The party at the Moss Side clubhouse was still in full swing. The beer was flowing, the music was blasting, and the stories were being told and retold with increasing embellishment.

Baz was dancing on a table, shirt off, belly wobbling, a pint in each hand. Kev was trying to teach Frankie the latest dance craze, both of them laughing like idiots. Big Dave sat in the corner with his wife, the trophy at his feet, a quiet smile on his weathered face.

I was sitting with Emma, watching it all unfold, feeling a deep sense of contentment. This was what it was all about. Not the tactics, not the data, not the analysis. This. The human connection. The shared joy. The family we'd built together.

"You look happy," Emma said, squeezing my hand.

"I am," I said. "This is perfect."

"Good. Because I'm writing an article about you being an insufferable genius, and I need you to look happy in the photos."

I laughed. "Insufferable?"

"You played a seventeen-year-old in a Libero role in the biggest game of the season. That's either genius or insanity. I'm going with insufferable genius."

"I'll take it."

And then a man in an expensive suit walked into the clubhouse.

He looked completely out of place. Tall, slim, immaculately dressed in a navy suit with a crisp white shirt.

Mid-forties, dark hair with touches of grey at the temples, the kind of man who belonged in a professional football academy or a corporate office, not a non-league clubhouse that smelled of beer, sweat, and victory. He scanned the room with sharp, assessing eyes, spotted me, and walked over with purpose.

"Danny Walsh?" he said, extending his hand. His voice was professional, direct. "My name is Gary Issott. I'm the Academy Manager at Crystal Palace. Might I have a word?"

I stood, shaking his hand, completely thrown. Crystal Palace. Premier League. "Uh, yes. Of course."

Emma's eyes widened. I could see her journalist instincts kicking in immediately. We moved to a quieter corner of the room, away from Kev's increasingly enthusiastic attempts at dancing.

"I apologize for intruding on your celebration," Gary said, glancing around at the chaos with what looked like genuine amusement. "But I was at the match today, and I wanted to speak with you before I left Manchester. I'm driving back to London tonight, and I didn't want to miss this opportunity."

"You were at the match?"

"I was. I came to watch one of Hyde United's players, a young center-back we've been tracking. But I have to be honest, after the first half, I stopped watching him entirely. I was watching your team. More specifically, I was watching you and what you did at halftime."

I didn't know what to say. A Premier League academy manager had come to watch me?

"That tactical adjustment," he continued, his eyes sharp and analytical.

"Down 1-0, your Libero was struggling, the whole system collapsing. Most managers would have panicked, gone defensive, and taken the kid off. But you didn't. You adjusted the roles around him, gave him more support, and trusted a seventeen-year-old to deliver in the biggest game of his life. That takes courage. And more importantly, it shows you understand how to develop young players under pressure."

"Jamie's a good player," I said, still processing this. "He just needed help."

"Exactly. You identified the problem, adapted the system, and gave him the tools to succeed. That's what we do at academy level. We don't just coach tactics, we develop players. We put them in challenging situations and help them grow." He paused. "And your striker JJ Johnson. I looked into him. Turned down a League Two move to stay with you. That's loyalty. That's culture. That's what we're trying to build at Palace."

Gary looked around the room, taking in the celebration. "You've built something special here, Danny. A real team culture. Players who trust you, who believe in your methods, who'll run through walls for you. That's rare at any level."

He turned back to me, and his expression became more serious.

"Danny, I'm going to be direct. Our U18s coach is leaving at the end of the season; he's taking a first-team assistant job at a Championship club. We're looking for his replacement. Someone who can work with talented young players, develop them tactically and mentally, and prepare them for professional football. Someone innovative, someone brave, someone who understands that development isn't always linear."

My heart started pounding. "You're offering me the job?"

"I'm offering you the chance to interview for it," he corrected.

"You're on our shortlist as of today. There are three other candidates, all with more experience, more qualifications, more conventional backgrounds. But I watched you today, Danny. I saw something special. I saw a manager who takes risks, who innovates, and who develops young players. That's what we need."

I took a breath, trying to process this. "I don't have a UEFA B licence. I only have my FA Level 2 as of today."

"I know. That's why the interview isn't for a month. If you're serious about this, you need to get your UEFA B before then. It's a requirement for working at academy level in the Premier League. The course is an intensive two-week residential, then assessments. It's expensive, but if you're committed, we can discuss the club helping with costs if you get the position."

"A month?"

"The interview is scheduled for mid-April. That gives you four weeks to get your UEFA B, prepare your coaching philosophy, and decide if this is what you want." He pulled a business card from his wallet.

"I'll be honest with you, Danny. This isn't a guaranteed job. You're up against experienced academy coaches. But you have something they don't, you've just won a league title with innovative tactics and a group of players who'd die for you. That counts for something."

He handed me the card. Gary Issott, Academy Manager, Crystal Palace FC. A phone number. An email address.

"What would the role involve?" I asked.

"You'd be head coach of our U18s. Eighteen players, ages sixteen to eighteen, most of them on scholarships. You'd plan and deliver training sessions, manage match days, work with our sports science and psychology teams, and most importantly, develop these lads into professional footballers. Some will make it to our first team. Some will go on loan. Some will be released. Your job is to give every one of them the best possible chance."

"What's the salary?"

He smiled, appreciating the directness. "£32,000 per year to start. Plus bonuses based on player development and team performance. It's not huge, but it's a full-time professional salary. You'd be working at one of the best academies in the country, learning from top coaches, with access to world-class facilities."

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