The game had been firmly in Hellas Verona's control from the opening whistle. Despite Montebelluna's attempts to counterattack, their efforts rarely progressed past midfield. Each time they tried to break through, the trio of Mattia Cassani, Gianluca Nicco, and Emanuele Torrisi swiftly closed ranks. Their coordination in cutting passing lanes and applying pressure was textbook execution, forcing Montebelluna to resort to hopeful long balls.
Louis Hutt, stationed centrally in the back three, proved a towering presence. Even when a Montebelluna forward attempted to latch onto one of these speculative lofted passes, Louis's aerial dominance and timely interventions thwarted any danger. While his ability to read the game still showed occasional flaws, his athleticism and commitment to recover quickly ensured no mistakes turned costly.
Montebelluna's resolve crumbled further when Verona's relentless pressing resulted in a third goal. It began with Emanuele Torrisi, who intercepted a loose pass near the penalty arc with a perfectly timed tackle. Wasting no time, he laid the ball off to Cassani, who, instead of going forward, pivoted to feed the ball to Nicco on the right flank. Nicco surged forward, attracting defenders before threading a low pass into the box. Tommaso's intelligent off-the-ball movement saw him beat the offside trap and drive a low shot past the helpless goalkeeper. 0–3!
Aymar Zambo applauded on the sideline, shouting instructions as his team celebrated briefly before resetting for the restart.
"Push higher, keep forcing their mistakes!" Aymar yelled, ensuring his players maintained the intensity.
Montebelluna, struggling to regain any rhythm, soon conceded again. In the 34th minute, Cassani orchestrated another attack from midfield. After a clever one-two with Torrisi, he found himself in space just outside the box. Spotting Nicco making a late diagonal run, Cassani floated a perfectly weighted ball over the defense. Nicco controlled it deftly and smashed a half-volley into the top corner. 0–4!
The Verona bench erupted in cheers, but the players on the field remained focused, their eyes locked on Aymar for the next set of instructions. Their discipline and cohesion were a direct reflection of the tactical structure instilled during training.
Montebelluna's coach, Carlo Belloni, appeared visibly frustrated, shouting at his players to close down spaces quicker. However, the gaps between their lines were glaring, and Verona capitalized ruthlessly.
By the 43rd minute, Cassani added to the tally with a brilliant long-range strike. After collecting a clearance from a corner just outside the penalty area, he took one touch to settle the ball before unleashing a dipping shot that flew past the outstretched goalkeeper. 0–5!
The tempo only increased as Verona pushed to end the half emphatically. In the final minute before the whistle, Nicco broke down the right once again, this time using a feint to bypass his marker. Reaching the byline, he squared the ball across the six-yard box, where Tommaso timed his run perfectly to tap in his third goal of the match. 0–6!
As the referee signaled for halftime, the Verona players jogged off the pitch, their expressions betraying a mix of pride and dissatisfaction. While they were thrilled with the scoreline, murmurs about missed chances reflected the high standards Aymar had cultivated within the squad.
From the stands, Francesca Bianchi, seated with her assistant Angelica, observed the scene with intrigue.
"God, this team looks unstoppable. They're 6–0 up and still not satisfied," Angelica said, shaking her head in amazement.
Francesca chuckled, her attention fixed on Aymar. "He's quite something, isn't he? Look at how they respond to him."
Angelica followed Francesca's gaze. Aymar stood at the edge of the technical area, issuing precise instructions to Pippo Glaviano as the players entered the locker room. "It's not just him. The way they play—it's like they're thinking three moves ahead of their opponents."
"Exactly," Francesca murmured, her eyes narrowing. "It's almost like he's playing chess while everyone else is still learning checkers."
The sparse crowd of fewer than fifty spectators seemed unimpressed by the tactical masterclass unfolding before them. Yet, for those paying attention, it was clear this wasn't just a game—it was a demonstration of what a team could achieve under the right guidance.
As the players disappeared into the tunnel, Aymar lingered, his mind already planning for the second half. His words from training echoed in his mind: "We play every match with the same intensity, whether it's 1-0 or 10-0. Until the final whistle, we don't let up."
He turned to Pippo. "We've got 45 minutes to teach them what Verona's future looks like."
...
...
As the second half kicked off, Montebelluna attempted to regroup, pressing harder in midfield to stifle Verona's dominance. However, their disorganization remained apparent, and Verona capitalized within minutes.
