Capítulo 6: Hope
Before dawn, Situ Yunbing stirred awake from a deep, alcohol-induced sleep. His eyes were still heavy with exhaustion as he rubbed them, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He felt the weight of a quilt covering him but noticed that he was still fully clothed. Everything in his small bachelor apartment seemed as it always was, except something was off.
As he rolled over to get out of bed, his foot landed on something soft. A muffled "Ah!" reached his ears, and Situ Yunbing immediately jerked upright, eyes wide in confusion.
Looking down, he saw Jerome Alonzo lying on the floor, clutching his thigh where Situ had stepped. Alonzo's blond hair, usually neat and pristine, was now a messy tangle. Situ stared in shock.
"Why are you sleeping on the floor?" he asked, still trying to piece together the events of the previous night.
Alonzo winced as he sat up, rubbing his leg before glancing around the room. "Is there any other place to sleep besides your single bed in this apartment?"
Situ Yunbing, still groggy, looked around and saw the truth in Alonzo's words. His cramped bachelor pad didn't have room for much besides the bed and a small table. Letting out a sigh, he stumbled toward the bathroom to relieve himself.
While he was in there, Alonzo stretched, rubbing the stiffness from his body. He heard the sound of water rushing in the bathroom and Situ's voice calling out, muffled by the door.
"How did I get back here last night? Did we… talk about anything?"
Situ Yunbing's memory of the previous night was hazy at best. He vaguely recalled seeing Alonzo at the tavern and the stack of documents he'd brought, but after that? Nothing. He couldn't remember how he got back to his apartment or even if they'd discussed anything meaningful.
By the time he finished washing his hands and returned to the room, Alonzo had poured them both glasses of water. He handed one to Situ, who accepted it gratefully.
"You didn't say much last night," Alonzo explained, taking a sip of water himself. "You got pretty drunk all of a sudden. You were stumbling all over the place, and when I tried to help you, you just pointed in the direction of your apartment. I figured I'd drop you off and head home, but then you started mumbling in Chinese. I couldn't make out everything, but it sounded pretty pessimistic… I was worried, so I stayed just in case something happened."
Situ Yunbing paused, trying to recollect the vague feelings of despair that had gripped him the night before. He had likely been in such a dark place that he felt like he was spiraling, lost and on the edge. Perhaps Alonzo had sensed that, even through the language barrier.
He nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you. You can wash your face in the bathroom."
Alonzo nodded and went to freshen up, leaving Situ alone with his thoughts. As soon as Alonzo left the room, a heavy weight settled over Situ's chest. The events of the past few days began to close in on him again—the humiliating defeat, the locker room revolt, and the anger of the fans. He walked over to the bedside table and picked up his tablet, wondering if the game was still ongoing, if his fate had already been sealed.
For a moment, he hesitated, his finger hovering over the screen. If the challenge has failed, then I would have died by now, he thought grimly. The fact that he was still alive meant that the challenge, however bleak, was continuing.
Taking a deep breath, he tapped the screen.
What he saw next left him momentarily speechless.
On the game's interface, there were four cards in two rows, each with the Ligue 1 logo on its back. Above the cards, a message appeared:
"In the fifth round of Ligue 1, Monaco 0-3 Lorient. You can draw a card."
Situ Yunbing stared at the screen, heart racing. He didn't know what these cards meant, but they represented something—some glimmer of hope, perhaps.
Player Range: 2007-2008 Season's Best Team in Ligue 1
Situ Yunbing casually flipped open a card with a curious expression.
As the special effects of the card flip flashed across the screen, a shining card appeared at the center.
Mamadou Niang!
Current Team: Olympique de Marseille.
A tall, lean, dark-skinned figure flashed in Situ Yunbing's mind.
He vaguely recalled a player named Niang who had played for AC Milan. Had this player been at Marseille before moving to Italy?
However, as he scrutinized the photo on the card, the older, more mature face of this Niang didn't quite match the Niang he had in mind. The confusion lingered for a moment, but it soon became clear—this was a different player.
He clicked on the card to view more detailed information. Sure enough, this was Mamadou Niang, a 28-year-old Senegalese striker. In the 2007-2008 season, Niang scored an impressive 18 goals for Marseille and earned a spot in the Ligue 1 Team of the Season.
But what was the purpose of this card?
Situ Yunbing navigated back to the team management interface. He had seen this screen before—it displayed Monaco's squad, but up until now, it hadn't been particularly useful. However, he now noticed that several players had a small, flashing "+" icon below their names.
He took a closer look and realized that the icons mostly appeared beneath attacking midfielders, forwards, and full-backs—positions that are often the most influential in a team's offensive structure.
Intrigued, he clicked the "+" icon under Freddy Adu's name, and a small box popped up. Inside the box was Mamadou Niang's card!
Curious, Situ Yunbing clicked on Niang's card again, and a dialogue box appeared on the screen:
"Using this card will randomly add 10%-20% of the card player's abilities to your selected player. The effect will last for one official match. Are you sure you want to use it?"
Situ Yunbing quickly canceled the option, worried that he might accidentally activate the card without fully understanding its potential.
To his surprise, this "Endgame Manager" game had such an intricate and unique system. This feature could provide him with a crucial advantage as a coach, especially for a team like Monaco that was struggling.
Don't underestimate the 10%-20% ability boost—it was an "additional" boost!
If a player's abilities were quantified numerically, ranging from 1 to 100, then a true superstar would likely score 95 or higher. The best players at major clubs would sit around 80 points or more, while players at first-division clubs would have ratings in the 70s. Most mid-tier or struggling clubs would typically field players who hover around the 60s.
