Scott Lanowski is no longer the man on the touchline in Ślęza. The dugout, the shouts, the routines, all of it there belonged to someone else now. He’d walked away, and the silence that followed was louder than any crowd.

It didn’t take long for his name to surface again. Managers who win promotion and then steady a club in the second tier don’t fade quietly. Raków Częstochowa came knocking, their offer dressed up as an opportunity to rebuild a fallen side. But Scott saw through it. Relegated from i liga, Raków were headed for another season of long bus rides, smaller stadiums, smaller crowds, smaller ambitions.

He didn’t leave Ślęza just to start over in the same trenches. Not with nothing but survival on the table. His ambitions were bigger than that now, even if he hadn’t yet figured out where they would take him. So he turned it down. Respectfully, but firmly. The calls would keep coming, he told himself. Somewhere out there was the right fit, something that matched the hunger still burning inside him.

The carousel didn’t slow. Names circled the papers, his among them. Olympiakos Volos cropped up in Greece, but nothing ever landed his way, just whispers in columns and murmurs on the forums. That was football; smoke without fire, until suddenly it wasn’t.

Then came a call that cut through the noise. Górnik Łęczna. A club with history, but fresh wounds in the form of finishing bottom of the Ekstraklasa last season, humiliated, battered and bruised. They’d be a giant among the division Scott knew too well, the very league where he had dragged Ślęza to back to back third place finishes.

‘Favorites to bounce straight back’ the caller told him, voice slick with certainty.

Scott sat with the thought long after the line went dead. Could he do it? Take a team stitched together with parachute payments and expectation and turn them around in a single season? It would mean stepping into a dressing room used to losing, into a club desperate to erase a year of failure.

It gnawed at him. He hadn’t managed to get Ślęza over the line, hadn’t cracked that final barrier. Łęczna would demand it of him immediately. No learning curve, no breathing room. Just results, straight away.

For the first time since he’d walked out of Wrocław, he found himself leaning forward, imagining the weight of a fallen giant, and wondering if this was the mountain he was meant to climb.

They met at Marcin’s flat, three mugs of coffee cooling on the table between them. The phone call from Łęczna was still buzzing in Scott’s head when Peter finally asked ‘so what do ya’ wanna talk about Scotty?’ with a sheepish grin, already knowing the answer

Scott smiled knowing he wasn’t pushing buttons, just getting straight to the point ‘you mean the elephant in the room, not Marcin’ with a laugh, he continued ‘Górnik Łęczna’

Marcin didn’t bite as was his way but said ‘they’ll go straight back up, with or without us’

Before Scott could reply Peter said ‘oh yeah, just like Wisla did last season?’

He was right, Wislaw Krakow came down last season and struggled, going through two managers and currently looking for their third in the last year.

Marcin again didn’t bite and said ‘that’s different. Łęczna won’t lose half the squad, aren’t in money troubles and have a squad stronger than Krakow did, and dare I say stronger than we did last season’. Not expecting anything back he continued ‘I’ve looked into them, I do think it's a ready made project, decent budget not that we’ll need to sign anyone and we’d be favourites every week, not scrappy underdogs’

‘The thing is, it’s Poland again, home. Same league, same grind even if it is just for the one season. I don’t know if I want to go down that road, not right away I mean. I keep thinking back to January, I had Bulgaria and Bosnia call me and be genuinely interested in me going there, that would be outside the comfort zone’ he waited a moment before adding ‘I know you both, and Blazej, said you’d come with me wherever I go, I don’t want you holding out for me, if anything comes up for you I would expect you to take it’

Marcin looked up and said ‘you think you’ve outgrown Poland? You’ve only been back five years, it’s not Canada but….’ Scott cut him off

‘No, not outgrown, just…..I don’t want to feel like I’m going in circles here. I don’t want to be seen as the steady hand when things go wrong, never the bride always the bridesmaid kind of thing. I just want to see what’s out there, places like Greece I’ve been mentioned, Spain, Hungary there’s a million places I could go, we could go, to test ourselves differently’

‘You’d easily get Łęczna promoted, there’s not a lot of challenge there, is that it?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just what comes after that? Could we build that team in Ekstraklasa? Would we just oversee another relegation?’

‘Are you seeing it as a sideways step?’

‘Yeah, I think I am, and if I’m wrong and we fail than I’ve taken the safe bet and still failed, that’s the bit that’s eating at me’

The room went quiet for a beat, each man weighing the same truth from different angles.

Scott left Marcin's flat later that night no closer to an answer. The call from Łęczna had stirred something in him, the thought of bouncing straight back with another Polish club, bigger than the last two he had managed, and of proving that he could finish the job he never quite managed at Ślęza. But the unease lingered. It felt too close to what he’d just walked away from. Too familiar. Too safe.

== == == == ==

The call came on a damp Thursday morning. Scott almost let it ring out, thinking it was another agent sniffing around on Łęczna’s behalf. But the voice on the other end was different. Polished English, accented but clear.

‘Mr. Lanokwski? This is Edas Alihodzic, president of Željezničar Sarajevo. I’d like to speak with you about our vacancy’

Scott straightened in his chair. He jotted the name down, heart ticking a little faster. Bosnia. A new country, a new league. Not the safe, predictable move. Something else. Something riskier.

Scott frowned, he wasn’t expecting that. 

‘Are you there Mr. Lankowski?’ The voice was low now, measured and carrying that Balkan edge. ‘I’ll be direct, the team was relegated last season, we should’ve gone straight back up this season, but the manager, he failed us. That cannot happen twice. We want promotion this season. No excuses, anything else is failure. I believe you are the man that can deliver it’

Scott frowned, the bluntness jarring ‘that’s a big ask. You’ve just….’

Esad cut him off ‘no excuses, none. Željezničar is not a second rate team, certainly no second division club. I have a feeling you want to prove yourself after narrowly missing out in Wrocław, you can do that here with us. There’ll be no time to settle, no time to build. I’m sure you can handle that’

Scott leaned back in the chair, lips pressed tight. He’d dealt with pressure before, but the tone here felt less like belief and more like a threat ‘I’d need to think it over, time to talk to my staff, review the club, the current squad and……’

Cut off again, Esad’s reply was sharp, with an almost impatient tone ‘then think quickly. There’s plenty of others that will be wanting this job. But I believe you are the right man to take us up, and then build, if you are brave enough to take it that is’

The line went dead. Scott exhaled, staring at the silent phone. He felt more cornered than courted, the words still echoing: no excuses… failure… think quickly.

It didn’t sit right. Not at all.

A while later after he’d processed the call he thought about it. Promotion to the Premijer liga this season, no bedding in period and possibly not much time to go over things with Marcin and Peter, which would mean no time to find his feet. Straight to the point, straight to the pressure, straight to business. He thought back to Ślęza, the near miss with promotion, the frustration of falling short and wondered if this was the same trap all over again.

‘I appreciate the call’ Scott said carefully ‘It’s a big challenge you’re talking about’

Esad didn’t hesitate ‘Željo is a big club. We cannot live in the second division. We will give you the tools, but the demand is simple: win promotion. You’ve done it before, you can do it again here’

Scott let out a slow breath. The weight of the proposition hung heavy. This wasn’t just another job offer. It was a gamble, the kind that could either elevate his career or break it.

== == == == ==

Scott sat with Peter, Marcin, and Blazej later that evening in a small cafe. Three coffees, one half eaten pasty sat there along with the hanging silence until Marcin finally broke it.

‘Well?’ he asked ‘how was the call with Sarajevo?’

Scott rubbed a hand across his forehead and said ‘pushy, far too pushy. The guy didn’t ask me anything about what I wanted to do, long term plans, if I wanted my own staff or anything like that. Just didn’t even want to hear anything from me. He just said one thing, promotion or bust, and that’s this season. Anything else is failure’

Peter whistled under his breath ‘that’s… blunt’

‘Blunt’s one word’ Scott muttered ‘felt more like an ultimatum than a job offer’

Blazej leaned forward ‘Željo is a big name, Scott. If you take them up, you’re a hero. But if you don’t…’

‘That’s it’  Scott said, eyes fixed on the table ‘it’s not just pressure that seemed suffocating already. I don’t want to walk into a job where the chairman’s already got the axe half raised before I’ve even put a team out’

Marcin gave a slow nod ‘feels wrong, then. If your gut says no, don’t force it. We’ll go where you go, you know that. But we don’t want you walking into a trap’

Peter leaned back in his chair ‘another opportunity will come, one that might even be better suited. Somewhere you can breathe, build something. Doesn’t have to be now, doesn’t have to be them’

Scott sipped at his coffee, cold by now, but didn’t answer straight away. Esad’s voice was still ringing in his head, harsh and unyielding. He couldn’t shake the sense that if he said yes, he’d already be one step from failure. 

Scott sat back in his chair, the dregs of his coffee bitter on his tongue. Željezničar Sarajevo had finished second in Prva liga FBiH, the second division. So close to promotion last year and still the biggest name in that division. On paper, it was an obvious opportunity, a ready to go team in many ways.

But the tone of Esad Alihodžić’s call lingered like smoke. No warmth, no give and no sense of partnership, just the demand. Promotion this season along with no excuses. It felt less like an invitation and more like being shoved into a corner.

And yet, he found himself thinking back to another call. During the winter break Gojko Drasković at Slavija Sarajevo had rung him. They actually ended up finishing bottom of the Premier League of Bosnia, adrift and broken, and still Gojko had sounded desperate enough to gamble on him back then. Scott had turned it down, not wanting to leave Ślęza mid season. But the thought returned now, nagging, maybe Bosnia was where the path would lead.

He tapped his fingers on the table, jaw tight mind running. He wanted back in as soon as possible, that was the truth he couldn’t ignore. Every day out of work felt heavier, a reminder he wasn’t in the dugout anymore, wasn’t part of the fight. But was Željezničar the right job? Or just the first one that came with a famous name and impossible demands?

The question hung there, no easy answer in sight.

== == == == ==

Great to see you still contributing! Looks like you and a few others have tidied the stories section well, nice to see it still active even with the lack of new release.

I’ve recently started reading this story, but I’m only down to that quoted chapter but can tell it’ll be good. Can always count on your stories to set the scene, Wroclaw has never felt so real! 😂

Now mate it's good to hear from ya, it's been a while ain't it!!! I just can never seem to stick to a newer FM save, hence this being on 17. I also go back to Journeyman's Journey quite a lot too 😂😂

The clean up has been all @HockeyBhoy  work, I'd not been on the forums myself for a while but back on now and on FM more.

Too long! FM17 was/is great, Journeyman's Journey on it is definitely one of my favourite saves ever. Probably no major reason to even move on from FM17, but I'm a sucker for a shiny new release!

Nice work, HockeyBhoy!👏

Thanks fella, keeps me active whilst also writing my own wee story in the obscure Northern Irish leagues. 👍 

To be fair I'm the same, get all hyped for a nice shiny new FM just to find myself going back to 17, usually because the game takes longer to process or something stupid like I don't like the regen faces lol you got any saves lined up to be post??

Catching up on that now mate.

Scott had the phone in his hand, thumb hovering over the last call. He almost pressed it,  almost gave Alihodžić his answer, whatever that might’ve been, he still wasn’t entirely sure. Then it rang again. Another number he hadn’t saved.

He swore under his breath ‘what now?’

The voice on the other end was calm and steady, but it carried a gravity that made Scott sit up straighter.

‘My name is Šefkija Vila. President of Velež Mostar Fudbalski Klub. Forgive the intrusion, but I’ll be direct, we need a manager. Not just any manager, the right one. Someone to bring this club back to where it belongs’

Scott rubbed the bridge of his now half expecting this to be another hard pitch, another man telling him what he must do and when he must achieve it. But Šefkija wasn’t pushing. His tone was deliberate, weighty even, every word like a stone placed carefully in a wall.

‘You’ve shown you can raise a club beyond its ceiling’ Šefkija said ‘we’ve been watching. We don’t want someone to survive, we want someone to make us contenders again. That man could be you’

Scott leaned back, staring at the ceiling. First Slavija a few months ago, then Željo and now Velež in the space of two days. Bosnia wasn’t just knocking on his door, it was trying to drag him through it. And for the first time since leaving Ślęza, he felt the cold edge of choices pressing hard against him.

== == == == ==

Shortly after that call Scott sat with Peter, Marcin, and Blazej in the same quiet corner of the cafe as the previous day, the kind of place where voices never seemed to rise above a murmur. The table between them was littered with coffee cups, notebooks, and Marcin's open laptop.

He laid it all out. Željezničar’s pitch was pushy, urgent and almost seemed desperate. And now Velež Mostar’s call, careful but firm, ending with an invitation ‘they want me in the room’ Scott said, fingers drumming on the table

Peter leaned forward ‘and you’ll be going?’

