The Coaching System

Over Edgeley Park, the home field of mid-table Stockport County, who had nothing to play for, the rain continued to fall.

For them, this match was just another Saturday.

For Bradford City, it was life or death.

As the players warmed up, Jake Wilson watched from the touchline, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets.

Bradford had won one game and lost one game, but they were still only four points above the relegation zone.

They couldn't afford to slip. One bad result, and they'd be right back in danger.

And judging by the way Stockport's coach, Ian Dunbar, was walking toward him, Jake was about to get another reminder that no one took him seriously yet.

Dunbar was a broad-shouldered, old-school coach, the kind who believed football was about grit, fight, and long balls into the box.

He smirked as he stopped beside Jake, looking him up and down.

"You're the Bradford lad, huh?"

Jake didn't look at him. "Seems like it."

Dunbar chuckled. "Fair play to you, mate. But let's be honest—you're just delaying the inevitable, aren't you?"

Jake finally turned his head, expression unreadable. "That so?"

"Come on," Dunbar shrugged. "Your lot are going down. Everyone knows it. Doesn't matter how many lucky wins you scrape together."

Jake didn't respond.

Dunbar grinned, taking Jake's silence as a sign of doubt.

"Here's some advice," Dunbar continued. "Don't get too fancy. I've seen new managers like you before—trying to reinvent the wheel. Play it simple today. Otherwise, we'll tear you apart."

Jake finally smirked.

"Appreciate the advice," he said casually. "But I think I'll take my chances."

Dunbar let out a short laugh. "Your funeral, mate."

As the Stockport coach walked off, a blue screen flickered in Jake's vision.

[Ding! Opponent Tactical Analysis Complete.]

[Stockport County: Weakness – Struggles against deep defensive blocks.]

[Suggested Formation: 5-3-2 Ultra-Defensive Counterattack.]

Jake's smirk widened.

Let's see who tears apart who.

The first half was ugly.

Bradford lined up in a deep 5-3-2, sitting in two tight defensive lines, refusing to press.

Stockport dominated possession, passing the ball around, trying to find a way through.

Dunbar's frustration grew with every failed attack. His team had the ball, but they weren't creating any clear chances.

Whenever they got close to Bradford's box, Nathan Barnes and Callum Price cleared everything away.

By the 30th minute, Stockport started forcing crosses into the box—desperate long balls, hoping for a mistake.

But Bradford's defense held firm.

At halftime, the scoreboard read:

Stockport 0 – 0 Bradford.

Inside the locker room, the air was tense.

Some players looked exhausted from all the defending. Others, like Holbrook, looked frustrated.

"We're just sitting back," Holbrook muttered. "No offense, no rhythm. How do you expect us to win?"

Jake didn't look up from the tactics board. "Patience."

Holbrook scoffed. "Patience for what? Another lucky counterattack?"

Jake turned and fixed him with a steady gaze. "Patience for when they get desperate."

The room fell silent.

"We've frustrated them for forty-five minutes," Jake continued. "In the second half, they'll push higher. They'll send more men forward. And that's when we strike."

A new notification flashed in Jake's vision.

[Ding! Real-Time Tactical Adjustment Available.]

[Player Recommendation: Bring on David Reece in the 70th minute for counter-attacks.]

Jake nodded to himself. The game plan was set.

The second half started exactly as Jake expected.

Stockport pushed higher and higher, leaving their defense exposed.

Dunbar was getting impatient, waving his arms, demanding more attacking movement.

Jake just waited.

Then—70th minute.

Jake turned to his bench.

"Reece. You're on."

The young winger's eyes lit up.

He replaced Ben Holden, shifting the team into a 5-4-1 hybrid, waiting for the perfect moment.

Stockport continued attacking, leaving more space behind.

Then, in the 85th minute, it happened.

A sloppy pass in midfield.

Holbrook, for all his attitude, made the crucial interception.

One quick pass forward—straight to Reece.

Stockport's defenders reacted too late.

Reece exploded down the wing, sprinting past the last defender, one-on-one with the keeper.

He took a deep breath—then calmly slotted the ball into the bottom corner.

GOAL.

Stockport 0 – 1 Bradford.

The away fans erupted.

Jake?

He simply smiled.

The final whistle blew.

Bradford had stolen a 1-0 victory.

Dunbar stormed off the pitch, furious.

Jake walked over to shake his hand.

Dunbar glared at him. "You parked the damn bus."

Jake smirked. "I stuck to what I know."

Dunbar clenched his jaw. "Lucky amateur."

Jake's smirk grew wider.

"Lucky? Or did I have a real game plan?"

Dunbar said nothing. Just turned and walked away.

Jake watched him go, hands in his pockets.