Football: The British Legendary Manager

The next morning, the team gathered at Trigoria, their bags packed and full of fighting spirit.

The training camp, as Henry had already mentioned, would be a devilish experience. The goal of regaining their fitness in two weeks had been clearly explained.

The players boarded the team bus, the younger ones chatting excitedly, while others simply sat back in their seats, mentally preparing themselves for the tough days ahead.

Henry sat near the front, alongside Paul, reviewing the itinerary for the camp.

Val Pusteria, in the Italian Alps, was the perfect location—high altitude, fresh air, and, most importantly, isolation from distractions.

This place had been deliberately chosen by the club, probably the only thing they had done right. After all, for such an intense training regimen, it was better for the location to be secluded yet conducive to relaxation.

As the bus pulled away from Trigoria, Henry turned his gaze to the players. He really wanted to take a photo of them before and after the training.

It would not only serve as a good souvenir but also remind them of the hard work they had put in. If they succeeded the next season, it would prove that no hard work was in vain.

Paul, who was very observant, noticed that something was on Henry's mind and thought the latter was still worried. He nudged Henry. "Think they'll last the first week?" he asked with a smirk, lightening the atmosphere.

Henry chuckled. "They have to. No excuses. If they break now, they'll break when it matters."

The journey took several hours, with occasional stops to stretch and refuel. By the time they arrived, the sun was beginning to set behind the mountains.

The sight was breathtaking. Even Henry, who was not particularly fond of nature, had to admit it was an ideal place for relaxation. Unfortunately, they were here for work.

He turned to Paul. "Let's get them settled in. We start early tomorrow."

Paul nodded, clapping his hands together. "Alright, guys! Get your room assignments, drop your bags, and meet back outside in twenty minutes. We're going for a light jog before dinner."

The players didn't put up much resistance. It wasn't too much to ask for some stretching after such a long bus ride, especially before dinner.

...

Twenty minutes later, the team reassembled near the entrance of the training facility. Dressed in light training gear, they formed a loose semi-circle around Henry, who stood with his hands behind his back.

"This isn't Rome," he began. "The air is thinner, the terrain is tougher, and by the time we leave, you'll either be stronger than you've ever been… or you'll wish you never came. Your choice."

A few chuckles escaped, but most of the players remained silent, their eyes locked on Henry. Those who had been professionals for a long time knew that this wasn't a joke and that anything could happen.

"Now, just a light jog. Loosen up, get a feel for the altitude, eat dinner. Tomorrow? The real work begins."

With that, Henry set off at a steady pace, leading them along a winding trail that curved around the base of the mountains. After all, Henry himself wasn't that old, and it was normal for him to exercise his body.

The players followed, some chatting quietly, others already focused on conserving their energy.

By the time they returned to the facility, the players were winded but not exhausted—a good sign. Henry clapped his hands together. "Good start. Shower, eat, and rest. Tomorrow at 5 AM, we begin for real."

...

The next morning, before the sun even had a chance to rise over the peaks of Val Pusteria, the sound of alarms rang through the players' rooms.

It had been deliberately arranged by the staff. Screams of anger could be heard echoing through Val Pusteria.

Even Henry, had he not been the head coach, would have wanted to continue sleeping. The freshness of the morning was truly invigorating.

By 5:00 AM exactly, the team was gathered outside, dressed in full training gear. None of the players looked pleased; they seemed ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

Henry and Paul stood in front of them. Henry was checking his watch, while Paul scanned the group with a knowing look that seemed to say, "I can feel your suffering."

Henry clapped his hands together. "Alright, warm-up. Five laps around the facility, dynamic stretches, and then we move to the real work."

The players complied, jogging off into the cold morning air. Some tried to shake off the drowsiness, while others embraced the discomfort, knowing what was coming. Henry and Paul watched in silence, evaluating them as the morning at Val Pusteria unfolded.

After the warm-up, Henry led them to a nearby clearing, where cones were already set up.

"Listen up," Henry said, his voice cutting through the morning fog. "We'll start with endurance. Five kilometers through uneven terrain."

"Uphill, downhill, no breaks. You'll run as a team, pace yourselves. If someone falls behind, you help them. No man left behind. Understood?"

In this kind of situation, even if someone had the idea of slacking off, they wouldn't.

It would not only embarrass them, as they would need the help of their teammates, but those teammates would also look down on them, as if to say they couldn't do what the others could.

The players nodded reluctantly to Henry's words. Starting with 5 km—this was really hell.

The terrain ahead was no joke, and the altitude would make every step more difficult than a normal 5 km. But they knew this was part of the process. After all, on this path to success, they had endured even greater difficulties.

Henry blew the whistle, and the team set off in a tight group, their footsteps loud against the gravel path. The first kilometer was relatively flat, allowing them to find their rhythm.

But soon, the trail began to climb, and the air grew thinner. Breathing became harder, and the chatter from the previous day's jog was replaced by heavy breaths and the occasional grunt of effort.

Henry and Paul followed in a utility vehicle, observing the group closely.

Henry's eyes scanned from player to player, noting who was struggling and who was pushing through with ease. He also monitored the players' status on the system in case something went wrong.

But after all, these were professional athletes. No one stopped, despite their conditions not being at their best, and they continued to push through.

By the final kilometer, the group was divided. Some were pushing through with gritted teeth, while others were barely holding on. But no one stopped.

No one collapsed. When they finally reached the end, some dropped to their knees, gasping for air.

Henry looked at them, nodding slightly. "Not bad," he said. "But not enough. This was just the beginning of today's training session."

Paul joked, "Welcome to hell, guys."

....

A little short today, but I just wanted to end this chapter with Paul's joke, as it felt like the perfect ending in my mind, one that allows me to transition directly into a new scene in the next chapter. By the way, thank you for the Power Stones! We're at 39, and with a little push from you guys, we might just make it to the top 30.