Scott nodded once ‘yep, doesn’t mean I’ll take it. But I do want to hear them out’

Marcin folded his arms ‘Željo are a big club fallen on hard times and they probably think they can bully you into it. That tone never sits right does it. And Velež? Sounds like respect from another big team fallen on hard times, professional too. Sounds like they’ve actually thought about you, not just a name on a list’

Blazej added quietly ‘Velež Mostar is no small club Scotty. History, they’ve won a decent amount and a big fan base. They’ll demand a lot but they might give you the room to build’

Scott stared at the dregs of his coffee. Two roads, both leading into Bosnia, both full of risk ‘It feels like a test’ he said ‘Željo’s all pressure. Velež…..maybe there’s something real there and room to build. But either way, once I step through that door and meet with them there’s no turning back’

== == == == ==

The train cut through the valley like a scar, steel grinding against stone. Scott sat by the window, eyes fixed on the jagged mountains rising and falling against the horizon. Bosnia wasn’t Poland. The air smelled different, the light fell heavier and the silence carried its own weight.

Mostar came into view in fragments, the mountain Velež, after which the team is named, tiled rooftops as well as the famous bridge arching across the river like a promise and a warning all at once. Scott stepped off the train and felt it in his bones - this was a footballing city. A place where history and expectation pressed down together.

At the station, Sefkija Vila’s driver was waiting, a hand painted sign with Lańkowski scrawled in thick black marker. No fanfare or welcoming speeches, just a nod toward the car. Scott followed, suitcase in hand, the streets of Mostar sliding by outside the window. Posters for Velež games clung to walls, weathered but proud.

Every turn of the car brought the club closer, the interview closer, and the decision looming larger. Scott had walked into plenty of dressing rooms, faced crowds, stared down opponents. But this felt different somehow. This was about where his story went next.

== == == == ==

The car slowed, nosed through a set of rusted gates and pulled up outside the ground, a sign proudly proclaiming the team's home as Vrapčići. Scott stepped out, boots crunching on gravel and looked up.

The stadium wasn’t grand. The stands bore the stains of time, paint peeling in strips and one of the floodlights leaning like a tired soldier. But there was history here and Scott could feel it in the bricks, in the faded murals and in the way a couple of the locals walking past paused, eyes narrowing and measuring him already.

Scott smiled slightly and drifted a little, suitcase in hand until he found himself staring through a gap in the locked gate. The pitch stretched out under a fading afternoon sun, grass patchy but alive, lines marked like veins. He imagined it full, the roar of supporters rising like a storm, every chant demanding not just football but redemption.

A whisper crossed his mind; Željo wants it too. Maybe harder. Maybe louder. But Sarajevo had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Too pushy and far too desperate it felt. Here, right now this felt different. Not easier, but more human somehow, more welcoming.

Behind him, the driver cleared his throat  ‘they are waiting for you inside, Mister Lańkowski’

Scott gave one last look at the field. He knew this would be more than an interview. This was a test of whether he believed he could carry a club back to its place, whether he had it in him to take that extra step, get over that hurdle of the finish line in the way of promotion.

He straightened his jacket and tightened his grip on the suitcase handle, then walked toward the doors.

== == == == ==

The office smelled of old wood, a haze still hanging in the air despite the window cracked open. Across the desk sat Sefkija Vila, sharp suit, sharp eyes, a man who gave nothing away unless he chose to.

‘Scott’ Vila said, his voice low but firm ‘thank you for coming to Mostar. You know why you’re here’

Scott nodded ‘of course, we’re here to talk about Velež. About what’s next’

Vila leaned back, folding his arms ‘last season we finished fourth, we were close, but not close enough. This year we must compete. I won’t pretend like it will be easy, and I won’t call hiring you, or any other manager a quick fix. Promotion is what we’re working toward, but we both know it has to be earned. What I care about is that we’re in the fight, that we look like a club with purpose. Anything less, and we’ve gone backwards’

Scott let the words hang in the air before answering ‘oh I completely understand. I reviewed the squad before coming here. There’s a decent core there, as well as some young players I’d like to work with, and some experienced heads there. But they’ve not been consistent enough, at least from what I’ve found. They’ve got habits from this level that need breaking if they’re going to push higher’.  He took a breath, steadying himself ‘If you offered me it and I took this job, I’d expect us to challenge for promotion out of the Prva liga FBiH. That has to be the aim. I can’t give you an idea on when, or even a three maybe four year plan until I’ve spent time with the team, as well as getting my own guys in to work here with me’

A thin smile crossed Vila’s lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes ‘good. You speak my language. Ambition, I like that’ He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, tone sharpening ‘but talk to me about the plan you just mentioned, what about after promotion, whether that’s this year, next or whenever, what about after?’

Scott thought about it, but Vila didn’t give him chance to speak, breaking the silence ‘do you see this club as just a stepping stone for you? Or do you see what I see, in that Velež be restored, not just promoted but standing proud again in the Premier League once again. Competing. Belonging. Winning. Can you picture yourself leading that?’

Scott met his gaze. The pushiness reminded him of the Željo call, but Vila’s edge was different, not desperation, but expectation, the kind of pressure that carved men into champions or left them broken.

‘I think promotion is the first test’ Scott said slowly ‘we need to earn the right to be back where this club belongs. From there is when we build. It’s not about shortcuts, it’s about a foundation. If we get that right, then yes, I see Velež becoming more than just another promoted side. But it has to be done step by step, that’s how I’d do it’

For the first time since the meeting started Vila nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He set his empty glass down with a quiet tap and leaned forward ‘I like that. It’s what I hoped you’d say. But now comes the question I’m not sure how you’ll answer. Tell me, looking back at your time with Ślęza, if you could have your time there again would you do anything differently? And if not, how do you see those experiences helping you here, or perhaps holding you back?’

Scott paused, weighing the words carefully, expecting such a question ‘differently? Yes but also no. At Ślęza I felt that I’d hit a ceiling there. Two years running we finished third, and both times I genuinely thought we could push that extra step. Maybe I was too loyal to the club, maybe even too loyal to the players I trusted and I’ll admit I was probably too reluctant to gamble on change when it might have made the difference. That’s something I’d look at again’

He leaned in slightly ‘but what I did learn is how to build consistency. Four years there from fighting relegation to touching promotion to the top division, to becoming a club that could stand toe to toe with anyone in the division, not only that but we too it to my own team Slask, who at the time were challenging for a top six spot in the Ekstraklasa. That kind of squad which was built on characters and resilience is something I know how to put in place. Here in Mostar I’d use those lessons right from the off, not to fear change but to balance it with stability. If I can get that right and you already think I can just by me being here, I think Velež won’t just be competing in this league. We’ll be building for something stronger and looking to get out of it’

‘Good answer I like that. You’ll have your chance to prove it, if we decide you’re the man.’ The silence that followed was heavy, both men knowing the decision would shape more than just a season.

Vila let the silence stretch, eyes fixed on Scott as if trying to measure the truth in his words. Then he said, low but sharp ‘that all sounds good. Stability, foundations but tell me, do you actually have the edge to take that next step? Because I don’t want a manager who builds walls and stops at the roof. I want one who knows how to break through it’

He didn’t wait for Scott to answer and said ‘I know you’d been able to make Ślęza competitive, that’s what made me as you here today, but can you make a team competitive when it really maters the most? That’s the only difference that counts’

Scott didn’t rush with his answer. He let Vila’s words hang, chewing them over before answering ‘You’re right there, I haven't proven that yet. Twice in Ślęza we finished third, which was higher than anyone inside or outside the club thought we’d finish, but I’ll tell you now, close doesn’t cut it, and that’s the reality of it’ he waited a moment then said ‘but those two seasons taught me something, and that is I know what not taking that extra step feels like, I replay the decisions I made and should’ve made all the time in my mind and I don’t want to feel the need to do that again’

When Vila just nodded, indicating Scott to continue, he did ‘I’m not pretending I have all the answers, not yet anyway. But I think I can take that next step here. If you’re looking for someone thats been there, got promoted and got the t-shirt then I’m not your man. But if you’re looking for someone that’s hungry enough to turn lessons and experience into wins, then I am most certainly your man’

== == == == ==

Scott sat in the dim hotel room, the streets of Mostar a low hum beneath the window. His notes from the interview still lay scattered across the desk, squad lists, formation sketches and half scribbled ideas. He hadn’t touched them since leaving the stadium but he’d replayed every word instead, every look across the table wondering if he’d done enough, if Vila had truly believed him. That’s if he even believed in himself.

The phone buzzed on the bedside table, the screen lighting the shadows. For a second, he just stared letting it ring out. But curiosity got the better of him and he picked it up.

‘Scott’ Šefkija Vila’s voice came in steady and measured ‘I’ll cut to it, we want you at Velež. The job is yours if you want it’

Scott sat for a moment, closed his eyes letting the weight of it all settling on him. Relief, excitement and fear all tangled together. Four years of building, a couple of near misses and lessons, had brought him here. And now, another chance. Another fight. Another test.

Scott didn’t say yes right away. He drew a breath, steadied his voice ‘Thank you, truly thank you for the offer. There is one thing we didn't touch on earlier. I can’t do this alone. My staff have been with me, grown with me and know my ideas and methods. If I take the job, I will do it on this one condition, they come too. I need your word on that’

There was no pause, no hesitation as Šefkija replied ‘if they’re your men, they’re Velež’s men. Bring them in. This is your team to build up how you see fit. If your coaches are part of that process, then I’m happy for you to bring in who you need’

That was all Scott needed. He accepted the offer without knowing the financials, he wouldn’t have to worry about that he was sure. His ended the call, confirming he’ll be there in the morning to finalise things, and he sat back against the headboard, staring into the dark, already thinking about the days ahead in his new job.

Later that evening on the long road back to Poland he carried the weight of it in silence. The towns blurred past the train window, Bosnia giving way to Poland and still his mind turned over the same thought; it was real now. He was leaving again, stepping into something new, possibly something bigger.

When he finally met Marcin, Peter and Blazej in the quiet corner of a Kraków café, he didn’t dress it up ‘Mostar’ he said simply ‘is a go. I took the job. And you’re coming with me, so pack your bags, we’ve got a job to do’

For a moment none of them spoke, then Peter leaned back a slow grin breaking, while Marcin just gave the sharpest of nods already thinking ahead. Blazej only exhaled, long and heavy, like he’d been holding it in for weeks.

The decision was made. The next fight was waiting.

I have not read this yet, but I saw a sticky saying it was the post of the month or something similar, so I am going to get a cup of tea and give it a read!

Part six - Another touchline

The morning light over Mostar was soft, almost deceptive in its appearance, the kind that made the city look calm when you knew it had lived through anything but. Scott stood by the edge of the main entrance of the stadium, Vrapčići, coat collar turned up and breath misting faintly in the air. The stadium wasn’t grand, not like the ones on TV. Concrete flaking away in parts, cracked steps and more than a few faded old red seats. But it had presence. It had ghosts. Memories. Charm and character.

He’d been here before, in spirit, at a new club, new badge with new expectations. Only this time, there was no safety net. No four year project or a patient fan base wanting a slow rise up. This was Velež Mostar, a fallen heavyweight in Bosnia trying to punch its way back to relevance.

He’d signed a one year deal. On paper it sounded temporary, a stopgap, a test run maybe but an automatic extension if promotion is gained this season. But inside Scott didn’t feel like a man passing through. He felt something steadier taking root. If they did what they were meant to do, as in if they fulfilled their destiny, that one year would stretch into another and another. Maybe more.

Promotion wasn’t just a goal, it was the key to everything. The validation that leaving Ślęza hadn’t been running away or giving up on the fight, it had been moving on while stepping forward.

He made his way in through the main reception of the stadium, Mostar’s mountains framed the skyline behind, silent and immovable. It was as if the city itself was watching him, waiting to see if he could match its resilience.

Peter Basista was already there waiting for him and joined him at the front door, coffee in hand, scanning the pictures on the wall and list of achievements ‘looks like they’ve seen a few winters’ he muttered, nodding toward a picture of an old Velež side celebrating a goal in questionable conditions.

Scott smirked ‘so have we my friend’

Peter, Marcin, and Blazej hadn’t been officially confirmed yet. The paperwork was in motion, but until it cleared they were ghosts in the background, names whispered but not worn on training jackets. Yet.

The existing staff went about their duties with the quiet detachment of men who already knew their time was nearly up. Conversations stopped when Scott entered the room, laptops closed a little too quickly. They weren’t hostile or bitter, just waiting. Waiting to see if he’d really bring in his own people or if there was still a place for them here.

For now, Scott would work alone, officially at least, treading carefully through the former man’s routines. The training plans that were in place, the scouting notes and half finished reports were now relics of a regime that wouldn’t survive the failure of five seasons in the second tier. He respected the effort and his fellow professionals, but he wouldn’t build on someone else’s foundations.

Once the contracts were signed and the dust settled, his team would be in place. Then the real work would begin.

== == == == ==

Despite not being in an official capacity, Peter, Marcin Lachowski and Blazej Radler followed Scott through the corridors, the familiar trio from Ślęza, each with their quiet purpose and formulating their plans for the coming season. It grounded Scott, that sense of continuity. He wasn’t alone in this. Hadn’t been right from his first moment as a manager in Bytom many moons ago.

