"It's too simple," Aymar Zambo sighed as he watched the first team's game unfold from the stands. For thirty minutes, he had scrutinized every movement on the pitch, noting patterns that were both predictable and uninspiring.
The match was intense, but there was no finesse. Neither side had created any significant opportunities.
"Yeah, Gillo relies far too heavily on Marco Ferrante," Pierino Fanna agreed, his tone tinged with frustration. "Sure, his physicality is a threat, but it makes their attack too one-dimensional. Once opponents figure him out, he's neutralized easily."
Aymar nodded, his sharp eyes fixed on the pitch. "Look again. Ferrante presses the backline constantly, staying at the forefront, while every other player looks to lump the ball toward his head. It's too predictable. If it were me, I'd have him drop deeper or pull wide to create space."
Pierino gave a low chuckle. "Not wrong, but Gillo's stubborn. You know how he is."
Aymar leaned back, his mind racing. Football tactics often seemed intricate on paper, but their essence was simple: the goal is in the middle, so no matter how well the flanks operate, the play must eventually transition centrally. Verona's current approach, however, was too rigid—a single axis linking Ferrante and the flanks, which left them vulnerable to defensive strategies designed to cut off that supply.
"If they don't adjust in the second half, this match is lost," Aymar predicted confidently.
As if on cue, the referee blew the whistle to signal the end of the first half.
Gillo Urso, pacing furiously on the touchline, was already shouting instructions before his players had even left the field. His booming voice carried across the pitch, punctuated by sharp gestures of frustration.
Pierino smirked knowingly. "Classic Gillo. Always barking orders like an angry lion. He never waits until they're in the locker room to start his tirades."
Aymar observed the scene with a detached expression. It reminded him of his youth, when authority figures equated harsh discipline with effective guidance. "The times have changed," he muttered. "But some people haven't."
As fans filtered through the stands during halftime—some for refreshments, others to chat—Aymar, Pierino, and Pippo Glaviano stayed in their seats, dissecting the game.
"Ferrante isn't the problem by himself," Pippo offered. "He's new to the team, hasn't settled yet, and Gillo's tactics don't help. There's no cohesion between Ferrante and Cossu or Greco, so their attack is painfully disjointed. Everything revolves around his aerial ability, but it's just not enough."
Pierino nodded. "Exactly. There's no chemistry between him and the others. Without better tactical integration, it's a waste of his abilities."
"If it were me," Aymar said firmly, "I'd sub him off. It's clear he's not effective in this system."
Pierino considered the suggestion for a moment before sighing. "Fair point. You're all about the team, not the individual. But Gillo? He won't make that call."
Pippo frowned. "Yeah, Gillo's too proud. Benching Ferrante would mean admitting his tactics aren't working, and that's not something he's willing to do."
Aymar said nothing, his gaze darkening. He understood the mentality of coaches like Gillo Urso, just as he understood the hubris of a man too entrenched in tradition to adapt. It was the same kind of arrogance that left Verona's first team stagnant while their opponents evolved.
...
...
As the second half began, Aymar Zambo and Pierino Fanna observed the match closely from the stands. Gillo Urso, true to his nature, made no changes to the starting lineup. Marco Ferrante remained the focal point of Verona's attack, despite his ineffectiveness in the first half. Aymar's keen eyes quickly spotted that no tactical adjustments had been made either.
Pierino sighed. "Well, there's your answer. Gillo's sticking to his guns."
Aymar shook his head slightly. "Stubbornness isn't a tactic. Let's see how long it takes for them to break."
The game resumed, but the patterns from the first half persisted. Verona's first team pressed forward in predictable waves, relying on crosses from wide areas aimed at Ferrante. Treviso, disciplined and compact, absorbed the pressure with minimal fuss, waiting patiently for an opportunity to exploit the spaces left by Verona's high line.
"The first team is growing impatient," Aymar remarked. "You can see it in their movements. They're rushing everything—passes, runs, even defensive decisions. Gillo's halftime rant probably only added to the tension."
Pierino nodded. "It's the wrong kind of pressure. A coach can fire up his players, but he has to give them a plan. Otherwise, it's just noise."
