Chapter 16: Vieri of Mallorca
On the evening of January 29th, José lay in his hotel room. The day before a match, players usually can't go home. They stay in hotels or the club's player dormitories, but Mallorca didn't have a dormitory. Every time, they stayed in hotels, and José had once grumbled about it. To him, building a good dormitory would be much better than staying in hotels. Sure, the initial cost would be higher, but it would help build the team's collective spirit. But now, José didn't care. If the club spent more money, it might actually make it easier for him to buy the club in the future.
He stretched his right hand, and the shimmering "modification device" appeared in his palm once again. However, just like before, it only shimmered with no information or instructions.
"Maybe I should just scare someone with this thing in the middle of the night," José muttered to himself. He was nearly at the point of giving up on this so-called "modification device." Over the past five years, he had tried countless times but never figured out how to use it. He thought that once he became head coach, it would start working, but that hope had already faded.
"Forget it. I've got the experience of being reborn, and now I'm a legitimate coach. There's no way I can't get good results with this team. That Xiao Ming guy was just an outsider, and he only got lucky because he reincarnated earlier. He knows how to make money, sure, but I'm a genuine reincarnated football fan, now a real coach. Why should I fear not making it in La Liga? If Xiao Ming can do it, I, José, will do it better because I know the game better..."
With that thought, José clenched his fist and made the "modification device" disappear into his palm.
He glanced at his watch. It was only eight o'clock in the evening, still early. The match was the next afternoon, and generally, the team would head to the stadium around noon. Players wouldn't go to bed too early; if they did, they'd wake up too soon and feel sleepy in the afternoon, which would affect their performance on the pitch.
José decided to leave his room and take a walk to check on the players' moods. Numancia's small town of Soria, located in northern Spain, was far from a bustling metropolis. It was more of a "town," with a population of less than 40,000. The main industry here was tourism, with many ancient buildings, but the players weren't interested in that, so José wasn't planning on checking their rooms.
The entire third floor of the hotel had been reserved for the Mallorca team, and José's room was at the far end of the hallway. Coaches and players shared rooms, but as the head coach, José had a room to himself. He walked down the hall, stopping at each room to chat for a bit—this was one of José's ways to relax.
Nadal and another assistant coach were watching TV, Stankovic and Ibagasa's rooms were empty, and both Soler's rooms were also empty. When José reached N'Gonga and Nadal's room, he found it quite lively—Nadal, N'Gonga, both Solers, and Olézola were all playing poker.