Inside, the corridors smelled of liniment and history. More faded photos of Velež in their glory years, top division titles from the old Yugoslavia leagues, multiple Yugoslav cups too to go along with plenty of European nights, all lined the walls. It all spelt out one thing, it’s been a long constant fall.

The first team players that hadn't been granted leave all filed into the small meeting room, eyes sharp, curious. Some cautious, some cold and others maybe even hopeful. Young faces mixed with old pros who looked like they’d seen too many managers come and go.

The room quietened as Scott stepped forward, voice steady and firm ‘I’m not here to promise anything I can’t deliver’ he began ‘you may not know me, but I’m sure you know what this club means. You know where it belongs. I’m here to find the way back’ he waited a moment then said ‘I’m not one for grand speeches or slogans, just conviction’. The room stayed still for a moment, then a few heads nodded, just enough. Those that nodded were the ones Scott felt he’d be relying on this season, and made a mental note of who they were.

The objective from the chairman wasn’t demanding, but it was clear enough, compete at the top, stay in the chase, make sure Velež’s name belonged at the right end of the table. Promotion wasn’t an ultimatum, but it lingered there, unspoken, in every conversation. A quiet expectation dressed as patience, the first goal. The goal that unlocks the chase for more.

The chairman’s words echoed in Scott's mind long after the first meeting ended. Scott knew the task wasn’t a full rebuild, not yet, but it wasn’t far off either. The core of the team was there, the heartbeat faint but steady. What it needed was shaping, sharpening and a little bit of belief. And as he stood in the quiet of his new office, overlooking the worn pitch of Vrapčići Stadium, he felt it again, that whisper of purpose. This wasn’t running away from the challenge in Wrocław, this was the next climb.

== == == == ==

The Key players

Almin Abdihodžić – Goalkeeper

Entering his seventh season in Mostar, the years have etched the lines of experience across his face. He isn’t flashy and probably never was. Abdihodžić deals in the ordinary miracles, steady hands, calm under fire, the kind of keeper who makes the difficult look routine. He’s seen managers come and go, squads rebuilt and torn apart, yet he’s remained, the quiet dependable spine of the team.

Reliable might be too small a word for him, he’s the glue in the cracks, the pause before panic. If Scott can rebuild the confidence in the defence, Abdihodžić might just be the anchor that keeps the ship from drifting.

The first thing Scott did when he sat down with Almin Abdihodžić wasn’t talk tactics or clean sheets, it was to slide a fresh contract across the table.  Two more years. Stability, that was the word Scott kept coming back to.

Mostar had seen too much change, too many faces through the revolving door, especially in player personnel. If he was going to build something lasting, it had to start with men like Abdihodžić, calm, loyal and unshaken by the noise.

Almin didn’t hesitate, didn’t read the fine print, not there was any, he just signed, steady as ever. No grand speeches, no handshakes for the cameras. Just a respectful acknowledgement to the new boss. Scott took it as a small victory, the first brick laid in what he hoped would become something solid.

Dragan Adnan looked every inch the old school full back, six foot one, built like a wall and the reports Scott had seen suggests he played like one too. Solid, disciplined, unflashy. The kind of defender managers liked to trust, until previous promises got in the way.

Scott had barely unpacked his things when he learned the truth, the last man in charge had told Dragan he could go. Papers half signed, offers already waiting from Nogometni Klub and Zvijezda.

Scott tried to talk himself into believing there was a chance to keep him, that loyalty still counted for something. But he knew better. When a player’s already got one foot out the door all that’s left is to make sure he doesn’t slam it on his way out.

He’d lose him, and it stung, not because Dragan was irreplaceable, but because all reports and whispers in the club said he was dependable. And dependable was exactly what Velež needed right now.

Miloš Jokić had the look of a player with unfinished business. Signed last season with quiet expectations, but injury had written most of his story for him. Now, fit again and hungry, Scott saw something steady in him, a right back who didn’t need to shine, just hold the line.

At six foot one he has the frame to bully wingers off the ball and the discipline to stay where he was needed. No tricks, no flash, just reliability and for Scott, that was gold.

If he stayed fit, Jokić could make that position his own. After a year of false starts and bad luck, maybe this season he’d finally get to show he belonged in a team that was learning to believe again.

Karlo Plantak is a defensive midfielder by trade, but necessity had made him something else. Last season he’d spent every minute he played as a center half, holding the line more out of duty than design. He hadn’t complained once, a true pro.

At twentythree he carries that mix of determined potential, rawness and resilience Scott liked. A player who’d do the job asked of him, even if it wasn’t the one he’d imagined when he first laced up a pair of boots.

Peter Batista had already made it clear before Scott agreed to take the job, central defence was the weak link. It needed shoring up, needed real centre halves in time for the season start. But for now Plantak was the plug in the dam, a plaster over a wound, a stopgap with just enough grit and intelligence to keep things from breaking.

Scott knew he’d rely on him, maybe too much. But in a team still learning its shape, sometimes reliability mattered more than brilliance.

Besim Leovac is the other natural centre half, nineteen and already carrying the weight of seventy senior appearances over four seasons. A hot prospect in every sense, the sort of player whose potential radiated even in quiet moments.

At six foot two and already seasoned enough that he can tackle with the best of them, cover ground with surprising grace for a big man, he also reads the game well for someone so young. There’s room to grow, plenty of it, and Scott likes what he sees. 

A raw talent like Leovac, being trained by the defence minded duo of Peter Batista and Blazej Radler, could give them the stability they need at the back, if the boy could handle the pressure of stepping into a key starting role.

Edin Bebanić is the heartbeat of Velež, captain, creator and the one player Scott could already tell the team would bend around. A central midfielder by trade but attacking in instinct, he has the ability to split a defence with a single pass, seeing gaps others didn’t even register.

He wasn’t the most imposing physically, at thirtythree father time was catching up to him as he lacked the burst, the pace and the swagger that usually marked out a number ten but he didn’t need it. His control of tempo, his calm under pressure and his sense of when to quicken or slow the rhythm made him indispensable.

Scott could see it clearly already, if Velež were going to reach the top of the table, Bebanić would be at the center of it all. A key player, not just in name, but in every sense that mattered.

Belmin Kobilica is the kind of player every manager quietly prays for, no fuss, no drama just relentless graft and discipline. The vice captain, and the heartbeat in a different way to Bebanić.

Where Edin painted pictures with the ball, Belmin cleared the canvas for him to work. He covered ground like two men, breaking up play, snapping into tackles and knitting the transitions together with tidy, unfussy passes. Scott liked that about him, he didn’t chase glory, he chased balance, teamwork and victory over personal accolades

At twentyeight Kobilica was right in his prime, the steady axis of a midfield that could either crumble or compete depending on his form. Not the loudest voice in the dressing room but the one everyone looked toward when the game got ugly.

Scott had made a mental note after their first conversation - this guy doesn’t just work for the team, he holds it together.

Artem Radchenko seems to be the kind of player who could light up a training session and then disappear come matchday. A Ukrainian winger with a bit of pace and the flair to beat a man twice before crossing once, he’d arrived with a bit of fanfare last season but hadn’t quite lived up to it.

Scott saw the same flashes he’d read about in the reports, the stepovers, the burst of pace down the line, the confidence to take defenders on, but he also saw the gaps, the inconsistency, the drifting out of games, the lack of end product.

When he, Peter and Marcin sat down for their first full review of the squad Radchenko’s name sparked little debate. Quick, yes. Talented, sure. Reliable? Not really. If they could bring in the right wide players to complement the younger prospects waiting in the wings, Radchenko could be one of the first to go.

Football was about balance, Scott thought. And right now, Radchenko felt like a passenger the team couldn’t afford.

Stefan Pečenica, at twentyfive is a striker who lived on the edge, that edge being the edge of the offside line, the edge of confidence, the edge of breaking through. Quick, wiry and instinctive, he had the knack for finding space where defenders hesitated, but not yet the killer’s touch to make it count.

He’d scored in patches last season, enough to hint at something more but not enough to shoulder the burden of a promotion chase alone. Scott saw potential, but also limitation. Pečenica needed help, a foil to play off of.

What the team lacked was a major presence up front, someone to battle centre halves and free up space for Stefan to dart into. In his notes, Scott underlined it twice - ‘Target man. Partner for Pečenica’

The idea wasn’t to replace him, it was to unlock him.

Paval Dijaković looks like the kind of player who made coaches both grin and sigh. Just sixteen, already training with the senior side and blessed with that raw blend of pace, bite, and unshakable self belief that couldn’t be taught.

Scott had watched clips of him before taking the job, the kid flying into tackles, chasing down wingers twice his age, barking orders like he’d been there for years. There was something magnetic about that fire. But fire, when left unchecked, burns.

‘He’s got the tools’ Peter had said watching training from the touchline ‘but he plays like he’s trying to win a war, not a football match’

‘Reminds me of Manolov, couple of years ago’

Peter just nodded, remembering all too well the young promising left back they had at Ślęza. The similarities are there, high work rate and energy, dogged determination and Dijaković, like Manolov, looks like a red card waiting to happen.

They both could see the aggression and the temper flaring when things didn’t go his way. Yet beneath it all there’s hunger, the same kind Scott once had when he was trying to prove he belonged.

The challenge wasn’t whether Dijaković could make it. It was whether they could smooth the rough edges without dulling what made him special. That would be the true test, not just for the boy, but for the new management team too.

Ljubiša Čolić is a different kind of prospect entirely to Dijaković, calm, methodical and mature beyond his eighteen years. At six foot one, he already carried himself like a seasoned professional, not some academy kid hoping for a chance. Nine appearances last season had given him just a taste of senior football, but enough to prove he belonged.

Scott liked him immediately. Good first touch, intelligent movement for his youth and a quiet confidence that spoke louder than any celebration. If Dijaković was all fire and fury, Čolić was ice, composed, focused and unflappable.

‘He doesn’t talk on the pitch much’ Blazej had said after the first training session ‘but he listens. Everything I told him he took on board and applied it’

That was exactly what Scott needed in a young up and coming striker, one that didn’t need taming, only refining. Someone who could grow into the system, maybe even lead the line one day. In a team full of emotion and rough edges, Ljubiša Čolić was a balance, the calm in the storm.

== == == == ==

The paperwork came through on a quiet Wednesday morning. A few signatures, a few handshakes, and suddenly the familiar faces were official again.

Blazej Radler, Peter Basista, and Marcin Lachowski, three men who knew Scott better than anyone. Together they’d built something from nothing at Ślęza, and now they were here, ready to do it all again in Mostar. When the press release went out the local papers called it ‘the new backbone of Velež’  Scott liked that. It felt right.

Peter was already pacing the training pitch before lunch, scribbling drills into a notebook, his sharp voice echoing across the grass ‘tempo, lads! Where’s the tempo! If you can’t think quick, you don’t play quick! Action beats reaction every time!’

Blazej had disappeared into one of the other buildings at the training ground, already surrounded by a swarm of teenagers hanging on his every word. His passion for development hadn’t dimmed, if anything Mostar’s academy gave him new life.

And Marcin, ever the strategist, was in the office beside Scott, laptop open, drawing up scouting lists and quietly muttering about budgets, expiring contracts, and loan targets ‘we can’t fix everything in one window’ he said ‘but we can build the base. Stability first, then we climb’

Scott stood at the window overlooking the training pitch, watching the red shirts move in the sun. It felt different here, new, but not foreign. His staff were in place. The structure was forming.

For the first time since leaving Wrocław, Scott felt steady again. Not like a man starting over but one continuing a story that still had chapters to write.

Later that day Marcin’s phone buzzed on the desk, cutting through the quiet hum of the office. He glanced at the screen, frowned, then picked up. The call was short, only a few minutes of low murmurs, a small nod and a hint of a smile before he hung up. Scott looked up from the whiteboard where he’d been sketching potential line ups ‘good news?’

Marcin leaned back in his chair ‘hmm, maybe. Depends how you feel about a bit of déjà vu’

Scott arched an eyebrow ‘go on’

‘We could really use a goalkeeping coach’ Marcin said, tapping a pen against the desk ‘and I’ve just spoken to someone who could fit perfectly. Matko Perdijić’

Scott paused, intrigue crossing his face. The name pulled him straight back to that first season at Polonia Bytom, an eight point deduction, long days and longer nights, brutal sessions in the cold, Matko barking instructions at defenders in vain.

‘Matko, the keeper?’ Scott said, almost grinning ‘didn’t think I’d be hearing from him about a job here’

Marcin nodded ‘he’s been coaching part time since he hung up his gloves. Lives back in Croatia but he gets the project you’re on here, and he’d be interested’

Scott leaned on the desk, arms folded ‘I’m sure he’d be a good fit. He knows what I expect. I’m usually tough on the goalkeepers, but in the right way’

Marcin smiled faintly ‘that’s what I thought you’d say. I told him we’d be in touch’

Scott looked out toward the training pitch, where Almin Abdihodžić was diving to his right working with one of the young players in the meantime ‘yeah, actually’ he said after a moment ‘ask him to come down and let him see the team. Maybe he could really help, not just Almin, but the whole back line. He could bring an experienced mindset to training’

Marcin jotted something in his notebook and said ‘I’ll call him back’

As he stepped out, Scott allowed himself a quiet moment of reflection. Bytom. Ślęza. Now Mostar. The teams changed, but the thread ran constant; loyalty, hard work and a small circle of people who believed in doing things the right way.

