The Coaching System-Chapter 140: A Birthday Celebration & Pre-Season Plans

The sound of boots against wet grass filled the air as players returned to the training ground, their voices carrying across the pitch. Some moved sluggishly, still shaking off the last days of vacation, while others looked eager to get going, stretching out their limbs and passing the ball between them.

Jake stood near the touchline, hands in his pockets, watching. He had seen this routine before—pre-season always started the same way. Some players returned sharper than others. A few had gained weight. Others had put in the work during the break. Either way, by the end of today, they'd all be running again.

But before any of that, something was off.

There was a subtle shift in the group. A strange energy, as if they were all in on something he wasn't aware of. Jake narrowed his eyes slightly as Nathan Barnes jogged toward him with a suspicious grin.

Then, out of nowhere—

"Gaffer!"

Barnes clapped his hands together, signaling something. A moment later, Renan Silva appeared from behind him, carrying a cake, candles flickering as the wind threatened to snuff them out.

Jake blinked.

The rest of the squad burst into a loud, messy version of "Happy Birthday."

Barnes spread his arms dramatically. "Told them we couldn't just let you ignore it."

Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You do realize we have training, right?"

"Five minutes won't kill us," Silva smirked. "Unless you're scared of cake."

The players laughed as Jake eyed the cake. Chocolate, thick frosting, heavier than it had any right to be. Someone had clearly gone all out.

Ethan Walsh grinned. "We were gonna get you candles shaped like a trophy, but we thought that'd be too much."

Jake shot him a dry look. "Lucky for you."

Barnes gestured toward the cake. "Come on, boss. Make a wish."

Jake shook his head but leaned forward anyway. The candles flickered as he blew them out in one quick breath. The players cheered like they had just won a match.

It was a brief moment, a small distraction before the real work began. But even as they moved on, stretching and preparing for drills, Jake noticed something else.

Emma was standing near the edge of the pitch, watching.

Emma carried Ariel in her arms while his son, Ethan, stood beside her, hands stuffed into his hoodie.

They were smiling.

For the first time in weeks, there was no tension in Emma's expression, no unspoken question lingering between them. She just looked… happy.

Jake's chest tightened slightly.

Then, like always, football pulled him back.

"Alright," he called out. "Enough standing around. Let's get to work."

Laughter faded. Boots hit the grass. The real season started now.

Later That Day – Meeting the Owner

The boardroom carried the faint scent of polished wood and leather, mixed with the sharper notes of expensive cologne. The walls were lined with framed photos of Bradford's past glories, though most of them were black-and-white, reminders of a time when the club had been more than just another lower-league team fighting for survival.

Jake sat across from Timothy Rollins, the club's new owner, a man who radiated control. His suit was immaculate, the kind of tailored perfection that suggested he didn't just own a football club—he owned the room. Everything about him was measured, from the way he tapped his fingers against the table to the way he studied Jake with the quiet confidence of someone who had seen men like him come and go.

Rollins finally spoke, his voice even. "So, let me get this straight. You want to take on some of the biggest clubs in the world before we've even kicked a ball in the Championship?"

Jake met his gaze without hesitation. "Pre-season isn't just about getting fit. It's about setting a standard. If we go in unprepared, we'll get exposed. We need to be ready for anything."

Rollins smirked slightly, as if amused. "And you think playing Real Madrid is the best way to prepare?"

Jake didn't blink. "I do."

He pushed forward a document detailing the plan.

Bradford wasn't going to spend pre-season coasting through meaningless friendlies against League One and League Two sides. They were going to test themselves against real opposition—teams that would stretch them, force them to think faster, play sharper, survive at a higher level.

The proposed friendlies were:

Santos (Brazil) – A chance to face a fast, technically gifted South American side.Inter Miami (USA) – A team built on attacking flair, capable of pulling apart defenses.Real Madrid (Spain) – One of the best in the world. The highest level of competition they could face.Paris Saint-Germain (France) – A brutal test against elite players.

Rollins skimmed through the document, fingers tapping against the paper. "Ambitious."

Jake stayed silent. He wasn't asking for permission.

Rollins leaned back in his chair. "If we pull this off, it'll put Bradford on the map."

