Touchline Rebirth: From Game To Glory-Chapter 118: Personal Terms

Chapter 118: Personal Terms

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Dawn light spilled over Broadfield Stadium, painting the training pitches in shades of gold as Crawley’s morning mist began to lift.

Niels reached the field just as the horizon began to blush with dawn. The earth was cool beneath his boots, mist curling low over the ground like breath held too long.

A tight knot of anticipation sat in his stomach, every muscle tuned to the quiet promise of challenge.

Luke Freeman was set to arrive for talks to lock in his personal terms, while Paul Pogba would take his first steps in a squad training session.

With League One’s opening match just weeks away, these moments could define Crawley’s season.

Niels carried a worn clipboard, its pages dense with new drills and tactical ideas, Freeman and Pogba’s names jotted in the margins, potential catalysts for a team ready to fight.

The wind rolled in off the hills as he stepped onto the pitch, the silence around him thick with expectation.

This wasn’t just about drills or tactics anymore, it was about turning effort into belief, sweat into something the town could finally stand behind.

He stopped at the edge of the training ground, the faint buzz of the town waking up around him.

Today was about sealing commitments and building bonds, and Niels was determined to make every moment count.

Luke Freeman arrived mid-morning, stepping out of a small gray car, his lean frame unassuming but his eyes sharp, scanning the stadium with a quiet intensity. He was a creative midfielder who spoke sparingly, every word deliberate.

Niels met him with a quick handshake, catching the way Freeman’s gaze lingered on the pitch’s layout. "Good to have you here," Niels said, his tone welcoming but direct. "Let’s see the place."

They walked the training ground, the turf soft underfoot, marked by yesterday’s drills. As they moved, Niels tested Freeman’s instincts, weaving questions into their conversation to gauge his mind.

"How do you read our setup from here?" Niels asked, pointing to the squad jogging through warm-ups under Thomas’s watchful eye. Freeman’s eyes flicked across the players, his voice low but sharp.

"You’re pushing forward, but the midfield’s too open," he said. "Needs someone to connect the lines, keep possession tight. Right now, it’s too easy to break."

Niels nodded, clearly impressed. "Who do you work best with, players making forward runs, or someone who holds up the ball?"

Freeman paused, weighing his response. "Runners who drag defenders out wide," he said.

"Opens space for me to thread passes." Then, after a beat: "But I need minutes, not just talk."

His voice held a quiet defiance, a sharp edge of hunger shaped by too many hollow promises.

Niels picked up on it the frustration beneath Freeman’s words, the need to prove himself after being overlooked.

There was fire there, something he could work with. But it would take patience to shape it right. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

In Emma’s office, tension hung heavy. Freeman’s agent polished, all sharp edges in a tailored suit leaned in, voice clipped and insistent as he pushed for a bigger signing bonus and guaranteed starts.

Emma stayed composed, notes neatly arranged, her voice calm but unwavering. "We’re offering competitive wages, with performance bonuses for appearances and goals. Gillingham’s covering 40%. This is Luke’s opportunity to stand out."

The agent’s eyes narrowed, his tone sharpening. "Luke’s a game-changer. If you want his talent, you’ve got to commit more money upfront, more guarantees."

Emma didn’t flinch. Her patience was wearing thin, but her focus stayed sharp.

Niels slipped in quietly, sensing the tension. "Any progress?" he asked softly. Emma gave a brief, tight nod. "Almost there. It’s a slow grind." The agent’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

Outside, the training ground hummed with activity. Pogba took part in a gentle warm-up, carefully moving through passing drills designed to help him sync with the team’s pace.

Nearby, Thomas barked out instructions, clipboard always in hand.

Max Simons and Kieron Marsh moved in a nearby drill, their intensity high. During a break, Max approached Pogba, offering a quick handshake, his expression hard but welcoming.

"We play a different kind of game here," Max said, his voice low, carrying a subtle challenge. Pogba nodded, his eyes steady. "I’m ready to fit in," he said, his tone calm but resolute.

Niels stood on the sidelines, noticing a flicker of chemistry between Pogba, Max, and Kieron.

Their passes were rough around the edges Pogba’s timing a bit off, Max’s runs just shy of perfect but the promise was unmistakable, a solid base to develop.

He pictured them clicking into gear, Pogba’s commanding presence setting the pace, Max’s tireless energy pushing forward, and Kieron’s fearless tackles breaking down defenses. It was early days, but the signs looked hopeful.

As the session wrapped up and the air turned cooler with gathering clouds, Niels caught Thomas by the touchline. "How’s Pogba settling in?" he asked bluntly.

Thomas glanced down at his notes, replying steadily, "He’s sharp, but he needs to keep up with our pace. His vision shines through in short passes. We’ll focus on building his stamina over the next week." Niels nodded, the plan taking shape.

Later, Emma found Niels by the edge of the training ground, a cautious smile on her face. "Freeman’s signed," she said, calm but relieved. "Handshake’s done, terms agreed, wages, bonuses, all settled. Just waiting on the paperwork now."

Niels let out a breath, relief washing over him. He imagined Freeman’s sharp passes slicing through defenses, linking up with Pogba’s power and Max’s relentless energy.

But beneath it all, he sensed a deeper spark in Freeman. a quiet fire fueled by the need to prove himself after being overlooked.

They made their way to the training office, the stadium hushed and the pitch swallowed by shadows, except for the faint glow of floodlights.

A well-worn team scarf hung on the wall its colors faded but still vibrant, a silent testament to Crawley’s lasting spirit.

Niels sat at his desk as rain drummed softly against the window, echoing the steady pulse of the town.

He opened his laptop and brought up the scouting reports, his thoughts turning to the challenges the season would bring.

His thoughts churned with next steps: Freeman’s deal was nearly locked, Pogba was integrating, but the squad needed to find its rhythm quickly with the season’s fixtures approaching.

He imagined his squad in full flow: Adam Fletcher steady and composed in goal, the team’s reliable backbone; Liam McCulloch leading the defense with fierce determination; Reece Darby charging relentlessly down the right flank.

Thiago and Dev Patel sped down the wings, their skill and pace causing havoc for opponents. Nate Sutton delivered sharp, accurate passes, while Kieron Marsh added raw energy, a bright prospect for the future.

Max stood at the core, his clinical finishing and smart movement inspiring the team. With Pogba and Freeman commanding the midfield, their combined talent could build a unit ready to compete at the highest level.

The deals for Pogba and Freeman were nearly done, but the squad’s chemistry was still forming, the transfer window’s deadline pressing closer each day.

Niels grabbed his clipboard, jotting a note in black ink: Freeman in. Pogba blending. Build the core. Own the season. The words were a pledge, his hand steady despite the stakes.

The rain fell harder, a rhythm against the window. Niels stood, pacing to the glass, his breath fogging as he looked out at the pitch, its surface gleaming under the floodlights.

His mind turned to the boardroom, Hargreaves’s steady backing, Langley’s hopeful patience, Emma’s tireless drive and he realized the toughest challenges were still ahead. The season loomed large, demanding everything they had.

Crawley’s story was fueled by the city’s heartbeat, the thunder of boots on the pitch, the roar of fans packed tight, and the relentless fire burning in every player.

Every tackle slammed, every pass fired forward, was a battle cry that united the town and pushed them to fight harder, run faster, and never back down.