The seventh goal came in the 48th minute. A quick turnover initiated by Emanuele Torrisi saw him intercept a loose pass in midfield. Without hesitation, he advanced into space, drawing defenders toward him. Spotting Mattia Cassani making a late surge into the box, Torrisi delivered a perfectly weighted through ball. Cassani, with a deft touch, chipped the onrushing goalkeeper making his third goal of the match, his calm finish eliciting applause even from a few Montebelluna supporters. 0–7!
Aymar clapped firmly from the sideline. "Beautiful work, Mattia! Keep that control under pressure!"
Montebelluna's spirit visibly waned after the seventh goal, and Verona's relentless pressure ensured the game stayed one-sided. By the 56th minute, Verona struck again. Gianluca Nicco, who had been tireless down the right flank, delivered a dangerous cross into the box. The Montebelluna defense failed to clear, and the ball fell kindly to Tommaso, who hammered a clinical strike into the top corner for his quadruple. 0–8!
Despite the scoreline, Verona continued to press with discipline, maintaining their shape and adhering to Aymar's tactical framework. The back three, anchored by Louis Hutt, neutralized Montebelluna's rare counterattacks with ease. Hutt's composure in aerial duels and improved positioning stood out, prompting praise from Pippo Glaviano.
"Louis is growing into the role," Pippo said quietly to Aymar. "He's reading the game better with each match."
Aymar nodded. "He's proving himself. Let's keep the momentum."
In the 63rd minute, Verona added their ninth. This time, Torrisi showcased his versatility, stepping into an attacking role. After a quick one-two with Cassani at the edge of the penalty area, Torrisi unleashed a low drive that arrowed into the bottom corner. 0–9!
Montebelluna's frustrations boiled over, leading to reckless challenges. Verona, however, remained composed, avoiding unnecessary confrontations. Aymar gestured from the sideline, ensuring his players focused on their passing rhythm and avoided complacency.
The tenth goal came in the 71st minute. Cassani, orchestrating the attack from midfield, lofted a diagonal ball toward the left flank. Substitute winger Federico Bianconi, brought on for Nicco, controlled it expertly before darting into the box. His cutback pass found Tommaso, who fired a low shot through a crowded penalty area, completing his fifth goal of the match. 0–10!
Montebelluna's defense was in disarray, but Verona showed no mercy. Their pressing and quick transitions continued to overwhelm the home side. Aymar's tactical adjustments ensured every player contributed to the attacking flow, with overlapping runs from the wingbacks and midfield rotations creating constant scoring opportunities.
The final goal came in the 85th minute. A corner from Federico Bianconi curled dangerously into the six-yard box. Louis Hutt, charging forward from defense, rose above everyone to power a header into the net. 0–11! The bench erupted as Hutt, typically reserved, allowed himself a rare moment of celebration, pumping his fists as his teammates swarmed him.
"Well deserved, Louis!" Aymar shouted, smiling broadly.
As the final whistle blew, the scoreline read an emphatic 11–0. Verona's second team gathered at midfield, arms raised in unison as Aymar joined them to congratulate their efforts.
...
...
In the stands, Francesca Bianchi adjusted her sunglasses, her gaze alternating between the players on the pitch and Aymar Zambo on the sideline. Angelica, seated beside her, leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched the final moments of the game.
"Eleven goals," Angelica muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. "It's like they're playing a completely different sport."
Francesca smirked, her lips curving into a faint smile. "That's not just football. That's planning, precision… and maybe a little stubbornness."
Angelica glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Stubbornness? How do you mean?"
Francesca tilted her head slightly toward the pitch, where Aymar stood with arms crossed, directing his players even as the clock wound down. "Look at him. Even with this scoreline, he's not satisfied. He's already thinking about the next match."
Angelica followed Francesca's gaze and let out a soft laugh. "You sound like you know him."
"Not well," Francesca replied, her tone casual but her eyes lingering on Aymar. "But you don't need to know someone well to recognize their ambition."
The referee's whistle signaled the end of the match, and the players began to leave the pitch. Angelica sat back, exhaling sharply. "Well, that was something. Kind of feels like overkill, though."
Francesca shrugged, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Maybe. But sometimes, you need a statement to make people pay attention."
Angelica gave her a sidelong glance. "You're talking about the team… or the coach?"
Francesca's smile deepened, but she didn't answer. Instead, she rose gracefully, brushing off her skirt. "Come on, we've seen enough."
Angelica stood as well, glancing back toward the field where Aymar was gathering his staff. "Think he even noticed us?"
Francesca glanced over her shoulder briefly, her tone light but laced with intrigue. "Not at all. He's too focused on what matters."
