I'm aware that he doesn't allow outsiders to watch his sessions, so I need your help to make it happen."
Pastorello almost dropped his jaw. The idea that someone like Fanna found Aymar's training more intriguing than Urso's left him momentarily speechless.
"Fine," Pastorello finally said, albeit reluctantly. "I can arrange it for you. But that Aymar is a stubborn one. Just a word from me might not be enough to sway him."
Fanna chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, I'll speak with Pippo. If he gets involved, I'm sure it'll make things easier."
Pastorello had to admire Fanna's tactfulness. Recognizing the bond between Aymar and Pippo, he couldn't fault the plan. The conversation shifted to lighter topics, with Pastorello complaining about the club's low attendance—rarely exceeding a thousand fans per game—and the ongoing struggle to secure sponsorships for the upcoming season.
...
...
After training ended, the sun had set, and night was creeping in.
On the training ground of Hellas Verona's second team, the muffled thud of a football being struck could still be heard. Clearly, someone had stayed behind to practice.
When Aymar Zambo stepped out of his office, he caught the sound and frowned. He discouraged players from additional training after sessions.
In his philosophy, the high-intensity 90-minute sessions were already grueling. While extra practice showed dedication, it didn't always lead to positive results. In fact, it could weaken the body and increase the risk of injuries due to fatigue.
As he approached the field, he saw a lone figure practicing under the dim sky.
"Ah, it's him!" Aymar muttered, smiling slightly. He stood on the sidelines, silently observing the player. It was Mattia Cassani, focused on sprinting drills with the ball. Aymar didn't interrupt immediately, knowing the effort was well-intentioned but misplaced. Instead, he quietly pulled up Cassani's profile in his CoachMaster Guidance System.
Cassani was the only player in the second team who stood out to Aymar. His current ability score was 80, but his potential reached an impressive 170. In the context of the second team, Cassani was a promising midfielder with the potential to become a top-tier player. The system's maximum potential rating was 200, making Cassani's ceiling highly respectable.
Cassani's traits were those of a well-rounded midfielder. He had good vision and passing ability, excelling in short, quick exchanges to maintain possession. His tactical awareness was advanced for his age, allowing him to anticipate play and position himself well, both offensively and defensively. Cassani's stamina and work rate stood out—he was tireless, covering large areas of the pitch to support his teammates.
However, Aymar noticed areas for improvement. While Cassani was reliable in keeping possession, his long-range passing and ability to switch play needed refinement. Similarly, his first touch and dribbling under pressure were inconsistent, limiting his effectiveness in tight situations. Though his tackling was adequate, he lacked the physicality to dominate defensive duels against stronger opponents, something Aymar believed could be improved with strength training.
Cassani had been deployed in various midfield roles but hadn't truly excelled in any specific position. Coaches had tried him as a central midfielder, where his passing and energy were assets, but he also occasionally played in a more advanced role, contributing to attacking transitions. Despite his versatility, Cassani's performances last season lacked consistency, as he struggled to impose himself against more experienced opponents.
Lost in thought, Aymar finally cleared his throat and began walking toward the field.
The cough echoed across the quiet training ground. Cassani stopped abruptly and turned to look, startled by the sudden presence of his coach.
"Hello, coach!" Cassani walked over and greeted politely.
Though he still harbored some doubts about Aymar Zambo and felt a hint of resentment, he knew better than to let it show.
"Don't keep practicing like this, Mattia," Aymar said with a smile.
"I… I just feel like I'm not good enough," Cassani admitted hesitantly, uncertain of what his coach meant.
"What you're struggling with isn't your fitness or your ability to sprint with the ball," Aymar explained. "It's your passing, your first touch, and your technique under pressure. But here you are, practicing sprints with the ball. Frankly, your speed is average, and your explosiveness is ordinary. You're not suited for playing on the wings. And since your physicality isn't dominant, you wouldn't thrive as a pure defensive midfielder either."
Cassani's face fell. His heart sank further as Aymar continued. Was his coach stopping him just to list his shortcomings?
