I Coach Football With A System

A few minutes after training finished and Alex finally allowed himself to breathe, Isabella appeared at the door to his office. She did not knock. Instead, she opened it gently, pushing her head through the narrow gap like someone who knew exactly how far she could push the line. Her tablet was hugged to her chest, clutched with both hands like a shield. "Press conference," she said quietly, her voice calm but pointed.

Alex, still holding the mug of coffee he had been nursing since early morning, glanced up at her with a tired look. The mug was mostly empty by now, its contents lukewarm and bitter. Still, it gave him something to hold. Something to delay.

"Already?" he asked.

Isabella nodded. "You are late."

That was all it took. Alex sat upright in his chair like a student caught napping in class. Well, he was currently holding a cup of coffee because he didn’t want to fall asleep.

"Right," he muttered, standing and reaching for the jacket slung over the back of his chair.

She waited without saying another word. No nagging, no sarcasm, just stillness. She was already walking by the time he threw the jacket over his shoulder. They moved together down the corridor that led out of the training center toward the media wing.

The air was colder here, and not just in temperature. Something about the silence between them made Alex aware of his own breathing. It was not awkward. Not hostile. Just... different. Like something that used to be easy had become fragile overnight.

He noticed it right away. Isabella’s footsteps were quicker than usual. Her grip on the tablet was a little tighter. And even though they were walking side by side, she never once turned to look at him.

Alex cast her a glance or two, subtle ones, but said nothing. This was not the place to ask questions.