== == == == ==

Two days later, the knock came on Scott’s office door just after training had finished. When it opened, the familiar grin of Matko Perdijić appeared, a few more lines on his face but the same spark in his eyes.

‘Scott’ Matko said, stepping inside and offering his hand ‘didn’t think I’d be seeing you again outside of Bytom’

Scott stood shaking his hand with genuine warmth 'neither did I keeps, yet here we are. But I’m glad you’re here. You look like you’ve still got a few games left in you’

Matko laughed, patting his stomach ‘maybe five minutes, ten if they don’t involve running’

They spent the morning walking the training ground together. Scott showed him the facilities, the pitches, the keepers area and finally the goalkeepers at work, Almin Abdihodžić diving low and hard under the fading sun, while a couple of young reserves watched on. Matko stood with his arms crossed, assessing quietly, nodding now and then.

When the session finished, he turned to Scott ‘that’s a solid keeper there boss. Needs someone in his ear, though. Seems a bit too quiet for me’

Scott smirked ‘that’s where you come in’

They sat in the small staff office, the smell of coffee and wet grass filling the air. Scott laid it out simply, the same deal he and the staff all took, a one year contract, extended after promotion and the chance to build something steady, no illusions but plenty of ambition.

Matko didn’t hesitate ‘you don’t need to sell it to me’ he said ‘I know how you work. You’re trying to build stability. I can help with that. Count me in’

Scott extended his hand again ‘then welcome to Mostar’’

As Matko walked out to the pitch once more, calling for a ball and shouting something in that half serious, half playful bark Scott remembered so well, the manager felt a weight ease off his shoulders. Bit by bit the pieces were coming together, his staff, his vision, his team

== == == == ==

The next meeting took place in one of the smaller rooms at the training ground, sunlight cutting in through the blinds and scattering across a table cluttered with notes, coffee cups and a training schedule marked in red.

György Eperjesi was already there when Scott arrived with Marcin and Błażej, the Hungarian youth manager sitting upright, polite but clearly uncertain. He’d been at Velež for three years, steady and disciplined, his Under 19's competitive but inconsistent, flashes of promise followed by weeks of flat results.

Scott opened the meeting with a smile that was half reassurance, half intent ‘György, I wanted to sit down properly, lay out where we’re going with the youth side. We’re not here to rip anything up or remove you from the position, what you’ve done’s been good. But we want to connect everything tighter, first team, youth, recruitment, mentality. One path’

György nodded, his accent thick but his tone steady ‘you want more overlap between my boys and the senior training?’

‘Exactly that’ said Błażej, leaning forward ‘we want the younger lads training with us once or twice a week. Especially the ones on the edge such as Dijaković and Ćolić. We’ll handle the physical work and tactical shape, you keep sharpening their technique and habits’

Scott glanced between them, making sure the message landed ‘what matters is development, not just results, though they do help. We need a structure that produces players we can trust in first team games, not just ones who look tidy on a youth pitch’

György listened carefully, then asked ‘you’ll bring in someone new to help with this?’

Scott nodded ‘I already spoke to Wojciech Mróz. You won’t know him, but we had him at Bytom and he came to Ślęza with me. Good lad, clever, a technical midfielder. He’s retired recently, and he’s got that hunger to coach. He’ll join as an Under 19s coach, work under you’

György blinked, a little surprised, but not defensive ‘Polish, yes?’

Scott smiled ‘yeah. Brings experience and knows how I like things done. He’s not here to replace anyone, just to add depth and work reporting to you. Help you with the group, bring that first team mentality into the youth setup’

Marcin leaned in then, his voice calm but firm ‘we want to build something that lasts. Every piece matters, from the senior squad down to the sixteen year olds. If we get this right, Velež will stop losing talent before it peaks, and we’ll all reap the rewards’

There was a pause, the kind that settles a new direction. György finally nodded ‘then we start next week?’

Scott grinned, shook his head and said ‘not next week, no. Tomorrow. And Wojciech will be here today to get settled. Let’s make sure these kids have a real pathway, not just a dream’

As they stood to shake hands, Scott felt the balance shift slightly. The pieces were constantly sliding into place. This wasn’t about fixing a broken system, it was about building one that could breathe again.

== == == == ==

Wojciech Mróz. The name carried weight with Scott, not just a former player, but one of his. Reliable, intelligent the kind of professional who understood the game beyond his own boots. Scott had made the call earlier in the day, already guessing what it might be about.

They spoke plainly. No sales pitch. No theatre just straight shooting from the hip.

Mróz told him retirement had settled quicker than he expected. That he missed the rhythm. Missed the pitch. Missed helping lads find their way through the mess of early careers. Felt he had no chance of staying on at Ślęza with the new manager that replaced Scott. 

Scott told him Velež were rebuilding more than a first team, they were trying to build a spine that ran from youth football up. Something that will last. There was a pause on the line.

‘I can definitely help with that’ Mróz said finally ‘if you trust me with it’

‘I wouldn’t be calling other wise’ was Scotts reply

They talked about the under 19s. About standards. About discipline without suffocation. About teaching kids how to survive bad days as much as how to enjoy good ones. By the time the call ended, the shape of it was clear.

Wojciech Mróz would take the youth team coach role.

Scott set the phone down and let the moment breathe. Another familiar face. Another thread pulled from his past, woven carefully into this new place. It didn’t feel like clinging to what he knew.

======

The canteen smelled faintly of coffee and dust, the old kind that settles in corners no one ever quite gets to. Scott sat across from Marcin Lachowski, a stack of scouting reports spread across the desk between them. Most were outdated, a few handwritten, one or two printed from what looked like a half broken printer.

Marcin exhaled through his nose, flipping a page ‘we’ve got some structure here, but it’s thin. One scout on a short term contract covering Herzegovina, another part timer up north. No proper reach, no system’

Scott nodded ‘that’s what I figured. We need eyes everywhere, not just in our backyard. Reliable ones. People who know how we work’

Marcin gave a knowing smile ‘you’re thinking of René and Dražen, aren’t you?’

Scott leaned back, grin spreading ‘you know me too well’

René Ortner and Dražen Pepić, two of the most dependable people he’d worked with at Ślęza. René, the meticulous Austrian scout who could unearth a player from the fourth tier of Slovakia and tell you what his grandmother cooked on Sundays. Dražen, the Montenegrin scout with an eye for raw potential, always the first to spot a young player who ‘only needed the right manager’, just ask Manolov, Koftas, Kluzek and Zygmunt.

‘I already spoke to them’ Scott said ‘they’re both on board. René’s gone back to Graz for the time being, family issue to see to first, but he says he can cover Austria, Slovenia, maybe parts of northern Croatia. Dražen’s in Podgorica, and he’s got connections all over the Balkans’

Marcin nodded, already making notes ‘perfect. Between them, we’ll cover those regions and beyond. I’ll handle the logistics, contracts, travel, budget all the boring stuff. You just make sure they know the profiles we’re after’

Scott smiled faintly ‘same as before, same as always, hungry players, smart, coachable and with a bit about themselves. Doesn’t matter if they’re nineteen or twentynine as long as they’ve got that edge. We’re not chasing stars. We’re building something solid, something sustainable’

Marcin looked up, his tone softening ‘you know, it feels good. Getting the band back together like this’

Scott chuckled, rubbing his jaw ‘yeah it does. It’s only been a few weeks since leaving Ślęza, but having familiar faces with the same drive will help us. The kits might be different colours, we’re in a different city…..but it’s still the same goal’

A few days later both René and Dražen arrived in Mostar. Scott met them in the hotel lobby, the old camaraderie snapping back instantly with laughter, handshakes and talk of former days from a not too distant past in Wrocław. They toured the training ground that afternoon, René already jotting down notes on scouting zones and youth competitions going on in the summer, Dražen pacing the pitch with that sharp, appraising look.

By the end of the day the contracts were signed. They were officially part of Velež Mostar’s new scouting network, working directly under Marcin.

Scott watched them leave the office, that old buzz returning, the feeling that he wasn’t building from scraps anymore. He was building with people he trusted.

== == == == ==

Peter was leaning against the doorframe of Scott’s office, arms folded, later that afternoon after everyone else had left for the day, the light was cutting through the blinds ‘there’s one more gap’ he said ‘fitness coach. We can’t run this place right without one, and I don’t think these lads have ever had a dedicated fitness plan, at least nothing I can see on file’

Scott nodded, rubbing the back of his neck ‘I already know the answer, but you’re thinking what I’m thinking aren’t you’

Peter gave a sly grin ‘Piotr, the young kid with the trading card obsession. You know he’d jump at it. He knows our drills, knows how we work and the lads loved him at Ślęza’ he waited a moment as Scott noted something on his pad ‘plus he loved you, he was like a star struck kid at times’

Scott leaned back in his chair, considering it. Piotr had been part of the grind in Poland, every late session back in Wrocław, every early morning Scott, Peter and Marcin were the first there on a morning, so was Piotr. Reliable, methodical, the kind of young up and coming coach who made sure players could go that extra ten minutes when it really mattered.

‘Yeah’ Scott said quietly ‘he’d be perfect. Get him on the phone, see if he’s ready for another adventure’

Peter’s grin widened ‘trust me, he’ll be here before I can get the words out’

For the first time since arriving in Bosnia, he could see the outline of something real. Something that might just work. Something sustainable, something that made leaving Ślęza the right decision.

== == == == ==

The office was dim except for the pool of light spilling from the desk lamp, training had finished for the day and only a handful of people were still at the training ground. Papers were spread across the table, scouting reports, stats, grainy photos of centre halves from across the region. Peter had his sleeves rolled up, jotting notes in the margin while Scott flipped through another dossier.

‘Strong in the air, but turns like a bus with four flats’ Peter muttered shaking his head, tapping the page ‘next’ he said clearly frustrated

Marcin looked up from his laptop, a faint smirk on his face ‘we might not need to look too far afield’

Scott half heartedly looked up from his own ipad screen and said ‘go on’

Marcin swiveled the laptop toward them ‘Diego Malania, you might remember the name. I know that he’s out of contract in a few weeks, I’d had a new one typed up for him before someone jumped ship’ it was said in a light hearted way meaning no offence, none was taken so Marcin continued on ‘there’s nothing about Ślęza offering him new terms, the new man probably wants to put his own stamp on the team’

Scott blinked, leaning closer ‘you’re joking?’

Marcin shook his head ‘nope. No reports online, no whispers from the other scouts and agents I’ve spoken to and certainly nothing from the club suggesting he’s going to be staying. Looks like they’re letting him walk’

For a moment, the room went still except for the hum of the old radiator. Scott thought about Diego, the quiet Russian who’d arrived unheralded and turned into a rock at the back. Tough, disciplined, easy to get on with and built for the kind of football Scott was expecting to face in Bosnia.

Peter leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading ‘wouldn’t that be something, bringing him here with us. A trusted face, a solid defender, the type we can build the defence around this season and probably next, if we go up’

Scott nodded already thinking three steps ahead ‘he’d walk into this team, not because he played for us last season, because, well lets be frank, he’s better than the couple of central players we’ve got. Plus he knows what I expect, how we train and what we’d want from that position. If he’s really available……’ he paused, the cogs running in his head evident ‘then we’d be stupid not to speak to him, see what’s on his mind. Let’s see if he’s up for the challenge here’

Marcin’s fingers were already tapping the keyboard ‘I’ll make the call’

== == == == ==

Marcin made the call the next morning. The hum of conversation from the office and training ground around him faded as soon as the line connected.

‘Diego? Marcin Lachowski here. We worked together at Ślęza’

A pause, then the low, familiar voice on the other end ‘of course. The contract director. Last time we spoke you had a contract for me, but Scott left before we got to discuss it’

Marcin smiled faintly ‘that’s right, and that’s why I’m calling now. I won’t waste your time, I’m calling on behalf of Scott, I’m working with him again in Bosnia at Velež Mostar. We’re building something here, similar to Ślęza. Your name has come up a number of times’ 

Another silence. The kind that knows you're waiting for something and seems too eager to linger ‘Ślęza haven’t said anything to me about the deal you’d put together in, oh when was it, February?’ Diego replied, it wasn’t a question, a statement ‘my deal’s up soon, but the new manager has made no talk of renewal with me. The new man has said enough times he’s bringing his own players in, his own mark on the team as he calls it’

Ryszard Klusek, the man that replaced Scott at Ślęza, had made some moves already in the time since taking over, and replacing Malania seems to be the next one. Marcin took a sip of his coffee, eyes on the rain sliding down the window ‘look it’s their loss if you ask me. Myself, Scott and Peter all know what you brought to the defence, organisation, leadership, calm. It’s what came up when we signed you the first time, and we want that here in Mostar too. Stability is the key word this season’

Diego chuckled softly ‘Bosnia. Not the place I imagined next’

‘Nor did I, but it’s shaping up well early on’ Marcin said ‘it’s a good project. A proper club with history that’s fallen on it’s on head a bit, full of serious people too. And Scott, you know him. He wants, and really only relies on people he trusts’

After a short silence Diego said ‘I won’t lie I’ve not had contact from anyone else yet, I’m still here in Ślęza officially for another couple of weeks, but you’ve reached out and you’re interested in me again, then I’ll come in and talk. Not guaranteeing anything yet of course’

‘Of course not, nothing over the phone ever happens anyway’ Marcin replied.