As they walked toward the exit, the faint buzz of players celebrating in the locker room echoed through the small stadium. Aymar lingered on the pitch for a moment, scanning the emptying stands before turning back toward the tunnel. His team had made a statement, but his mind was already racing ahead to what came next.
...
...
Gillo Urso stood on the edge of the training ground, arms crossed, observing the players going through their drills. His gaze lingered momentarily on a burly center-forward—a recent addition he had handpicked for the first team. But even as he watched the session unfold, his thoughts drifted to the match happening miles away in Montebelluna.
He had spent years in the northern leagues, including managing Montebelluna in their prime, and knew their current coach, Carlo Belloni, well. Belloni wasn't a tactical genius by any stretch, but he had a knack for steadying his teams. Montebelluna had bolstered their squad this season, pulling in players from Vicenza's and Padova's reserves. With those reinforcements, Gillo was confident they would be one of the stronger sides in the Serie Leggera.
And that's precisely why he hadn't expected Aymar Zambo to fare well today.
"They'll teach that arrogant Cameroonian a lesson," Gillo muttered to himself, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. In his mind, Zambo was too brash, too experimental, too young to handle the physicality and grit of teams like Montebelluna. Aymar's team was unpolished, a collection of fringe players and unproven talents. Gillo had dismissed the warm-up matches Verona's second team had played as unimpressive, the results hardly worth a second thought.
Just as Gillo turned to head back toward his office, one of his assistants came sprinting across the field, breathless.
"What's going on?" Gillo barked, irritated by the unprofessional display. He prided himself on discipline and composure, and the sight of his assistant running across the pitch jarred him.
"Coach… it's about the match in Montebelluna!" the assistant stammered, gasping for air.
Gillo frowned, the faint smirk from earlier still lingering. "What happened? Did they lose as expected?"
The assistant hesitated, his expression a mixture of disbelief and unease. "They… they didn't lose. Montebelluna lost. Badly."
Gillo raised an eyebrow. "How badly? 2–0? 3–0?"
The assistant shook his head, his voice dropping as he delivered the news. "It was 11–0. Montebelluna didn't just lose; they were dismantled."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Gillo stared at his assistant, struggling to process the information. "Eleven goals?" he repeated slowly, his tone laced with disbelief. "That's… impossible. Montebelluna may not be giants, but they're solid. Even our first team wouldn't—"
"It's true," the assistant cut in. "Verona's second team dominated every aspect of the game. Tommaso scored five goals, Nicco delivered six assists and a goal, and Torrisi controlled the midfield with two assists and a goal. And Cassani… he got a hat-trick and set up two more."
Gillo felt his stomach tighten. Mattia Cassani was the name that stood out the most—one of Verona's young players he had previously dismissed as inconsistent. A hat-trick and two assists in a single match from a midfielder? Gillo shook his head, muttering under his breath.
"This... this can't be real. Their warm-up matches were awful. How did they do this?"
The assistant nodded, clearly aware of the discrepancy. "That's the strange part. The warm-up matches weren't reflective of this performance. It seems Zambo used those games to fine-tune his tactics, not to chase results. And from what I've heard, he's been using advanced training techniques—he's invested heavily in player development."
Gillo's jaw tightened. The mention of training enhancements reminded him of whispers about Zambo's modern methods, though he had dismissed them as hype. Now, doubt began to creep in.
"What did President Pastorello say about this?" Gillo asked sharply.
The assistant hesitated. "He's impressed but cautious. He doesn't want to hype this result too much. He told the office staff to stay grounded and avoid celebrating prematurely. He's worried this might be a one-off performance."
Gillo nodded slowly, appreciating the president's pragmatism. Still, he couldn't ignore the growing unease gnawing at him. If this was the level Zambo's team had reached, Gillo's position as the main authority in Verona's football hierarchy could be at risk.
"The kid has some skill after all," Gillo muttered bitterly, glancing toward the training ground where his first team players continued their session. "But mark my words, I'll bring him down. Whether it's through tactics, results, or reputation, I'll make sure he knows who runs Verona."
...
...
The concept of a derby was something Aymar Zambo understood only loosely. Though not an expert in football history, he knew that a derby typically referred to a clash between two closely located teams with a deep, often bitter rivalry. Such matches always carried an extra edge, drawing larger crowds and generating passionate atmospheres.
In Verona, derbies weren't a pressing matter; the primary rivalries of the first team were spread further afield. Still, in Italy, the word "derby" resonated deeply among fans, symbolizing fierce competition, local bragging rights, and historic animosities.
