Boots shuffled over short grass, cleats clicking as players broke off into two sides. The sun had dropped lower since the morning warmups, turning the pitch gold where the light hit. Shadows stretched long over the half-field setup—cones tight, mini-goals at either end, and tension stitched into the air like static before lightning.
Michel walked with the clipboard under his arm, calling names without pause.
"Evra. Plasil. Zikos. Nonda. Left bibs."He pointed with his chin toward the half already marked with red cones.
"Giuly. Rothen. El Fakiri. Adebayor. Right side."
No one argued. The tone meant business.
Evra adjusted his shin pads and pulled the left bib over his chest like armor. Giuly gave a quick bounce on his toes, grinning at Rothen like a striker about to start hunting.
Demien stayed at the edge, arms folded behind his back.
It was Yves' posture. Calm. Silent. Present. Watching.
But inside, the tension coiled in his chest like a ticking clock. His heart wasn't racing—just taut. Ready. He hadn't coached a live session since… well, never. Not at this level. Not with players who'd been on magazine covers, or with a defender who'd one day captain Manchester United.
He'd been the player once. Forgotten. Now he was the one they looked at and whispered about behind their knuckles.
Ball rolled. Whistle blew. The match began.
Evra's team held shape early, pressing in banks of four. Zikos sat deep, covering second balls. Plasil floated between the gaps, one eye on Giuly every time he drifted inside. On the other side, Giuly didn't stop moving. Always angling. Always shifting the back line just wide enough to create hesitation.
Rothen made things messy. Too eager. Drove too high and left acres behind. Demien saw it before the second pass.
Too much space between midfield and the defensive unit. The gap widened again on the next break.
Giuly punished it—ball slipped inside the seam Rothen left open, Adebayor turned, slipped it back across goal. Wide, this time.
Evra shouted something in French, crisp and cold. Pulled the defensive unit tighter. Took over command like a man used to being listened to.
Demien didn't move.
He watched it all. Hands still folded.
It's a shape problem. But it's not Evra's to fix. It's coming from the midfield's chase instinct.
Second phase. Ball turned over again. Zikos followed it too far forward. Giuly peeled in. Adebayor went back post. It fell apart almost exactly the same way.
That was twice now.
Michel, by the cones, muttered to the strength coach beside him. His expression didn't shift, but Demien caught the way his eyes cut across the line.
Time to speak.
Demien stepped forward during a reset, as water bottles were passed and players circled loosely.
He didn't raise his voice.
"Lefebvre," he called—short and firm.
The younger midfielder turned, surprised to be singled out.
Demien tilted his head toward the sideline. As the player jogged over, Demien leaned in, voice low. Controlled.
"You're pressing out of instinct. Don't. Hold the line with your six. Stay closer to the centerbacks on second ball. If they pull you wide, let them. Don't chase when you're last man."
The kid blinked. Nodded once. No hesitation. Just nervous clarity.
Demien patted his shoulder lightly—just once—and sent him back in.
Michel watched from twenty feet away. Eyebrow arched. But he didn't speak.
Next phase.
Play resumed. Lefebvre stayed home on the break. Intercepted the return pass to Adebayor. Fed Zikos. Quick turn. Ball out wide. Two touches. Giuly closed late. Cross cut inside. Nonda smashed it low and hard, first-time.
Net rippled.
Michel didn't cheer, but his head tilted, just slightly.
Giuly clapped twice. Not loud. But respectful.
Evra turned his head slowly, watching where the play had started. Eyes locked on Lefebvre. Then tracked along the line… until they found Demien on the sideline.
Didn't smile. Didn't nod.
Just stared.
Long. Measured.
A few heartbeats too long for it to be casual.
Then Evra jogged back into position.
Demien stood still, the moment echoing in his mind.
He hadn't said much.
But the ones who mattered were already watching closer.