When he hung up, Marcin sat for a moment, letting the quiet return. Outside, Mostar’s evening light had turned gold against the hills casting a bronze shadow through the office window. He finished his coffee, stood and sent a quick message to Scott ‘he wants to discuss it’

== == == == ==

The meeting took place in one of the hotel’s small conference rooms. A pot of black coffee sat untouched between them, the air still with a kind of quiet expectancy.

Diego Malania wore his usual look of determined composure and lean eyes that gave nothing away. He’d flown in that morning, still adjusting to the heat and the unfamiliar skyline of Mostar. Peter sat beside Scott, arms folded, letting the other two men do the talking.

Scott leaned forward ‘I’ll get straight to it Diego. I know what you bring to the pitch, leadership, calm, a real sense of order at the back, you did it well enough for me already for two years. We’ve got a handful of good kids here, but they need a figure to follow on the pitch. Someone who’s seen more than one kind of football’

Diego nodded, gaze steady ‘I’m not actually out of contract yet but you know about these things, there’s no harm in me being here just having a talk, Ślęza…..well, you know how that goes too, new faces, new ideas. I’ve got the impression I’m part of the old plan, the old regime’

Scott smiled faintly ‘well it’s the new man’s loss, and hopefully our gain. I’m sure you’ll have other offers coming in, but I’m not someone that'll make grand promises as you know, we’re certainly not promising glamour this season, Bosnia’s second tier is different to the second tier in Poland. But it’s real football here, honest league, honest people. And you’d make a difference to our team’

Peter chimed in quietly, his tone even ‘we’ve seen the tapes from last season, ran some training in the time we’ve been here, and we know the back line we have here needs what you offer, the experience you’ve got, your positioning, communication, calm under pressure. You bring that here and you help us challenge for promotion. Simple as that’

Diego leaned back, considering the words ‘I won’t lie, I am intrigued. Coming here is tempting, I’ve never thought I’d come play in Bosnia, I was thinking of going back to Russia, but….this feels like a challenge worth taking. Something new, something to prove’

It was Marcin’s turn to speak now ‘and that’s exactly the spirit we want here. We’re able to offer a one year deal, it’s the standard we’ve agreed on and we’ve all got the same, with the option for another if we get promoted so the incentive is there. You’d walk straight into the first team, no questions about that’

There was a moment of silence, then Diego extended his hand ‘all right Scott. Let’s do it again. Bosnia it is’

Scott shook it firmly, feeling the weight of the moment ‘welcome to Mostar, and welcome to my team, again. Let’s make this count’

As they stood, Peter gave a small grin ‘one piece at a time, eh, boss?’

Scott nodded, watching the light fall through the window onto the streets below ‘yeah’ he said quietly ‘one piece at a time until it all fits’

== == == == ==

News of the next signing broke quietly at first, a small headline on a French third tier site, then whispers through the Bosnian press. By the time Scott saw it officially confirmed on the club’s feed, he already knew the truth - this was Marcin and Blazej’s doing.

Ibrahima Koné, eighteen, Ivorian and with a bit of pace about him. Over a hundred games in the first team at FC Gobelins in the lower leagues of France before a lot of players his age had even left youth football. On paper it was a coup, in practice it was something else entirely, a statement.

Scott met him at the training ground that afternoon. The kid arrived in a plain black tracksuit, quiet, polite, eyes sharp and assessing. There was no arrogance or overexaggerated swagger, just a quiet confidence that told Scott he knew exactly what he was doing here.

Blazej was the first to speak ‘he’s got that spark in him. I’ve watched him a few times already’ he said after a short session watching Koné dart down the right flank, leaving one of the youth fullbacks flat footed ‘there’s no teaching that kind of direct play. He’ll light up this league if he settles’

Marcin gave a small nod ‘he won’t be here forever’ he said matter of factly ‘he probably knows it, we know it. But if he gives us a year, maybe two, we’ll all benefit’

Scott watched the young winger jog off the pitch, after getting two goals and setting up another two in a six v six scrimmage with the youth team, the faint shimmer of sweat on his brow, the crowd of youth players whispering behind the fence. There was something magnetic about him, raw talent wrapped in composure.

‘He’ll be one to watch for sure’ Scott murmured, thinking things over in his mind ‘and maybe one to build around, while he’s here’

Marcin smiled, a trace of pride behind the usual cool ‘that’s the plan, we find the ones who see Velež as a step up, not a step down. That’s how you build something until we’re in a position to be able to compete’

Scott nodded slowly, eyes following Koné as he stretched by the corner flag. A stepping stone, he thought. Maybe. But if he helps us climb, I’ll take it.

== == == == ==

The days then all blurred into training sessions, meetings, phone calls and the soft clatter of coffee cups in the club office. Mostar’s summer heat pressed through the windows as Scott, Peter and Marcin worked through another round of free agent talks, four names that might shape the core of what Velež could become this season.

Andrija Bošnjak was first through the door. Twentyfive, calm, broad shouldered and the kind of centre half who didn’t say much but looked like he’d give everything. Scott liked that about him, no promises, no ego just a quiet professionalism. They spoke about systems, shape and the demands of the league. Bošnjak’s answers were clipped but honest. He wasn’t a risk, Scott thought, but he might just be the anchor they needed. Paired next to Malania they could prove tough to break down.

Then came Bojan Lugonja, slightly younger at twentytwo, slightly shorter and a bit less polished but comfortable at right full back, he’s a different sort of defender to Bošnjak but will no doubt complement him. Comfortable on the ball, confident when he spoke he carried himself like he belonged at a higher level. Peter leaned in after the meeting, voice low ‘he’s got the tools but he knows it. We’d need to keep him grounded’ Scott only nodded. Talent like that came with its own kind of management.

Ilija Danilović arrived next, a left full back with a wiry frame and a hint of defiance in his stare. He’d been out of contract a matter of days since leaving Premier League champions Borac Banja Luka, but there was still a spark there, one Marcin picked up on quickly ‘he’s hungry and angry at getting released’ Marcin said afterward ‘not polished, but he’ll fight for a place. And we might need that’

The final meeting was Ljubiša Dunjić, central midfielder, young at eighteen, sturdy build for five feet ten and a thoughtful way of speaking. He talked about tempo, shape, how he liked to sit deeper and dictate play, the kind of talk an experienced playmaker made not an up and coming youngster. Scott saw flashes of leadership there, a man who understood the rhythm of a match rather than chasing it.

By the end of the week, the list on Scott’s desk had more ticks than question marks. None of them were guaranteed to be good signings, not yet. But together they painted a picture, a spine, a structure.

Peter exhaled, leaning back in his chair ‘you know’ he said ‘this is starting to look like a team that will cause some problems this season’

Scott nodded, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth ‘that’s the idea Pete’ he said ‘now it’s just about making them believe it’

== == == == ==

The flip side of momentum came quickly. For every name pencilled in and ready to get to work another had to be taken off the list. Squad building was never just about arrivals, it was also about knowing when to let go.

The call about Adnan Alihodžić came through Marcin late in the afternoon. Zvijezda Gradačac. A concrete offer not just noise. Enough money to make it clean. Enough intent to make it real. An offer they were expecting due to Adnan being granted permission to leave by the previous manager, and wasn’t interested in staying for a new one.

Scott wasn’t surprised.

Alihodžić had been upfront when they spoke later that morning. He wanted to go. He’d been promised a move by the previous regime and that seed had already taken root. Staying now would feel like settling, and players who feel like that rarely give you what you need.

Scott replayed the reports he’d got from last season in his head. Solid at times, yes. But slow to react, prone to being caught out when the tempo lifted. Not disastrous, just not decisive enough. In a team meant to compete at the top end of the league, not quite was often the most dangerous place to be.

‘I don’t fully trust him in big games. By all accounts, and I mean this as professionally as I can, he’s a decent player. Not great, not awful, just decent’ Peter said as they were discussing the offer

Scott didn’t argue ‘I’m sort of leaning the same way. You saw how Koné tore him apart yesterday, it was like he wasn’t bothered that the young man had his number all day in training. Now imagine he feels like that in a game at the back of the season’

There was no bitterness in the decision. Just clarity. Alihodžić hadn’t had a strong year, and Scott wasn’t convinced the step forward Velež needed would come from him. Sometimes you could coach confidence back into a player. Sometimes it was already packed in a suitcase. The decision was made, it didn’t take long for them to agree on it.

They would let him go. Marcin handled it the way he always did; quietly, patiently and with no wasted words.

Zvijezda opened low. Respectful, but hopeful. Marcin didn’t bite. He let the silence do the work, reminded them Adnan was a regular last season under the previous manager, experienced and still under contract. A player who could steady a back line in this division although hadn’t done much of that recently. A player they wanted, and despite Alihodžić being a regular last season, he wouldn’t be this, so it’s not like Velež were desperate to move him.

By the time the call ended, the number had settled at twelve thousand. Not a fortune. But clean. Sensible. Enough to matter at this level.

Scott nodded when Marcin told him ‘fair price, for both sides’

Adnan was gone. And with him the past loosened its grip just a little more.

When the paperwork was done Scott stood by the window for a moment, watching the sun dip behind the hills. One out. Space created. Wages freed. A gap but also an opportunity.

The rebuild was never going to be bloodless. And this was only the beginning.

== == == == ==

The numbers didn’t lie, even if they tried to dress themselves up nicely on paper. Chances created. Crosses delivered. Work done in the final third. Goals, though? They were a rumour. A hope. Nothing you could hang your coat on.

Scott said it out loud first ‘we don’t have a consistent threat up top’

Peter couldn’t argue it, neither did Marcin. They’d seen it in training. Pecenica had desires and a presence, Colić is full of promise, but when the games were tight, the chances slim and the air got thin there was no one in the team Scott could trust during crunch time, no one like Koftas or Leândro like he had at Ślęza, no one they’d bet on to bully a defender late in the game and turn pressure into points.

That was when his mind drifted back north, to his second home across borders he knew by feel now ‘back in Poland I was looking at someone that I felt would be perfect for us at the time. A big man with an eye for goal’

Marcin already had the laptop open. Peter leaned back, arms folded, waiting.

‘Grzegorz Goncerz’ Scott continued ‘he was at GKS Katowice last season. Knows this sort of level, being at GKS he knows how to suffer. Six foot one, strong, lives off scraps and crosses from deep, perfect for us this season. Doesn’t need five chances to score, just one decent one’

Marcin nodded as the profile loaded. Powerful frame. Aerial presence. A resume built on hard leagues, hard tackles and harder afternoons. Not flashy. Not cheap in reputation, but free in reality. Experience without illusion and built for war. 

‘He scores those ugly type of goals, the ones defenders hate, trust me I know the type’ Peter said

‘Exactly. We don’t need or even want poetry right now, we need punctuation’ there was a pause, the kind that meant agreement between them all had happened. 

Marcin reached for his phone and said ‘I’ll make contact, quietly’

Scott looked at the screen one last time. Goncerz’s face stared back at him, unromantic and resolute. A striker shaped by winter pitches and promotion fights.

If Velež were going to climb out of this division, they’d need someone who knew how to carry weight.

And Goncerz looked like a man who’d been carrying it his whole career.

== == == == ==

Scott waited until the small talk ran dry, both men sharing stories of games in Poland, cold nights and colder trips back home.

Górnik, Katowice, the years of goals that still carried weight in Poland,  Goncerz spoke about them without nostalgia, just facts. A striker talking about mileage, about knowing when the ball would come to him rather than chasing it.

Scott was direct. He always was with forwards ‘you’re not going to be here to drift or drop deep to start the moves, I want you here to finish things, be the reference point, the target man up top. The one the others lads are going to be playing off’

The striker nodded, he’d heard that enough times in his career, he’d heard different versions of it, softer versions dressed up in a different context, this wasn’t one of them. ‘The league, promotion, that what we’re aiming for?’

‘Exactly that. It’s physical, unforgiving, a battle every week from what I’ve seen and what the guys here have been telling me since I walked through the door. But you’re a big lad, bulky, all I want you to do is hold your ground and put your body out there, it suits you. We need someone that isn’t going to need four maybe five chances before getting a goal’

There was a moment of silence, not doubt, exactly, more like calculation. Then Goncerz leaned back in his chair ‘the one year you’ve offered me, and as you’ve said everyone else, I’ll take it, and I’ll show what I’ve got left. Then we can see if it’s worth both of our staying longer than that’

Scott smiled, just slightly, and reached across the table and shook the strikers hand ‘one year, we’ll make it count’

Hands shook. No ceremony. No grand gestures, just an agreement between two men who understood what time takes from an experienced striker, and what it still 

leaves behind.

