Chapter 113: The Empty Space

Chapter 113: The Empty Space Chapter 113: The Empty Space Friday, July 9, 2010 The morning air at Broadfield Stadium was cool and damp. The muddy pitches shone slightly under a pale sun peeking through Crawley’s thick gray clouds. Niels arrived early, his boots crunching on the gravel outside. The smell of wet grass filled his lungs. The lessons from his time abroad sharp tactical discipline, steady teamwork, a strong sense of club identity, and the vibrant drive of young talent still burned within him, fueling his determination. But the transfer window brought major upheaval: ow: Luka Radev’s departure to Parma was now official, Max Simons was hesitating under pressure from a tempting La Liga offer, and José Baxter’s departure had left a big gap in midfield. His worn backpack, slung over one shoulder, held a notebook filled with plans and names, Danny Drinkwater, Ross Barkley, Paul Pogba each circled in red, along with his trusted book on football psychology. The small note in his pocket was more than words, it was a reminder of why he kept pushing: the flash of Thiago’s skill, Dev Patel’s sharp instincts, Jamal Osei’s steady leadership, and the quiet support of a community that hadn’t let go of hope. Today marked the first full training session without Luka, and with preseason in full swing, Niels braced himself to fill the gaps and keep Crawley’s story alive on the muddy pitches where it belonged. The training ground buzzed with energy as the players arrived, their boots pressing into the soft, muddy turf. Thiago breezed through the warm-up drills, grinning as he juggled the ball with effortless flair. Dev Patel moved quickly between the cones, his footwork sharp and full of promise. Nearby, young winger Nate Sutton glided through tight spaces, delivering crisp, precise passes. But Luka’s absence hit hard, especially during positional rondos and build-up drills. The midfield, once sparked by Luka’s pinpoint passes and vision, now felt slow and disjointed. Tom Whitehall ran tirelessly box-to-box, his energy relentless, and Jamal Osei anchored with his usual calm, reading the game with ease. But without Luka’s creative spark, passes went astray, and attacks fizzled out, the team’s rhythm missing its heartbeat. Niels stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, his chest tightening as he watched the squad struggle to find its flow. Thomas, the new fitness coach, took charge, his Dutch accent cutting through the morning air. "Move faster! Think sharper!" he shouted, stopwatch in hand, pushing players like Reece Darby and Ilyas Kader through grueling sprints. His intense, no-nonsense style kept the squad on edge, but the empty space in midfield loomed like a wound that needed healing before League One’s battles began. At midday, Niels met Emma Hayes in his office, surrounded by familiar things, a stack of old match programs, a chipped mug, and a photo from the FA Cup run showing Max, Luka, and Thiago celebrating, now all tinged with a sense of loss. The window overlooked the pitch, where Thomas was wrapping up drills, youth players panting but showing grit under his demanding gaze. Emma sat on the edge of the desk, her face tight with frustration, her arms crossed. "Bad news," she said, her voice clipped. "Drinkwater’s loan is off. His agent came in last minute with demands, higher wages and a guaranteed starting spot. United pulled the plug." Niels’s stomach dropped, the hope of Drinkwater’s steady work rate filling Baxter’s gap now gone. "That’s two holes in midfield," he said, his voice low but firm, picturing Luka’s quiet Croatian field and Baxter’s relentless energy, both lost to Crawley. "Pogba’s still our top target, but we need two players now to hold the midfield together." Emma’s eyes flashed with urgency as her pen tapped the desk. "The board’s getting restless. Mr. Hargreaves wants answers, and Richard Langley’s worried the fans will turn on us if results don’t come. We need names, Niels fast." They leaned over Emma’s laptop, diving into a frantic search for new midfield targets. Pogba remained the top target, his agent intrigued but cautious, demanding proof that Crawley could offer more than just minutes. "He’s our statement signing," Niels said, his voice steady with conviction. "We keep pushing, offer him game time, a leadership role, a chance to shine in a team built around him." Emma nodded, scribbling a new name: James Dunne, Exeter City, a Championship backup midfielder known for his grit and League One experience. "He’s affordable, tough, won’t back down in a scrap," she said, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. They also shortlisted John Lundstram from Everton, a young loanee with a sharp mind and high potential. "Dunne for stability now, Lundstram for growth later," Niels said, picturing them slotting in alongside Jamal’s tactical sense and Tom’s endless running. "We need both to keep the midfield solid and give us a future." Emma typed quickly, her focus intense. "I’ll reach out to their clubs today, but Pogba’s camp needs a stronger pitch. They want a vision they can see, not just words on paper." Niels rubbed his jaw, his mind racing to craft a plan that would convince both Pogba’s agent and the board led by Hargreaves’s stern caution and Langley’s public optimism. That afternoon, Niels watched a scrimmage, his eyes locked on Kieron Marsh, the 18-year-old academy star with four-star potential. Kieron was a standout, his stamina and boldness electrifying as he broke up plays with sharp tackles and surged forward with fearless runs. He darted into spaces, outsmarting seniors like Callum Berg and Marc Jennings, even forcing Adam Fletcher to make a diving save in goal with a fierce shot. The kid played with heart, unafraid of the stage, his anticipation sharp as he intercepted a pass meant for Reece Darby. Niels’s lips twitched with a smile, impressed by Kieron’s fire, but he knew the young midfielder’s tendency to dive into challenges and his lack of experience meant he couldn’t carry the midfield’s load for a full League One season. "He’s improved a lot since previous season," Niels said to Thomas, who stood beside him, clipboard in hand, watching the play unfold. "But he’s not Luka or Baxter. Not yet." Thomas nodded, his eyes tracking Kieron’s next run. "He’ll grow into it. For now, lean on Jamal’s calm, Tom’s energy, maybe Callum Berg for some creativity. Push the others to step up." Niels agreed, but the empty space in midfield felt like a raw wound, threatening Crawley’s heart as the season drew closer. As the sun sank low, casting long shadows across the pitch, Niels lingered on the sidelines, the muddy turf soft under his boots. The floodlights flickered on, their glow cutting through the dusk like a beacon. He pictured Max, still wrestling with Levante’s offer, his lethal finishing and clever movement vital alongside Thiago’s agility, Dev’s slippery playmaking, and Nate Sutton’s quick passes. He saw Jamal anchoring with his cool head, Tom covering ground tirelessly, Kieron growing into a star, and Reece Darby bombing down the right. But without Luka’s vision, Baxter’s grit, and now Drinkwater’s collapse, the squad felt fragile, the season’s battles looming like giants on the horizon. Back at his desk, the steady patter of rain against the window filled the room, echoing the determined spirit of Broadfield. His mind raced through potential targets, each name a flicker of hope amid the uncertainty. With firm resolve, he reminded himself: two midfielders were needed, one for grit, one for potential, and one to chase the dream. Niels stood and walked to the window, his breath fogging the glass as he gazed at the pitch, its muddy patches gleaming under the floodlights. The office’s clutter match programs stacked in a corner, a chipped mug holding pencils, the FA Cup photo with Max, Luka, and Thiago anchored him, a reminder of Crawley’s heart. The lessons from his journey Milan’s precision, Genoa’s steadiness, Utrecht’s philosophy, Eindhoven’s spark formed the foundation of a culture built on trust and fight. Luka’s loss was a deep cut, Max’s indecision a fresh sting, Drinkwater’s collapse a setback, but they were challenges, not the end. Niels would fight to keep Max, chase Dunne and Lundstram, and push harder for Pogba, crafting a pitch to his agent that promised a legacy, not just minutes. The board, Mr. Hargreaves’s gruff demands, Richard Langley’s public-facing hope, Emma Hayes’s fierce drive needed convincing, but Niels was ready to show them Crawley’s potential. He thought of the squad: Adam Fletcher’s calming presence in goal, Liam McCulloch’s command at the back, Thiago and Dev lighting up the wings, and young Kieron Marsh daring to shine. The season was closing in, its battles fierce and urgent, but the note in his pocket ’Keep going. We’re behind you’ beat like a drum, tying him to Broadfield’s roar, to Thiago’s grin, Dev’s spark, and a town that refused to give up. Crawley’s story wasn’t about scraping by it was about defying the odds, carving a legacy that would burn bright on the muddy pitches, etched in every tackle, every pass, every moment of heart that made the town come alive.