In the 58th minute, Verona's frustration boiled over. A misplaced pass from Nicola Corrent in midfield was intercepted by Treviso's holding midfielder, who immediately launched a quick counterattack. Treviso's winger sped down the left flank, exploiting the gap left by Verona's attacking wingbacks. A precise cutback to the penalty spot found an unmarked forward, who calmly slotted the ball past the goalkeeper. 0–1.
The stands fell silent as Treviso celebrated. On the sidelines, Gillo Urso erupted, furiously berating his players. His booming voice echoed across the stadium, his frustration spilling into personal attacks. Aymar exchanged a knowing glance with Pierino.
"Yelling won't fix the shape of their defense," Aymar muttered. "He's losing control."
Treviso grew in confidence after their goal, sensing Verona's increasing desperation. In the 64th minute, another defensive lapse proved costly. A hurried clearance from Louis Hutt, under pressure from Treviso's forward, landed at the feet of their midfielder. A quick one-two bypassed Verona's defense, and Treviso doubled their lead with a thunderous strike into the top corner. 0–2.
Pierino winced. "That backline is all over the place. They're panicking now."
Aymar leaned forward, studying the movements on the pitch. "Treviso is reading them like a book. Every pass, every run—it's all predictable. The players are trying too hard to force something because they don't have a framework to fall back on."
Verona's first team continued to press, but their attacks grew increasingly disjointed. In the 72nd minute, a misplaced pass in midfield gave Treviso another chance to counter. This time, their forward broke through the middle, shrugging off a half-hearted challenge before firing a low shot past the goalkeeper. 0–3.
The crowd groaned collectively, and a smattering of boos began to echo around the Stadio Marc'Antonio Bentegodi. Gillo, now visibly red-faced, stomped up and down the technical area, gesticulating wildly. But his players seemed to tune him out, their body language reflecting defeat.
"Three goals conceded at home," Pierino said grimly. "This isn't just a bad game; it's an unraveling."
In the 85th minute, Treviso delivered the final blow. A lofted ball over Verona's disorganized defense caught them flat-footed. Treviso's substitute winger, fresh off the bench, controlled it expertly before rounding the goalkeeper and slotting it into the empty net. 0–4.
The boos intensified, and sections of the crowd began filing out of the stadium. Aymar stood, his expression neutral but his mind racing. "That's enough," he said quietly. "Gillo's lost this match, and he'll have no one to blame but himself."
Pierino rose beside him, shaking his head. "It's hard to watch, knowing what could be done differently."
As Aymar, Pierino, and Pippo Glaviano made their way toward the exit, Aymar glanced back at the pitch one last time. Verona's players looked dejected, their heads hanging as the final whistle blew. Treviso's bench erupted in celebration, their 4–0 victory a testament to their discipline and tactical superiority.
"This is what happens when you rely on outdated methods," Aymar muttered. "Football's moved on. Gillo hasn't."
Pierino nodded in agreement. "It's only a matter of time before the club starts asking questions. And when they do, they'll be looking for answers."
Aymar didn't respond. Instead, his thoughts turned to his second team—their energy, their adaptability, their hunger. As Verona's first team trudged off the pitch, he knew the gap between them wasn't as wide as people assumed. The future of Verona's football wasn't on that pitch; it was in the squad he was building.
...
...
Hellas Verona's first team suffered a humiliating 0–4 defeat at home to Treviso.
As the match concluded, the news spread quickly across Verona. Local radio stations were quick to release their post-match summaries, with commentators attempting to soften the blow for Gillo Urso and the first team.
"There is no doubt that Verona dominated possession for much of the match," a commentator on Radio Verona stated, echoing the post-match comments from Gillo Urso himself. "But individual mistakes and moments of carelessness cost them dearly. Treviso, to their credit, were clinical and took full advantage of Verona's lapses. A scoreline like this doesn't reflect the overall balance of play."
The tone of the commentary mirrored a narrative widely shared by local journalists, many of whom seemed eager to defend Urso. Rather than scrutinize his tactics, the blame was placed on misfortune and the team's incomplete cohesion.
"This season, Verona has added several new players to their squad," the commentator continued. "It's no surprise that these players are still finding their rhythm together. With time and more matches, the team's performances are bound to improve."