== == == == ==

The offers landed almost back-to-back, like buses you’re not waiting for.

Győri came first. Hungary. Seventyfive thousand. Clean, sensible, the kind of bid that suggested they’d watched Radchenko just enough to convince themselves there was something there to unlock.

An hour later, Diskispor. Turkey. Eighty thousand. A little louder. A little more hopeful.

Then Vladivostok. Luch-Energiya. Another eighty. From the far edge of the map, the kind of place footballers went when they wanted distance, from pressure, from familiarity, sometimes from themselves.

Scott laid the three emails out on the desk, one after the other. No rush. No emotion.

Peter stood behind him, arms folded ‘that’s about as best as we can hope for really. Might even be higher than what we’d expect hiom to bring in’

Scott nodded. Radchenko had pace, but not much else, certainly not a lot of end product, not enough reliability. He was the first player they’d identified as being expendable after a season of almosts.

‘Is it worth negotiating for more? I’m not really disappointed with the money being offered, it’s around the figure I wanted anyway’

‘Then we accept’ Marcin was quick to say ‘then he can choose where he signs on. No need to drag it out longer than it needs to be’

There was no sense of loss, no sentimentality, just clarity. Radchenko, despite a below par season had a little bit of value left in him, Velež had direction. Sometimes that was enough to make a decision easy.

Radchenko didn’t take long to decide. The call came late in the evening, the kind of hour where decisions felt heavier than they really were. Marcin took it first, listened, asked a couple of practical questions, then nodded to himself.

When he relayed it to Scott there was no surprise in his voice.

‘He’s chosen Vladivostok’

Peter let out a quiet breath ‘as far away as you can go without leaving the planet. Wonder what they’re paying him’

‘Doesn’t matter, we don’t need to know about that’

Scott allowed himself a faint smile. He understood it. The clean break. The anonymity. The chance to start again where nobody had opinions already formed based on last season

‘Fair play to him. He didn’t hang around, didn’t make a fuss. He gave what he could to this club last season, but this season we’re going in a different direction’

The paperwork moved quickly after that. Eighty thousand agreed. No drama. No drawn out goodbyes or any awkward moments on the way out.

By the next morning, Radchenko was already a former Velež player, another piece moved, another small step toward shaping the squad into something more certain, more honest and with more of Scotts stamp on it.

== == == == ==

It was Marcin who found him. Not through an agent’s glossy email or a desperate recommendation, but buried in footage from a regional league match, the kind watched at one in the morning with tired eyes and cold coffee.

‘Stop it there’ Marcin said as he leaned forward

Scott and Peter watched the replay again. A tall figure ghosting between two centre halves, timing his run perfectly. First touch soft. Finish calm. No panic. No theatrics. Pure instinct.

‘Amel Bajramović’ Marcin said ‘Nineteen. Six foot two. Out of contract’

Peter tilted his head ‘where’s he been hiding?’

‘Nowhere glamorous’ Marcin replied ‘but he’s played a lot of football in the regionals, plus some good minutes at senior level at Jedinstvo Bihać who just released this summer. And he’s available on a free’

Scott watched the next clip, Bajramović backing into a defender, rolling him with surprising balance for someone so young, drawing a foul. There was a rawness in him. You could see it in the way he celebrated with arms wide, almost disbelieving. But there was something else too. 

Instinct.

‘He’s not the finished article’ Scott said.

‘No, not even close Scott’ Marcin agreed ‘but he’s coachable. And if we bring him in now, he’s ours to mould’

Peter folded his arms ‘with Goncerz here now, Pecenica still in the mix, and Colić coming through…. he wouldn’t be thrown in straight away’

‘That’s the idea’ Marcin said ‘he learns, and hopefully he develops. And if he grows the way we think he can then there’s a place in the first team waiting for him’

Scott nodded slowly. That was becoming a theme.

Koné. Colić. Now Bajramović. Young players with ceilings higher than the league itself.

‘You think he sees Velež as a stepping stone?’ Scott asked.

‘Maybe, if he’s ambitious enough, but that’s not an issue is it, not right now at least. If he, like the rest of the players are ambitious then that means they’ll work for it’

Scott leaned back in his chair, the hum of the office filling the silence. He’d said from the beginning this wasn’t a full rebuild. But it was something close, reshaping, refining, redesigning, adding edges where there had been softness.

‘Get him in, we’ll talk to him but there’s no promises, just the project. To compete at the top of the Premier League is the aim. Won’t happen in 2 seasons though’

Marcin smiled faintly ‘he’ll accept, I know he will’

And two days later, Amel Bajramović walked through the doors at Mostar, tall at six foot two, broad shouldered, eyes trying to mask excitement with composure. A free signing on paper. A hot prospect in reality. Another piece of the future placed quietly into Scott’s hands.

== == == == ==

The last deal of the window didn’t come with noise. No headlines. No whispers in cafés or online fan forums.

Just a quiet agreement between Velež and their affiliate, Germany based SV Sandhausen.

Bernd Reinert. Nineteen. Right winger. On loan. Rotation option.

Scott watched the clips sent from his parent club with measured interest. Reinert wasn’t exciting or looking to do the impossible with eyes closed like Koné, didn’t carry that same sense of inevitability when he ran at a defender. But he was tidy. Direct. Pacy enough to stretch a back line. He kept things simple, receive the ball, drive, cross or cut inside. No unnecessary flourishes.

‘Depth, not just numbers’ Peter said ‘I like the look of the kid’

‘Sandhausen want him playing, that’s my only concern’ Marcin started ‘real minutes, was what their chief scout had said. It’s officially a rotation loan but they want him getting some time, don’t want him sitting on the bench all season’

Scott understood the balance. Affiliate relationships worked best when they felt mutual. Reinert wasn’t arriving to be a star, he was arriving to compete, develop and contribute.

‘With Koné arriving and Hedilazio already here, he won’t be first choice’ Scott said.

‘No’ Marcin agreed ‘but that’s good for both of him and Koné. Competition keeps young players sharp. And if Koné gets a knock, or for whatever reason doesn’t play we’re not going to be scrambling’

Scott leaned back in his chair. He liked the idea of loans from affiliates, this being the first time he’s ever had such a connection. No transfer fee and limited risk. A player with something to prove and a parent club invested in his development. It was smart squad building, the kind that didn’t weaken you if it failed and strengthened you quietly if it worked.

‘He’ll get enough chances, that I can assure him' Scott said ‘but he needs to earn them’

Marcin smiled slightly ‘that’s all Sandhausen are asking for’

The paperwork was signed without fuss, and Reinert would arrive next week, another young winger stepping into a dressing room that was starting to feel different, hungrier, sharper, built on intent rather than inheritance. Scott looked over the updated squad list one more time.

The window had been surgical. Not glamorous. Not reckless. Just deliberate

== == == == ==

Stadiums are never quieter than they are on the morning before a season began. Scott stood near the halfway line, hands in his coat pockets, looking up at the empty stands of the Vrapčići. No noise. No expectation in the air yet. Just concrete, seats, and a pitch that looked almost too perfect to disturb.

The stadium felt a lot bigger than it is when it’s empty.

Scott carried on staring at the red seats that won’t be full in until next week. The season opener being away at FK Sloga Simin Han. 

First seasons are dangerous, he reminded himself. There was no pressure Ślęza in his first season, just the want to compete. In Bytom the pressure wasn’t there either, they were expected to go down without a fight, being given an eight point deduction to start the season. But in Mostar, at Velež, the pressure is there to try and get this once great and proud club back to where they feel they belong, the Bosnian Premier League.

You can play all the pre-season friendlies in the world, but in competitive games a manager didn’t really know yet which players respond to pressure and which shrink. You don’t know how the league truly feels until it hits you with three games in seven days, tired legs and a hostile away crowd. You don’t know how quickly patience fades or expectations become a burden.

He thought about the summer and the players that he brought in and let leave.

Malania, the trusted center half with nerves of steel and looking like the rock at the back Scott will need this season.

Radchenko, last seasons first choice left winger, gone. 

Bajramović coming in full of raw promise but unproven. 

Reinert on loan from SV Sandhausen bringing depth, not drama. 

Goncerz arriving with experience and the goal scoring expectation. 

Koné looking like the one they’ll turn to when they need a spark, a moment of madness.

Alihodžić was as good as gone even before Scott walked through the door. The left back position now wide open for anyone that wants it. Danilović brought in to compete for that spot.

On paper, it was balanced. But paper didn’t bleed when tackles flew in and boots went flying.

He crouched briefly on the center circle, running a hand through the grass. First impressions mattered. A fast start could buy belief and a bit of reprieve. A slow one could plant doubt before any roots had formed.

Was he ready for this? Velež Mostar are a bigger club now than he managed to make Ślęza in his four years there. 

The question hovered longer than he liked. He stood again, exhaled slowly, and forced his thoughts into order.

Preparation. Structure. Discipline. Determination.

Emotion was for the stands.

== == == == ==

The away dressing room Scott and his players occupied before the opener carried a different energy. Less nostalgia, more curiosity. FK Sloga Simin Han. A solid if unspectacular mid table team were his first opponents of the season.

Some of them were studying Scott as much as the tactics board. Goncerz sat upright, his calm and experienced eyes taking everything in, not showing any emotion, ever the experienced pro. 

Bajramović looked alert but tight around the shoulders, desperate not to misstep. 

Reinert listened quietly, aware he was both guest and competitor. 

Koné bounced on his heels, impatience barely contained and Peter Basista had asked him more than once to sit down. Scott let the noise settle before speaking. He didn’t pace. He didn’t perform he just stood and let the words come naturally.

‘I don’t need to tell you anything you don’t already know’ he started ‘none of you here today are in your first season as a player, you’ve been here at least once before. This is the start, you all know that. Not the start of anything dramatic, no fireworks and nothing historic, but it is the start of standards’

The room was silent, other than the noise of Peter tapping his ipad. A few curious nods but that was it.

Scott continued talking ‘I’m not interested in speeches about ambition or five year plans. What I am interested in is habits. How we react when things aren’t going our way, how we defend when we lose the ball. How we keep our emotions in check if a decision goes against us, and most importantly how we speak to each other’

His eyes moved around the group deliberately ‘I don’t want anyone showing off or trying to impress needlessly today. We’ve been over the plan enough times this week. What do you need to do is trust the structure, trust the plan and trust each other'

More silence filled the room. Not an awkward silence, an accepting one.

‘Be compact, disciplined and play the moments, because they will come’ he glanced quickly at Koné, the starting right winger and his left sided counterpart Hedilazio. He let the pause sink in before continuing ‘just understand something else, you’ve all experienced it, but the crowd, home and our own fans, will give you energy. But they’ll also sense fear. So don’t show them any’

Inside the doubts were still there. How would they respond if they conceded first? Would Ilić or Koné freeze when given a chance? Would the veterans accept his authority when things got messy? But none of that could reach his voice. He stepped back from the board, nodded to Peter who put something into the ipad. Then Scott said ‘you all ready?’ and the room shifted. 

The eleven starters stood up, a few nodded, Goncerz went to Scott and shook his hand, Koné was still bouncing and psyching himself up, Malania was in conversation with Leovac, the two central defenders starting the game.

Shirts were all pulled on. Gloves and baselayers adjusted. The quiet before a storm.

In the tunnel, Scott stood at the front waiting for the signal from the ref. For the first time since arriving in Mostar, he felt the full weight of it, the badge on the training jumper on his chest, the eyes behind him, the expectation ahead.

Private uncertainty. Public certainty. And as the noise of the Stadion u Siminom Hanu rolled down toward them, he walked out first, not because he felt fearless. But because they needed him to look that way. 

== == == == ==

Velež Mostar starting eleven:

GK - Abdihodžić. 

RB - Lugonja. 

LB - Danilovic. 

CB - Malania. 

CB - Leovac. 

RM - Koné. 

LM - Hedilazio. 

CM - Kobilica. 

CM - Bebanic. 

CF - Goncerz. 

CF - Ilic.

The unease hit them the moment they stepped out.

Scarves lifted and arms in the air, that low, constant hum that only comes when a crowd believes something might begin today.  Scott kept his expression neutral as he took his place in the technical area. Hands in his pockets, watching. Still. Calm.

Inside, it was different.

The first whistle always feels louder than the rest.

== == == == ==

The opening couple of minutes were messy. A simple throw in conceded cheaply by Danilovic. The throw was intercepted by Malania but the pass from him into midfield slightly underhit. Bebanic mistiming the press by half a second. Koné trying to do too much too early, dribbling into traffic instead of releasing early.

Nothing catastrophic. But not clean, not even close.

Scott felt it immediately after Koné stopped tracking back, that tiny ripple of uncertainty that spreads faster than any tactical instruction.

The ball broke loose in midfield and Velež were slow to react. The opposition surged forward, forcing a hurried clearance from Malania that went for another throw, the second in the first three minutes.

Peter stood up quickly ‘too open, boss, too open already’

Two minutes gone and Velež looked like the mid table team, not a team wanting to get promoted.

Scott said nothing as he watched yet another misplaced pass from the back.