Jake already knew that. These weren't just pre-season matches. They were a message. Bradford wasn't coming into the Championship just to make up the numbers.

They were coming to be noticed.

The owner exhaled through his nose, closing the folder. "Alright. I'll help set it up."

Jake gave a small nod. "Good."

But Rollins wasn't done. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression unreadable. "You do realize these matches aren't just about football, right?"

Jake tilted his head slightly. "Go on."

Rollins smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "This is about building the brand. Bigger audiences. Bigger sponsorships. If we're seen on the same pitch as Madrid and PSG, it changes how people look at us. That's the real game here."

Jake exhaled slowly. He had expected this.

Football had always been two things—sport and business. Some owners leaned toward one more than the other. Rollins had made it clear where his priorities lay.

It didn't matter.

Because Jake planned on winning in both.

Fan Café – A City That Cared

By the time Jake left the training ground, the messages had already started flooding in.

The Bradford Fan Café, the club's largest online forum, was usually a place of heated debates, transfer rumors, and the occasional meltdown after a bad result. But today, the mood was different.

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The homepage had been completely hijacked.

A banner at the top read:

"Happy Birthday, Boss! Here's to another historic season!"

Jake clicked through the posts, scrolling past thread after thread of fans leaving their own messages. Some were heartfelt. Others were just an excuse to sneak in a joke.

REDVALLEY1911: Happy birthday, gaffer. Best thing to ever happen to this club. Enjoy your day (unless you're working, which we all know you probably are).

BRADFORDLAD77: Cheers, boss. Hope the squad got you something decent. Maybe a proper goal-scoring winger as a present?

WILSONWIZARD: Happy birthday, Jake! First League One, now the EFL Cup. What's next? Conference League glory?

VETERANBANTAM: I've supported this club for 40 years. I've seen promotions, relegations, and everything in between. But this is the first time I've believed we're actually building something special. Thank you.

Jake exhaled through his nose. He hadn't logged in to this forum in a while—mostly because reading through matchday reactions was a guaranteed way to lose brain cells—but tonight, it felt different.

These weren't just birthday wishes.

This was appreciation.

Somewhere in the middle of all the posts, a poll had been started.

"Best Jake Wilson Moment So Far?"

The top comments had a few predictable choices:

Winning League OneBeating Tottenham in the EFL Cup FinalSigning NovakTelling off that journalist who doubted us

Then there was a newer one:

Just being here. Best thing to happen to this club.

Jake stared at the screen for a moment before shaking his head.

He knew better than to get caught up in praise. Football changed fast—win today, and you're a genius. Lose tomorrow, and you're a fraud.

But still.

He couldn't help but let out a small smirk.

The fans were with him.

And if he had anything to say about it, this season would give them even more to celebrate.

He shut his laptop, stretched his arms, and checked the time.

Tomorrow, pre-season started.

And there was work to do.

Final Thoughts – The Season Begins

Later that night, the house was quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came after a long, exhausting day.

Jake sat in his home office, the dim glow of his laptop casting shadows across the walls. A few hours ago, he had been surrounded by family—Emma, Ethan, and baby Ariel, who was barely a few months old and still adjusting to the world.

The evening had been simple. A quiet dinner. A few gifts. Laughter.

Emma had made sure he actually enjoyed his birthday, even if Jake was never the kind to make a big deal out of it. He had spent most of the night holding Ariel, her tiny fingers curling against his palm, her soft breathing a reminder of how much his life had changed.

But now, as the rest of the house slept, he was back where he always ended up.

Work.

His laptop screen displayed scouting reports, contract renewals, and tactical outlines for the upcoming season. The room smelled of coffee, and the only sound was the faint tapping of his fingers against the keyboard.

Then, a soft cry.

Jake turned his head.

Ariel.

Her nursery was just down the hall, and through the baby monitor on his desk, he could hear her shifting in her crib. Not a full cry—just the restless movement of a newborn adjusting in her sleep.

He exhaled slowly.

For a moment, he just listened.

Then, as she settled again, he turned back to his screen.

[Ding! System Update – Transfer Market Analysis Ready.]

Jake leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders.

The season hadn't even started yet.

But his mind was already three steps ahead.

Bradford was going up.

And he'd make sure the whole world knew it.