Chapter 15: Faultlines
Chapter 15: Faultlines
The wind was sharp that morning—pulling at jackets, whistling past the stands like a warning. The Crawley Town home ground was still quiet, but the weight of the afternoon already hung in the air. Niels stood near the dugout, arms crossed, watching the grounds crew finish marking the lines.
Today wasn't just another league match. It carried more weight.
Woking weren't the most technical side, but they were tough—mid-table battlers who fought for every inch. The kind of team that didn't need the ball for long to do damage. Give them a sloppy pass, and five seconds later, it could be in the back of your net.
Niels had drilled it into them all week: control the first twenty minutes. Win the duels. Match their intensity, then impose their rhythm.
But tension had started creeping into the edges of the squad. And Luka... Luka had been different.
—
The changing room buzzed with low voices, laced boots, and nervous energy. Niels waited until everyone had settled before stepping forward.
"Stay sharp," he said. "They'll come at us hard early on. Stay alert. Win your individual duels—don't try to force anything fancy. Keep control of the tempo, trust the man next to you, and earn your moments on the ball."
He didn't need to say more. They knew what was at stake. Not in points—but in perception. The recent wins, the press, the murmurs from the board. This wasn't just about three points anymore. It was about proving they were more than a good story.
Luka leaned forward, tying his laces tighter than usual. His expression was hard to read—calm on the surface, but too still.