Peter was animated now, waving and shouting instructions to the back line before turning to Scott ‘they’re nervous, you can see it a mile away’

Scott nodded, eyes fixed on the pitch as Hedilazio got his first touch of the game and tried driving forward.

They were nervous he could tell. The touches were tighter than they had been all week in training. Decisions seemed rushed. The simple things weren’t flowing. It was as if the weight of the occasion had crept into their boots. And then the thought landed heavier than he expected.

Is it me? He had spoken about structure. Discipline. Control. Had he drained the spontaneity from them? Had his own restraint filtered down into caution?

On the far side, Kobilica, usually calm and reserved hesitated instead of driving forward. Koné checked his run twice before committing again. Even Goncerz, usually assured, played the safe ball backward when there was space to turn into.

Peter was angry now ‘settle it down, lads. THINK!’

Scott inhaled slowly, agreeing with his assistant. This was the moment. Not tactical genius. Not grand strategy. But presence. He stepped toward the edge of the technical area himself and called Kobilica and Malania over as the ball was out of play

‘Calm, you two need to calm them down. Don’t rush it, we’ve got over eightyfive minutes to win this’

His voice carried, steady, controlled. Inside, his pulse was racing. Malania nodded and as he was jogging back into position he relayed some words to Hedilazio and Koné. Kobilica did the same to Bebanic.

From the resulting throw deep in the opponents half the ball came forward. Cleared again by Malania but to no one in the red of Velež. 

Four minutes in and it felt like twenty. Peter had said something about conceding early, but Scott brushed it off with ‘we won’t, don’t worry about that’

He wasn’t sure if he believed it. But he knew Peter needed to hear it.

On the pitch, Koné received the ball wide and, instead of forcing it, rolled it back to Danilovic and reset the play. The tempo slowed. A small triangle formed in midfield. Two clean passes. Then three and now four.

The game began to breathe. Scott exhaled without realising he’d been holding it.

Maybe nerves were contagious. But so was composure.

He folded his arms again, face unreadable, as Velež strung together their first sustained spell of possession. The season had begun.

Koné collected the ball deep on the right, spun past his marker with that sudden burst that made defenders retreat instead of tackle. The crowd rose instinctively, home fans now seeing for the first time what the young winger was about, the away fans on cheering him on, the noise lifting with every stride.

Scott felt it too, that shift in energy. Drive. Commit. Don’t hesitate.

Koné surged down the right hand side, leaving the full back in the dust. Goncerz peeled off his defender, arm raised, shouting for it. He had the good position in the box, if there was an early cross from Koné and it would be a genuine chance.

For half a second, Koné looked up. For half a second, he hesitated.

The defender that was marking Goncerz sensed it and recovered just enough to get a touch, deflecting the ball behind.

Corner. The first of the game.

The away crowd applauded the intent, the home fans applauding the defender, but Peter exploded.

‘You need to put that in early there. He was in, he was in!’

He waved his hand in frustration as he went back towards the bench ‘that cross was on’ to no one in particular. The bench didn’t respond.

Scott didn’t react immediately. He watched Koné jog toward the corner flag, expression tight. Goncerz gave a small clap of encouragement, but there was a flicker there, an experienced striker’s awareness that the moment had slipped.

Peter was still fuming ‘we work on that all week…..’ again no one responded

Scott stepped forward, raising one hand slightly. Koné glanced over.

Scott tapped two fingers against his chest, then did a gesture pointing. To anyone else it was just a show of encouragement, a small circular motion followed, subtle, rehearsed. To those in red it meant routine number three. 

They’d drilled it repeatedly, short option that wouldn’t be used, the three big men, Goncerz, Malania and Leovac bombard the near post, the ball whipped in low and quick to that post as the run from Goncerz peels off and the centre backs attacked the post

Koné gave the faintest nod. Goncerz and Malania stood talking in the box.

Peter was still spitting bullets ‘Goncerz would’ve smashed that in….’ continued silence from the bench.

Scott replied quietly, eyes fixed on the box ‘their defenders look shaky, and Goncerz and Malania are towering over their markers’

The players had already began to move into position. Goncerz started centrally of the three bigs, then drifted casually toward the back as Leovac and Malania steadied themselves for the run. Bebanic and Kobilica hovered near the edge of the box, pretending disinterest.

The whistle blew. Koné took a step, two and hit the ball, low and viscious towards the near post. As he did Goncerz had broken backwards, Malania and Leovac bombed forward to the near post, following the low flight of the ball.

The delivery was perfect. Low, fast and with just the right amount of swerve on it to cause uncertainty in the defence.

Goncerz had peeled away exactly as rehearsed, dragging his marker across the face of goal. Malania and Leovac taking their markers with them and as they did the goalkeeper shifted late, caught between coming and staying.

And then it happened too quickly to control. Mujkić, the left full back stationed at the near post to defend the routine, stuck out a leg to intercept. But the contact was awkward. Too sharp and too wild.

The ball ricocheted up off his boot, spinning cruelly across the face of goal, and as the keeper had already made one step to his right, the ball flew into the space he’d left and into the net

For half a second, there was confusion. Then the net rippled, slightly and then the away end erupted.

Scott didn’t move at first. He watched the ball settle behind the line, watched Mujkić stand frozen, hands on his head, staring at the turf as if it had betrayed him.

Own goal. Five minutes in.

Peter exploded in relief instead of frustration this time ‘YES! That’s it lads, just like we worked on!’ punching the air and turning towards the bench 'practice pays off!’

But Scott’s eyes stayed on the young full back. Mujkić’s shoulders had already dropped. A couple of teammates had rushed to him to console the young man, as they did the Velež players in the box all made their way to the flag where Koné was being mobbed, Goncerz shouting something triumphant into the noise.

Scott felt the surge of adrenaline, the validation. The routine worked. The signal had worked. The preparation had paid off. But he also knew how thin the margins were.

One moment, the team looked nervous. One deflection later, they were leading.

He stepped closer to the touchline as Mujkić jogged back toward his position, still avoiding eye contact with anyone. As Koné jogged by Scott held a hand out, the winger slapped it and Scott simply said ‘keep going’

Then scott noticed Mujkić as he took his position up on the near touchline, and as he did Scott shouted ‘head up young man, it happens’ and the defender glanced over.

Scott pointed at him deliberately and gave a firm nod, not celebratory, not mocking. Just clear. You’re fine. Stay in it.

Peter leaned in and said ‘we got lucky there’

Scott allowed a slight smile and said ‘you need a bit of luck, now we need to capitalise on it’

The crowd was still roaring, the anxiety of the opening minutes dissolved into belief on one side and anger on the other. On the pitch, Velež’s movements looked half a yard sharper already. Nerves hadn’t vanished. They’d just changed sides.

== == == == ==

The own goal changed the temperature of the game, they could all feel it.

The passes that had been tight and rushed now moved with rhythm. The distances between the lines shortened. Voices grew louder, clearer. Instead of reacting, Velež began anticipating. Scott noticed it before the second went in.

The midfield were holding shape without looking flustered. The full backs were timing their overlaps instead of forcing them. Even Ilic, who had started slightly on edge, began occupying defenders rather than chasing shadows or being left by Goncerz.

Then came the second.

Hedilazio received the ball wide on the left and, instead of checking back, drove directly at his marker. A sharp touch knocked it past him toward the byline. No hesitation, no nerves just determination.

The cross was drilled low and hard across the six yard box toward the big man. Goncerz didn’t even look at his marker as he attacked the ball. One touch on his right, second touch to put his laces through the ball as if it insulted his mother. 2-0.

A debut goal. Scott didn’t jump up or celebrate. He watched the reaction instead.

Goncerz didn’t run to the crowd or take in the moment, he just pointed to Hedilazio and nodded. Hedilazio pointed back and smiled. A small thing between team mates, but it mattered.

They were starting to look like a unit. Peter was at Scotts side ‘that’s the moment we wanted’

‘Yeah, the belief is there’ was Scotts reply

The third goal told him even more. A free kick was swung in from Bebanic. The ball beat the wall but didn’t beat the first defender in the box and it was cleared. For a moment the opposition stepped out, trying to reset the line but another new signing didn’t allow that.

Malania sensed the flight of the ball, closed down and without looking hooked the ball back in towards the danger area, not hopeful or panicked, just deliberate. Recycling pressure instead of conceding territory. It was the left winger Hedilazio that reacted first. 

The ball bounced kindly by the covering defender on the far side and with pace Hedilazio beat his man to the ball and stroked it home from close range.

3–0. Less than half an hour played.

Scott felt something shift inside him then. This wasn’t adrenaline anymore, this was the work on the training pitch paying off, structure holding firm under pressure.

They weren’t scoring from chaos, they were scoring from habits, pressing second balls, attacking rebounds, staying alive to moments.

The fourth came before the half could exhale.

Another free kick, Bebanic stepping up again. The wall was beaten again, and just like the first one this didn’t find a red shirt and was cleared again.

But Malania, with a taste of getting an assist stepped out again amid the bodies and was the first again to the loose ball. He took a touch this time, steadied himself and lifted it in towards the penalty spot with precision instead of force this time.

Kobilica was stood completely free and onside, as if the entire defence had forgotten how to react. A neat first time finish down the middle.

4–0. Right on half time.

The stadium was noise from the away fans and complete disbelief from the home fans.

Scott stood still.  Four goals in the first half of his first competitive match in charge in Mostar.

Peter was laughing now, tension evaporated ‘we’ve blown them right away’

But Scott wasn’t thinking about the scoreline. He was thinking about the first five minutes. The nerves. The hesitation. The question he’d asked himself ‘is it me?

And now he had his answer. His anxiety hadn’t infected them. His structure had steadied them. They hadn’t needed inspiration, they’d needed clarity.

As the whistle blew for half time the players jogged in with a swagger that hadn’t existed forty minutes earlier. Koné and Goncerz talking animatedly. Hedilazio grinning. Malania walking tall.

In the dressing room, there was noise. Laughter. Relief.

Scott let it breathe for a moment. Then he stepped forward ‘enjoy it for now, but understand why this has happened’ the room quietened as Scott picked up a bottle of water and opened it. As he did Peter stepped forward ‘It’s simple, lads. You’re winning second balls and making them count’ he looked at Malania as he said this ‘you’re trusting each other and most of all you’re staying disciplined’

Scott looked around at them all, really looked and said ‘keep doing what you’re doing, the moments will come but the most important thing is patterns’

No shouting. No theatrics. Just reinforcement.

As he stepped back and let them reset for the second half, he felt something settle inside him.

Maybe this season wouldn’t be about proving he or even Velež belonged challenging at the top.

Maybe it would be about building something that lasted longer than one emphatic afternoon.

Four goals. But more importantly, identity. 

== == == == ==

The week felt shorter than it was. A 4–0 opening day win has a strange effect, it lifts everything, but it also sharpens expectation. Training had an edge to it now. Smiles, yes. But also competition. The tempo was half a yard quicker in every drill.

Scott kept it measured ‘listen, last week doesn’t count this week’ he said more than once since that opening day win ‘we reset, and carry on working on the things we’ve been doing, one game at a time’

== == == == ==

Matchday came with a different kind of weight. This wasn’t just another fixture.This was their first home showing under him.

The Vrapčići filled earlier than had been expected. Four goals in the first half in the season opener does that. Scarves lifted, flags placed. Noise layered with anticipation rather than curiosity.

Scott’s team sheet was almost identical. Almost.

Only one change. Adnan in. Goncerz out, not dropped, but protected. A tight muscle. Early season management.

GK - Abdihodžić. 

RB - Lugonja. 

LB - Danilovic. 

CB - Malania (2 assists in previous game). 

CB - Leovac. 

RM - Koné (1 assist in previous game). 

LM - Hedilazio (1 goal in previous game).

CM - Kobilica (1 goal in previous game). 

CM - Bebanic. 

CF - Adnan. 

CF - Ilic.

Peter had raised an eyebrow when they discussed it ‘you think dropping the big man is the right call boss? That touch and finish for his goal was a thing of beauty’

Scott was unmoved ‘it’s a long season. He’s not in his twenties anymore, he needs time to rest up. We’d rather him fit and firing in March and April than lose him in October’

Adnan offered something different. More mobility, more pressing from the front. Less of a fixed focal point and the young man was full of energy. 

It would tell Scott something else about this team, were they dependent on personalities? Or committed to principles?

== == == == ==

The warm up looked sharp. Hedilazio looked as lively as he did in the first game. Koné growing more confident with every touch of the ball. Malania being the vocal presence at the back, organising the back line with ease. 

Scott stood on the edge of the technical area, watching patterns form even before the whistle.

Peter joined him and said ‘they will sit deep today, and I’m sure they won’t want to trade shots with us, not after seeing how we played last week’

Scott nodded ‘then we stay patient, no need forcing it’

That was the new test. Not chaos. Not nerves. Control against resistance.

As the players gathered for the final huddle in the dressing room, Scott didn’t change much in his tone ‘same standards, same build up as last week. Move the ball quickly but efficiently. Don’t force the first or second option if it’s not there. Trust the third option if needed’

His eyes paused on Adnan ‘lead the press young man, set the tone’

Adnan nodded, eyes full of determination.