Aymar found himself in the stands that afternoon, accompanied by Pippo Glaviano and Pierino Fanna, to watch Hellas Verona's first team face off in their opening Serie B fixture against Treviso. The Stadio Marc'Antonio Bentegodi had drawn a respectable crowd of nearly 5,000 fans, their chants echoing through the old stadium. Despite the turnout, Aymar couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration at the stark contrast in attention given to the first team versus his second team's recent thrashing of Montebelluna.
"You'd think an 11–0 result would deserve more than a passing mention," Aymar muttered, glancing at the sparse coverage Verona's second team had received in the local sports columns. "But no, all eyes are on the first team as usual."
Pierino Fanna, seated beside him, chuckled. "That's how it is, Aymar. The first team is the showpiece. They're the ones chasing promotion, while the second team… well, your role is to stay in the shadows and prepare the next generation."
Aymar remained silent, studying the team's starting eleven. Key players like Nicola Corrent in midfield, Andrea Cossu on the wing, and Marco Ferrante up front caught his attention. He also noted the inclusion of Leandro Greco, a recent signing from Roma. The young midfielder's reputation as a composed passer had already raised expectations among fans.
"Greco's an interesting addition," Aymar commented. "What do you think, Pierino?"
Pierino shrugged. "He's talented, no doubt. But talent's only half the battle in Serie B."
The match kicked off with Verona on the front foot. Gillo's tactics were evident: control possession, stretch the opposition with wide play, and exploit Ferrante's physical presence in the box. Claudio Ferrarese was particularly lively on the right flank, delivering a series of dangerous crosses that tested Treviso's defense.
"Ferrarese looks sharp," Aymar remarked as the winger sent in another curling ball that Ferrante narrowly missed.
Pierino chuckled. "He's good when he's confident. But consistency's his problem."
Despite Verona's dominance, Treviso held firm, their goalkeeper making several key saves to keep the scoreline level. At halftime, the game remained goalless, though Verona clearly had the upper hand.
As the players headed into the tunnel, Aymar leaned back in his seat, a faint smirk on his lips. "Gillo's got them moving well, but they're missing something—a spark in the final third."
Pierino glanced at him knowingly. "Thinking about your boys?"
"Always," Aymar replied. "The gap isn't as wide as people think. Give me a few months, and we'll start closing it."
...
...
Gillo Urso's tactical approach for Verona's opening home game against Treviso was built on aggression. Verona's roster had been strengthened over the summer, while Treviso's remained largely unchanged, giving Urso confidence to dictate the game from the start.
Treviso, however, seemed prepared for Verona's strategy. They adopted a compact defensive structure, staying disciplined and organized in the face of Verona's early pressure.
The balance of power in Serie B was always narrow, with minimal gaps in quality between teams. The league standings typically reflected this parity; at the end of a season, the difference between the top and bottom teams was rarely more than 30 points. However, the lingering effects of the Bosman ruling continued to reshape European football, widening the gap between stronger and weaker clubs and threatening to disrupt the league's delicate balance.
On the pitch, the match was intense but scrappy. Neither Verona nor Treviso managed to create anything particularly memorable in the opening exchanges. Fouls were frequent, with the referee's whistle constantly interrupting the rhythm of the game. The physical nature of the contest left little room for finesse or creativity.
Urso's system relied heavily on Marco Ferrante's presence as a target man. Flanked by Claudio Ferrarese and Andrea Cossu, Ferrante was meant to dominate in the air and capitalize on crosses from wide positions. Yet Treviso, clearly anticipating this tactic, had assigned their center-backs to tightly mark Ferrante, nullifying his aerial advantage. Without time or space, Ferrante's lack of pace and agility began to show, limiting his effectiveness.
From the stands, Aymar Zambo observed the proceedings with a critical eye. "They're predictable," he muttered to Pierino Fanna. "Ferrante's being double-teamed, and no one's making runs to pull defenders away."
Pierino nodded, his tone neutral. "Gillo's playing it safe for now. He'll want to avoid taking risks too early."
The battle in midfield was no less physical, with Nicola Corrent and Leandro Greco struggling to find time on the ball under Treviso's relentless pressing. Verona's attempts to build play often broke down, their forwards left isolated as Treviso crowded the central areas.
The crowd at the Stadio Marc'Antonio Bentegodi grew restless. Chants ebbed and flowed as Verona probed Treviso's defense but found little joy. The game settled into a pattern of cautious exchanges, each side waiting for the other to make a mistake.
As the match unfolded, Aymar's mind raced with observations. "They're relying too much on Ferrante's physicality," he remarked. "It's giving Treviso the upper hand. A change in tempo or a surprise run from deep might shake things up."