In Pierino Fanna's sports shop, Aymar Zambo, Pippo Glaviano, and Pierino listened to the broadcast with bemused expressions. Aymar leaned against the counter, arms crossed, as the commentary continued to absolve Urso of blame.
"Incredible," Aymar muttered, shaking his head. "Gillo loses 4–0 at home, and they're still bending over backwards to defend him. If it were my team, they'd already be calling me a liability."
Pierino chuckled, the corners of his mouth pulling into a wry smile. "It's not about results—it's about relationships. Gillo's been around forever, and he knows how to work the system. People are willing to give him the benefit of the doubt."
"That's not how you win matches," Aymar shot back. "Even if they played this game a hundred times, Treviso would win most of them. It wasn't just bad luck—Treviso had the better plan and executed it perfectly."
Pierino nodded in agreement. "They knew exactly how to exploit Verona's weaknesses. Gillo's system was too rigid, and the players looked lost out there. No adjustments, no variety—just predictable football."
Pippo, flipping through a schedule, furrowed his brow. "And it's not going to get any easier for the first team. Their next matches are against Mantova, Bologna, and Brescia. All tough opponents, especially after a morale hit like this."
Pierino sighed. "The start of the season is everything for a club like Verona. They're not a powerhouse, so they need momentum to carry them through. A few bad results in a row, and the team's confidence will collapse."
Aymar frowned, his sharp gaze fixed on the schedule Pippo held. "If Gillo doesn't adapt, he's going to lose the locker room. Once that happens, it's only a matter of time before the season spirals out of control."
"Gillo is in for a rough time. Losing 0–4 at home to Treviso in the first round is bad enough, but next up they have Mantova, then Bologna, Brescia, and Vicenza. None of those teams will be easy!" Pippo said, his eyes scanning the Serie B schedule with a worried expression.
Pierino nodded knowingly. "A poor start can crush a team like Verona's first squad. They're not particularly strong, and they've brought in so many new players this season. If they can't string together results early, it won't take long for the players' morale to plummet. Once that happens, you're fighting an uphill battle for the rest of the season."
Aymar listened thoughtfully, his arms crossed. "A strong coach can steady a ship even in tough times, but that requires adaptability—and Gillo isn't exactly known for that. When the shine wears off those new signings and they lose their initial burst of energy, the cracks will only deepen."
Pierino sighed. "Exactly. And when a team starts a season badly, it's not just about losing points—it's about losing belief. The dressing room becomes fractured, the media piles on, and suddenly, even the easiest games feel impossible."
Aymar leaned back slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "But that's their problem, not ours. Pippo, let's focus on our next match instead of worrying about Gillo's struggles."
Pippo chuckled and shook his head. "Fair enough. You've got a much lighter schedule to deal with anyway."
The Serie Leggera, Verona's reserve league, was far less punishing than Serie B. With only one game per week, it allowed for longer preparation periods and minimized player fatigue. Aymar appreciated the breathing room, using it as an opportunity to drill his tactical philosophy into the squad.
"It's a blessing," Aymar admitted inwardly. The additional time between matches gave him the perfect chance to analyze his players' progress using his CoachMaster Guidance System. Recently, he'd noticed steady improvements across several key players. Mattia Cassani, for instance, had grown significantly. His current ability had climbed by five points after the last match, now sitting at an impressive 112.
Such progress wasn't merely theoretical—it was tangible in training. Cassani's confidence on the ball had surged, and his vision for finding pockets of space in midfield had sharpened. Emanuele Torrisi and Gianluca Nicco were also showing promising gains, their stamina and decision-making improving by the day.
"You're seeing improvement already?" Pierino asked, raising an eyebrow.
Aymar shrugged nonchalantly. "It's all about consistency. The more they play, the more they internalize what we work on in training. Their confidence grows, and it shows on the pitch."
Pierino nodded. "Game time is the best teacher. It's one thing to practice in a controlled environment, but handling real pressure is what makes players grow."
"Exactly," Aymar said. "As long as they're fit, they'll play. The rhythm of regular matches pushes their development faster than anything else. You've seen it yourself—players like Cassani and Torrisi are thriving because they're finally getting the minutes they need to mature."