The truth hurt. Growing up, Cassani had always been told he had a good work ethic, solid awareness, and enough skill to hold his own. His youth coaches had praised his passing and vision, even if they had occasionally mentioned that his lack of consistency in key moments could be an issue. They hadn't framed his weaknesses as insurmountable flaws—until now.
Aymar noticed Cassani's reaction and smiled faintly. "It's okay to be upset, Mattia. Anger is good—it means you care. The problem isn't your attitude toward training; it's the way you suppress yourself. I see it in the way you hold back, even when you're working hard. This happens with your teammates too—you focus too much on fitting in rather than standing out."
He softened his tone. "But listen carefully—I didn't say you're not suited for any role. I said the role that best suits your strengths isn't what you're trying to train for."
Cassani blinked, startled. "Then what role is it?"
Aymar chuckled mischievously. "That's a secret—for now," he teased. "But if you trust me, I'll help you figure it out. From now on, instead of sprinting drills, talk to Pippo. He'll help you focus on improving your passing, your ability to handle pressure, and your confidence. And trust your instincts more. You're a smart player, Mattia, and I've always believed in your potential. To me, you're the most talented player on this team."
Cassani was stunned. Was Aymar just trying to encourage him, or was this genuine? The coach didn't seem like someone who gave empty praise.
"You're one of the most tactically aware players I've seen at your age," Aymar continued. "You quickly understand the running patterns and positioning drills I set up, and your sense of timing is better than your teammates'. But technique under pressure needs work, and if we fix that, you'll be able to dominate games."
Aymar recalled how his tactical training sessions often confused players at first. His emphasis on positional awareness and fluid movement demanded an innate feel for the game. While many players struggled, Cassani adapted quickly. Still, Aymar knew it would take time for the rest of the team to catch up, as tactical cohesion wasn't an overnight process.
"But I need to ask you something important, Mattia," Aymar said, his tone shifting to one of seriousness. "I need you to answer honestly."
Cassani nodded hesitantly. "Go ahead, coach."
"If you keep progressing at your current rate, you can become the best player on this team and one of the best in Italy. You might even make it to a Serie A side. But… is that your ambition? Is that enough for you?"
Aymar paused, letting the weight of the question sink in. "If you trust me, I'll push you harder than anyone else. My expectations will rise, and so will the consequences for falling short. But if you follow my plan, I can promise you this—you won't just play in Serie A. You'll make a name for yourself across Europe and become one of the best midfielders in the world. Better than Pirlo, even better than Totti. That's the future I see for you."
Cassani's eyes widened in disbelief. Was this really his coach talking?
"Smart players," Aymar continued, "keep raising their standards and overcoming obstacles. Foolish players stay comfortable and settle for mediocrity. I'm giving you the choice now. Do you want to be the smart player or the fool?"
Cassani, still just 19, processed Aymar's words carefully. He was smart enough to understand the weight of the decision, but whether he had the determination to rise to the challenge remained to be seen.
If Mattia Cassani rejected foreign football philosophies like Giambattista Pastorello, Gillo Urso, and others clinging to outdated traditions, Aymar Zambo knew that no matter how much he said or did, it wouldn't make a difference. Cassani's pride and resistance would only grow stronger.
However, if Cassani could let down his guard and embrace new ideas, Aymar was confident he could shape him into an outstanding player. He envisioned building Verona's current tactical setup around Cassani, nurturing him into a cornerstone of the team—a midfield general who could one day dominate on the grandest stages.
Every great head coach has their select group of players, those they've personally developed and guided to stardom. Aymar was no exception. Though he hadn't yet unearthed his first true protégé, he saw the potential for Cassani to be that player—a shining example of his coaching philosophy.
For any coach, there's no greater joy than watching a player you've mentored rise step by step to the pinnacle of football. Seeing them gain fame and recognition is, without a doubt, a source of immense pride.
Sometimes, trophies and championships may fail to bring the same satisfaction as watching a player grow from a raw talent to a world-class star. That sense of achievement is unparalleled.
Of course, Aymar's ambitions extended far beyond that. He wasn't content with just one or the other—he wanted to cultivate players and win trophies. For him, success would mean achieving both.