== == == == ==

When the whistle blew the sound from the stands felt fuller than it did last week. Expectant. Hungry. The energy from the home crowd unmatched compared to the travelling fans.

And within the first few minutes, it was clear Peter had been right.

Banovići dropped into a compact block. Two banks. Narrow. Patient. Awkward to break into.

The early dominance belonged to Velež however, possession high, territory controlled but space was tighter. Crosses met bodies but the rebounds were picked up easily.

Scott watched carefully. Last week, they’d grown into the game after a nervy opening five minutes. This week, they had to impose it, and this would reveal something different.

Not whether they could explode, but whether they could endure their own momentum without becoming frustrated.

Scott folded his arms, calm on the outside again. Inside, the questions had simply evolved. Could they break down a team that refused to play?

== == == == ==

From the first whistle it was clear this would not look like last week. FK Budućnost Banovići came to frustrate. Two tight banks of four. Lines barely ten yards apart. One of their strikers dropped so deep he was almost another midfielder. Every Velež touch in the final third was met with a body, a shin, a hurried clearance.

Velež had the ball. And had it. And had it again.

Malania switched play patiently, using Danilovic and Hedilazio often. Adnan demanded it between the lines. Koné tried to isolate the full back but the covering defender arrived quickly every time. Ilic found space once, maybe twice, but the crosses were snatched at, hopeful rather than crafted.

The crowd began with encouragement. Then expectation. Then a low murmur.

‘Too slow’ Peter muttered, not for the first time ‘shoot for Gods sake….’

‘QUICKER!!’ was Scott's words at another clearance from the rigid defence as he felt the game changing in tone. The possession stats would look dominant. The territory was theirs, but he could see something else creeping in, forcing it.

His two full backs were crossing from poor angles and from far too deep. Bebanic and Kobilica attempting vertical passes that weren’t on. Adnan pressing hard but isolated, glancing back once or twice as if asking for help from Ilic who wasn’t able to keep pace with his younger strike partner.

And that’s when it struck him, control of the game is not the same as control of the score.

You can own the ball and still be vulnerable. The breakthrough, when it came, wasn’t pretty but it was deserved on the balance of the game.

Thirty two minutes gone. A recycled attack down the right, Koné’s initial delivery was blocked but Lugonja picked up the loose ball. He worked it back to Malania who’d pressed high up, he then clipped a measured pass toward the left hand side rather than whipping it into traffic.

Hedilazio kept it alive at the byline, his touch was excellent, stopped and waited for the defender to commit before driving it by him and lifting it towards the far post.

Adnan lunged with eyes only on the ball, so did the defender Hodžić.

The defender got there first ahead of Adnan but got it all wrong. His clearance ricocheted off his own thigh and spun beyond the goalkeeper into the net.

For half a second there was hesitation, as the keeper tried and failed to get a hand on it. Then the stadium erupted.

Another opening own goal in favour of Velež. Scott didn’t celebrate wildly. He exhaled, clenched a fist and nodded to Peter. Not brilliance. Not magic, just patience.

The players gathered near the corner flag, more relieved than euphoric.

Peter walked over and said ‘we’ll take that. Recovered the possession and forced the error’

Scott nodded ‘yeah, we earned that one’

But he also knew something else. One goal in this kind of game is fragile, they’d need another to settle things and control the game.

He was still adjusting his jacket when the fragility revealed itself. From the restart, Budućnost went long, not hopeful or desperate, but deliberate.

Klarić peeled off the shoulder of Leovac as the second ball dropped awkwardly in midfield. A misjudged header from Bebanic. A split second of hesitation from Kobilica, no one spotting Klarić bombing forward, and suddenly he was through.

The finish was low and composed, beyond the goalkeeper’s reach.

Silence.

Then a pocket of away supporters finding their voice.

1–1.

Scott didn’t move, but inside he felt the lesson land. Dominate all you want, switch play perfectly, get the ball in the box and pin the opponents in.

One lapse. One moment of hesitation and the score resets.

Peter turned, frustration bubbling ‘we do all the work in the game and….’

Scott cut him off before he really get going ‘stay calm, one lapse won’t define this game. We’ve got plenty of time to sort it’

Because this, this moment right here, was the first real test in a long season bound to be filled with more.

Not breaking a team down, not dominating games from the first whistle, but responding when your control proves temporary.

== == == == ==

The equaliser didn’t turn the game chaotic.  It became tense.

Velež had the ball again within seconds, almost as if trying to erase the mistake through sheer possession. But something subtle had shifted. The passes were still accurate, the movement still structured, yet there was now an urgency beneath it.

A need to fix it. Hedilazio tried to beat two instead of one. Koné was forced to shoot from twenty five yards that sailed high. Malania gestured for calm, palms down, but even he began stepping higher than usual, trying to squeeze the life out of Budućnost before they could counter again, the referee not once but twice having to tell him to calm down before he went in the book. 

Banovići, meanwhile, grew braver. They weren’t pressing high but they were stepping into duels quicker. Klarić, buoyed by the goal, started to drift intelligently, always hovering near the blind side of the centre halfs, reminding them he only needed one ball to break in his favour.

Scott watched carefully. The structure was still there and the distances between the lines hadn’t collapsed. But emotionally the team were trying to outrun the disappointment of conceding right after taking the lead.

He stepped to the edge of the technical area ‘stop trying to force it, it’s the same game, the same plan, patience’

Adnan glanced over, nodded once, and slowed his run instead of charging blindly at the goalkeeper as he made a rushed clearance. Small detail. Important.

The final ten minutes of the half were controlled but not commanding with neither side really testing their opponents goalkeeper. Velež circulated the ball from flank to flank but the resulting crosses were blocked. A header drifted wide by Adnan shortly before the ref blew the whistle wouldn’t have troubled the keeper had it been on target. Appeals from Banovići for a penalty were waved away immediately, Malania didn’t even flinch when Klarić was waving his arms after a robust challenge just inside the area.

Each near moment drew noise from the stands, a swell, then a sigh. When the whistle to signal the end of the first half the scoreline felt heavier than it should have.

1–1.

They had dominated territory. They had forced an own goal. They had conceded from one mistake. Scott walked down the tunnel without rushing. Inside the dressing room, the air was different from last week.

No laughter, no joy, just controlled breathing and the low hum of frustration.

Peter spoke first ‘look, it’s not going completely to plan. We’ve been the better team, you’ve been all over them, just keep pushing, keep forcing….’

Scott raised a hand, uncharacteristically interrupting his right hand man, but to settle the room more than take over the conversation ‘we are in control, but control doesn’t mean rushing things’

He let that sit. A few players avoided eye contact, a few nodded. Hedilazio was up on his feet stretching, itching to get back on the pitch.

‘They want us to get impatient’ Scott started ‘waiting for another lapse, space again in behind from a routine long ball. Don’t give them anything cheap, if nothing is on, recycle possession. If the through ball, cross or shot isn’t clean do not force it’

Peter then said ‘we don’t need to win this game in the next five minutes. We win it by doing the right things for the next forty five minutes’

There was no grand speech, just clarity and an understanding that they believed in the players to get it done. 

Scott stepped back to give them the last few minutes of the break to themselves and felt something inside him settle, not the feeling of last weeks 4-0 win, but something steadier. This was the side of management that doesn’t show up in the headlines or post match reviews from the pundits. This was patience when the fans wanted spectacle, calm when momentum wavered and things weren’t going to plan.

The players stood at Peters direction, quieter but just as focussed, as Scott watched them all file out and down the tunnel back to the pitch, and as they did he realised this wasn’t about proving they could dominate and score four every week, it was about proving they could endure frustration without losing themselves.

== == == == == ==

Budućnost began the second half exactly as Scott had predicted. Ten men behind the ball, narrow lines, no intention of pressing unless the touch was heavy. The message was clear right away, frustrate, slow, wait, squeeze the life out of the game.

For the first ten minutes, it worked well, too well for Scott's liking.

Velež circulated possession, probing but not penetrating. The crowd’s energy dipped into that restless hum again, that not quite angry but slightly anxious feeling that the players can sense. Every sideways pass drew impatience. Every recycled move felt like déjà vu.

Scott stayed on the edge of the technical area, arms folded, scanning distances rather than drama ‘don’t force it’ he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Then the moment came from something Budućnost hadn’t accounted for. Not a clever through ball down the middle, not a delicate passing combination or give and go, but aggression.

A loose clearance dropped awkwardly in midfield. For a split second, both sides hesitated , that dangerous, neutral second where time stands still.

Except Malania didn’t. He slid in hard as the covering Budućnost midfielder went for the ball, winning it and somehow keeping it pinned under control as he came out of the tackle. Instead of playing safe, instead of resetting the tempo, he rose to his feet and in one fluid motion stepped forward into the space that had opened, controlling the ball with his left foot.

Scott saw it unfold before the rest did. Budućnost’s midfield line had shifted too high for the first time all half. Their centre backs were square and rooted deep.

Malania didn’t hesitate. With his right foot he lifted the ball, not wide, not hopeful but with precision, over the top, right down the center of the pitch, splitting the center halves.

Ilíć had timed his run perfectly. As the defenders didn’t take charge or challenge either the man or the ball, he took one touch to settle. As he did the defender to his right committed to the challenge, at the same time as the keeper. Both tried narrowing the angle but Ilíć didn’t snatch at it, didn’t panic. He just placed the ball under the keepers left. Low. Precise. Beyond reach.

2–1.

The home fans erupted in a release that felt different from the first goal. Less assertion more relief.

Scott didn’t shout. He didn’t pump a fist he just continued standing calmly, observing.

He watched Malania first, watched the defenders composure after the tackle, the decision to step forward rather than sideways and release the ball over the top.

That was growth. Not panic pressing or hopeful balls forward for the sake of it, the team recognising the exact moment to strike.

Peter made his way back towards the dugout after giving instructions on the pitch ‘that’s it Scott, just like that’

Scott nodded and tapped Peters shoulder. They hadn’t broken Budućnost down with endless possession or relentless drives forward, but they had punished them the one time they blinked.

Control, he knew, wasn’t about suffocating a team for ninety minutes, it was about recognising when structure creates opportunity.

As the players regrouped near the centre circle, Scott’s focus shifted immediately as he barked out instructions ‘concentrate. Next ten minutes is key, do not lose focus’

Because this match wasn’t going to gift them comfort, and how they handled the next phase would tell him even more than the goal had.

The warning came before the goal, Scott felt it in the two minutes after Ilíć scored.

Velež had dropped five yards deeper without being told. Not dramatically and certainly not obviously. Just enough to protect what they had reclaimed, the few passes they made had become slightly safer. The full backs hesitated and didn’t bother overlapping. The press lost half a second of bite. Protecting a lead can look very similar to managing it.

But it isn’t the same, and Budućnost sensed it right away from the restart.

They didn’t charge forward recklessly. Instead, they did something more dangerous, they began to commit just one extra runner. Then another and another.

A routine throw in on the right side turned into sustained pressure. The first cross was blocked by Danilovic. The second ball wasn’t cleared cleanly, it was sliced back to the opposition. Then it dropped to the edge of the area where a wide open midfielder recycled it calmly rather than forcing a shot. Much like Malania had minutes earlier.

That composure unsettled Velež more than panic would have done. The ball was worked wide again, this time on the Budućnost left. A quick exchange pulled Lugonja slightly out of position. The Budućnost winger leaving Lugonja in the dust as he delivered the ball low and hard toward the penalty spot.

For a split second, Velež’s centre backs both stepped toward the same runner. Malania shouting at the younger Leovac to stay back, which he didn’t.

And Ignjić didn’t either. He held his position. Thirteen yards out. Central. Unmarked for just long enough.

By the time Leovac had realised his error and recovered, the cutback found Ignjić in stride.

He didn’t blast it, he didn’t need to. He opened his body slightly, and with a simple side footed stoke he guided the ball inside the post with the kind of finish that suggests confidence instead of luck.

2-2.

The away supporters could be heard from the far end of the pitch. The rest of the stadium fell into stunned quiet. Scott didn’t look at the scorer as he peeled away with arms raised. He looked at his two center halves.

No shouting between them. No visible argument. Just that look from the experienced Malania to Leovac, the shared understanding that two players had been drawn to the same threat. Maybe Malania was at fault for not being quicker to direct Leovac, or the younger defender should’ve known to stick with his man.

It wasn’t chaos, it was a lapse in detail.

Peter had sworn aloud towards the pitch and then to Scott he said ‘they switched off. Both of them, it’s alright Diego…’

Scott cut him before he could really get going ‘they didn’t switch off, it was just relaxed, like there was no threat’

And that was worse, because it meant the lesson after the game wouldn't be about quality, it’ll be about mentality. 

Velež had shown they could dominate, they had shown they could counter with precision. Now they were showing something else, that sustaining focus with a lead was still new territory for them.

As Ignjić jogged back toward halfway, Scott’s mind was already moving ahead.

This wasn’t panic time. It was information.

And how they responded again would define more than just this afternoon.