Chapter 96: The Decision

Chapter 96: The Decision Chapter 96: The Decision Wednesday, May 19, 2010 Niels woke to the constant buzz of his phone, its screen lighting up the dark room. Messages poured in with texts, emails, Twitter alerts, each one adding to the storm in his mind. Barnsley’s ambition, Forest’s Premier League dream, Mainz’s structure, Torino’s passion, they all pulled at him, trying to drag him away from the one thing keeping him grounded: Crawley. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the weight of yesterday even more now. The town’s pride and hopes seemed to seep into the room like morning mist. Outside, the sky was heavy and gray just like the storm of thoughts inside him. He put on his jacket and stepped into the cool air, hoping a walk would help clear his mind. Crawley felt different today tense, like the whole town was holding its breath, waiting to see what he would do next. At the newsstand by the train station, the headlines were impossible to miss. The Guardian asked, "Crawley’s Niels: Europe’s Next Big Thing?" The Sun shouted, "Niels Fever Grips Football!" in bold red letters. Germany’s Kicker hit hardest: "English Cup Miracle Coach: Bound for Europe?" Each headline made his personal struggle feel exposed, like the whole world was watching. On Twitter, #KeepNiels was trending, filled with fan tributes that pulled at his heart. A video of kids with red face paint chanting his name in a park played on repeat, their voices filled with hope. A father tweeted a photo of his son wearing a Crawley scarf, captioned, "You gave my boy a hero, Niels. Stay." A teenage girl shared a hand-drawn sketch of the FA Cup, with "#KeepNiels" boldly written across it in blue ink. Each post was a powerful reminder of the town’s fierce love. As he reached the training ground, the air grew thick with uncertainty. Staff whispered in corners, casting quick glances his way like silent arrows. The players, usually full of laughter and banter, moved through their drills with a quiet focus, their eyes filled with unspoken questions. During a break, Luka, the team’s midfielder, pulled Niels aside, his usual smile replaced by a rare intensity. "Coach," he said, his accent thick with emotion, "they believe because you believed in us first. You made us more than a League Two side." His words landed like a blow, raw and unfiltered, and Niels could only nod, his throat tight as Luka jogged back to the pitch, his boots kicking up flecks of dew-soaked grass. Later, as Niels checked his phone in the quiet of the locker room, a text from Thiago arrived, sent at 2 a.m.: "Wherever you go, I’ll back you. But Crawley still needs you, Boss." Then a call came through Max, the team’s captain and a striker, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "Are you leaving Coach?" he asked, cutting straight to the heart. The question hung in the air, heavy as the Wembley trophy. Niels gripped the phone, his knuckles white. "I’m still here, Max," he said, but the words felt fragile, like they could shatter under the weight of the choice he faced. By midday, the club’s chaos became impossible to hide. Emma Hayes, the Sports Director, met him in her office, frustration and determination written all over her face. She slammed a newspaper on her desk with the headline: "Contract Talks Stall as Niels Delays Decision." "The board’s playing dirty," she said sharply. "They’re leaking stories to the press to pressure you. They’re scared you’ll leave for Europe." Niels clenched his jaw, anger rising at the betrayal. The board’s tactics stood in sharp contrast to the unity of Sunday’s victory parade, when red scarves waved and the town roared "Craw-ley!" as one. "They’re trying to cage me," Niels said quietly, his voice steady but firm. Emma sighed, her eyes softening but full of resolve. "They’re desperate, Niels. You’re the soul of this club. But this pressure, it will only get worse. You need to decide soon, before it tears us apart." Emma’s words echoed in his mind as he stepped onto the training pitch. The familiar smell of grass and sweat brought a brief comfort, but the players’ drills and shouts under the gray sky only reminded him of the heavy glances and quiet whispers that followed him everywhere. A young striker, barely sixteen, jogged over during a water break, eyes full of awe and worry. "Coach, is it true? Germany? Italy?" Niels forced a smile and ruffled the boy’s hair. "Focus on your left foot, alright? We’ve got a season to win." The boy grinned, but the question stayed, a quiet sign that even the youth team felt the uncertainty creeping in. That afternoon, Niels asked for a private meeting with David Hargreaves, the club’s owner, a local businessman whose money had powered Crawley’s incredible rise. They met in Hargreaves’ office, a small room overlooking the pitch, with walls decorated by faded photos of past glories and a framed red scarf from Wembley. Hargreaves leaned back in his leather chair, his weathered face showing pride and calculation. His eyes held the weight of ownership. "You’ve got the world at your door, Niels," he said, his voice rough but warm, like a father speaking to a rebellious son. "Barnsley, Forest, Mainz, Torino it’s quite the list. I don’t want to lose you, but I know what you’ve done here. Tell me your terms." Niels stared at Hargreaves, his frustration barely contained. "I’m angry, angry that the board is playing dirty, leaking stories just to push me out. It feels like you guys stabbing me in the back instead of standing behind what we’ve built. I never thought those who claim to support this club would turn against me like this." He paused, his voice hardening. "If this is how loyalty works, then maybe I need to rethink everything." Hargreaves sighed, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I can understand your anger, Niels. A few people around here are getting impatient, worried you might leave, so they resorted to those leaks to speed things up. It’s not the way I want things done, and for that, I apologize. We all want you here, just... sometimes fear makes people act rashly." Niels took a deep breath, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit. The anger was still there, but hearing Hargreaves acknowledge the mistake helped bridge the growing gap between them. Hargreaves leaned forward, locking eyes with Niels. "Enough with the drama, what’s your decision? And what are your terms? Tell me what it’ll take to keep you here." "I’ll stay," Niels said firmly, hiding the turmoil inside. "One more season. But I want full control on tactics, transfers, youth teams, everything. No leaks, no interference. I’m in charge, or I’m out. After this season, I’ll think about other offers next summer." He looked Hargreaves straight in the eye, clear and serious. "That’s my deal." Hargreaves studied him, fingers tapping on the desk, the silence stretching. Then a slow smile appeared. "You’re a strong-willed man, Niels, and you’ve earned this. One season, full control. We’ll prepare the contract today." He extended his hand, and Niels shook it, sealing the deal as the pitch outside gleamed under the fading afternoon light. The news hit like a flood. By evening, Emma had the club’s social media team: "Niels stays. One more season. #NielsStaying." Twitter exploded with joy, fans shared photos of Broadfield Stadium, waving scarves, and Max’s goal on repeat. A local pub showed a packed bar cheering, "Niels is ours!" Kids in a park chanted his name under sparklers, their faces painted red. Outside the stadium, a banner read: "HE’S STAYING!" A young girl held a sign in a video, "Coach Niels, you’re my hero," her eyes shining bright. As night fell, Niels quietly left the training ground, needing space from the noise. Crawley was alive with cheers, people gathered in streets and pubs, voices raised in his honor. Outside a small shop, a new sign declared, "Niels Stays! The Dream Continues." The shopkeeper smiled warmly at him, eyes shining with pride. Passing by, a group of young fans called out, "Thank you, Coach!" before disappearing into the night. He walked to a small park near his flat, the same place where the kids had filmed their chant. It was quiet now; the swings creaked gently in the breeze, and the sparklers were gone. Sitting on a bench, he took out a boy’s drawing from his pocket. It showed a stick-figure team holding a crooked trophy, with the words "Thank you, Coach Niels" written in crayon. His chest tightened with emotion. This was why he chose to stay, the fans, the players, and the town that believed in him when he was just a hopeful coach with a plan. Crawley was more than a club for him, built with hard work and heart, a journey from being unknown to playing on the big stage at Wembley. The battle inside him wasn’t over. Offers from Barnsley, Forest, Mainz, and Torino still hovered like shadows, tempting him with bigger stages and brighter lights. He’d promised Hargreaves one more season, a chance to chase another miracle and prove Crawley’s rise wasn’t luck. Eventually, the offers would come knocking once more, forcing him to choose his path. But tonight, he belonged here. He folded the drawing with care, putting it safely away, and looked out over the sparkling lights of Crawley. The cheers from celebrating fans drifted through the air, a steady reminder of the town’s spirit. Milan’s question echoed quietly in his thoughts: What kind of story will you create? For now, his answer was clear, this was his place, among the worn pitches, the passionate fans, and the hopes of a small town dreaming big.