Pippo glanced at Aymar thoughtfully but said nothing, sensing there was more to Aymar's observations than met the eye. Instead, he leaned forward and studied the upcoming schedule. "Well, let's see if all that growth translates to the next match."
Aymar smirked faintly, his thoughts already drifting to the training ground. While Gillo grappled with chaos in the first team, Aymar's second squad was quietly, steadily building something special.
...
...
Winter in Verona was cold and damp, with heavy rains and lingering fog dominating the season. Snowfall was rare, but the city's narrow streets and ancient architecture carried a unique charm under the muted winter light.
When Aymar Zambo awoke one morning, he opened the window to find the familiar mist clinging to the rooftops and cobblestones. A chill crept into the room, and he quickly shut the window, retreating to the comforting warmth of the fireplace crackling in the corner.
"Still fascinated by the weather?" Pippo Glaviano teased as he added another log to the fire. "Expecting snow? Not in Verona, my friend."
Aymar chuckled. "It's not snow I'm expecting, just taking in the scene. Winter here has its charm."
Aymar had moved into a more spacious apartment a few months ago, located behind Pierino Fanna's sports shop. The upgrade was a welcome change, offering more privacy and comfort than his previous living arrangement. The fireplace, in particular, made the damp winters bearable, casting a warm glow across the room and warding off the chill.
The shop itself had become a hub for football analysis and discussion. When not coaching or preparing for matches, Aymar, Pippo, and Pierino often gathered there to dissect tactics, debate strategies, and share observations. Their friendship had deepened over time, and the trio had formed a tight-knit partnership built on trust and shared goals.
Aymar's room was a testament to his dedication. Shelves were lined with tactical guides and football theory books, while notebooks overflowing with diagrams and notes were scattered across the desk. Every free moment was spent refining his craft and seeking new insights.
The results spoke for themselves. Verona's second team had dominated the Serie Leggera, remaining undefeated with 16 wins and 3 draws from 19 matches. Their performances had drawn attention from local media, with short mentions in La Gazzetta dello Sport and regional sports reports. The focus of these pieces was naturally on the standout players.
Mattia Cassani, in particular, had been singled out for praise. The young midfielder's intelligence, vision, and leadership made him the heartbeat of Aymar's 3-5-2 system. His current ability had climbed to 131, a testament to his rapid development over the season.
"I heard yesterday that the club officially notified Cassani to report to the first team after the break," Aymar said, his tone calm as he poked at the fire.
Pippo sighed heavily. "So it's confirmed? That's a tough loss for us."
"It was inevitable," Aymar thought to himself. Cassani's performances had been nothing short of stellar. With the first team in shambles, it was only a matter of time before he was called up.
Pierino frowned. "Do you think Gillo knows how to use him properly?"
Aymar smirked faintly but kept his thoughts to himself. Gillo's rigid tactics left little room for creative players like Cassani to shine. The young midfielder thrived when given the freedom to control the tempo and exploit space, something Gillo's outdated system rarely allowed.
Instead of voicing these thoughts, Aymar replied, "We'll see. It's up to Mattia to adapt and prove himself. He's got the talent."
The first team's struggles were no secret. Their record in Serie B—14 losses, 4 draws, and no wins—had left them firmly at the bottom of the league and on the brink of relegation. Critics had long since lost patience with Gillo Urso, pointing to his inflexible approach as the primary cause of their dismal performances.
Pierino sighed. "Gillo's a relic of another era. He had potential once, but he's stuck in the past. If he doesn't adapt, he'll drag the entire club down with him."
Aymar shrugged. While he wasn't one to revel in another's failures, he felt little sympathy for someone so resistant to growth.
"So, what's the plan without Cassani?" Pippo asked, steering the conversation back to the second team.
"We'll adapt," Aymar said confidently. "Torrisi will step up in midfield, and Nicco can take on more creative responsibilities. We'll reorganize around them. It might take a few matches, but the system is flexible enough to handle the change."
Pierino smiled faintly. "You've already got it figured out, haven't you?"
"I have to," Aymar replied. "The second team isn't just about results—it's about development. Losing Cassani is a blow, but it's also an opportunity for others to grow. The foundation is strong, and we'll keep moving forward."