A player like Mamadou Niang, who was among the top performers in Ligue 1, would definitely surpass 80 points. While it was unclear whether he would break the 85-point mark, he was undeniably one of the top 20 players in the French league that season.
By contrast, the average player at Monaco likely rated around 65 points. If a 65-point player received a 10% boost from Niang's card, their overall ability could rise to exceed 70 points. In some cases, with a full 20% boost, a player might even push beyond 80 points—enough to transform their impact on the field dramatically!
This system could give Situ Yunbing a vital tool to elevate the quality of his squad in the short term. Even a modest improvement in key areas could make a massive difference during competitive matches, especially in such a tight league.
Armed with this new feature, Situ Yunbing realized he had a hidden weapon that could tip the balance and bring much-needed strength to Monaco's struggling side.
At that moment, Alonzo emerged from the bathroom, freshly dressed and sporting his usual bright smile. Situ Yunbing, who had been absorbed in his tablet moments before, looked up and casually asked, "Do you know Mamadou Niang?"
Alonzo, his boyish charm intact, grinned and replied, "Of course I know him! He's Marseille's main striker. Although he's right-footed, he often cuts in from the left. His crossing and dribbling are decent, nothing spectacular, but his finishing and shooting are top-notch. That's how he ended up in the Ligue 1 Team of the Season last year."
Situ Yunbing listened intently, his mind turning over Alonzo's words. After a brief pause, he gave Alonzo a curious look and asked, "Why do you want to be a coach?"
Alonzo's expression grew serious, his earlier smile replaced by determination. "Because I love football," he said earnestly. "I'm from Nice, and over the past year, I've been trying to get into the Nice club as a coach. I've knocked on their doors countless times, but they kept rejecting me. So, I came here to Monaco, hoping for a chance. Gomes rejected me too, but I still believe that I can make my dream come true!"
Situ Yunbing was momentarily taken aback.
Love for football?
Was this young man really so determined to follow his passion, despite constant setbacks? Situ Yunbing found himself questioning his own motivations. Was he pouring his own love for the game into his work, especially now when he was literally fighting for his life?
Alonzo stood before him like the morning sun, radiating an unshakeable enthusiasm that seemed to pierce through Situ Yunbing's reserved exterior. In that brief moment, Situ felt the raw, unfiltered passion that drove this young man—a passion that seemed to reignite something in himself.
After a moment of reflection, Situ Yunbing met Alonzo's gaze and said solemnly, "You have to understand something. My position here as head coach is on thin ice. I could be sacked today, next week, or next month. I can't promise you anything concrete. But what I can offer is this: I'll bring you into the Monaco coaching staff, make you a part of the team. I can't offer you a salary right now, but I'll give you half of my monthly wage. If I manage to survive the early stages of this journey and steer Monaco in the right direction, I'll fight to get the club to sign you on officially."
Situ paused, watching Alonzo closely. "If you're willing, come with me to the club right now. If not, I can only wish you the best in finding recognition elsewhere."
Alonzo's sapphire-blue eyes sparkled with excitement, his handsome face lighting up with joy. He was like an open book—his emotions plain to see, without a hint of deception. "No problem!" he exclaimed, brimming with enthusiasm. "Thank you, really, thank you!"
But as the initial rush of excitement faded, a look of surprise crossed Alonzo's face. "Wait... you're giving me half of your salary?"
Situ Yunbing, now changing out of his sportswear and into a fresh set of clothes, pulled on his sneakers, ready to leave. He glanced back at Alonzo. "Don't get too excited. My monthly salary is only 5,000 euros. Thanks to Monaco's tax haven status, you'll get 2,500 euros a month, which works out to less than 100 euros a day. Trust me, that's not even enough to cover a stay at a cheap hotel in Monaco."
Alonzo slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and followed Situ Yunbing out the door. "No way! A Ligue 1 head coach only makes 5,000 euros a month?" he asked incredulously.
Situ Yunbing didn't turn around as they walked. "That's right. But there's a performance-based clause in my contract. You can help me earn that bonus."
Alonzo's curiosity was piqued. "How much is the bonus?"
"Two million euros."
Alonzo's eyes widened. "Two million?!"
Situ Yunbing smirked. "Yeah. If we hit the target, I'll give you 500,000 euros. Don't expect half this time. After all, that's a lot of money."
"Five hundred thousand? That's more than generous!" Alonzo stammered. Then, as the reality sank in, he asked cautiously, "What exactly do we need to do to trigger this bonus?"
Situ Yunbing's smirk faded slightly. "Win the Ligue 1 title this season."
Alonzo fell silent, the weight of the task sinking in as they stepped out into the bright Monaco afternoon.
...
...
Situ Yunbing, who had spent the last of his money the night before, politely declined Alonzo's offer to take the bus to Monaco using his funds.
The journey was only two kilometers, and walking there in the early morning wouldn't waste much time. Besides, he wasn't even sure if the team would be training today.
Typically, the day after a match, teams hold recovery sessions, but these are shorter than usual, allowing players more rest at home. Situ Yunbing mulled over his next steps, strategizing how to regroup and salvage his tenuous position as he made his way into the Principality of Monaco.
As he crossed the border from France into Monaco, a few passersby on the sidewalk spotted him and began to shout.
"Hurry up and leave!"
They were clearly Monaco fans. Whether they had been at Stade Louis II the previous night or not, the media had been relentless since the final whistle, amplifying the disappointment and calling for his dismissal. The fans had now unified in their belief that Situ Yunbing was the problem.
Situ Yunbing, maintaining a stoic expression, ignored the taunts and quickened his pace toward the club. Upon reaching the training ground, he found it deserted. Alonzo, who had been walking beside him, glanced around the empty field and asked, "What are we going to do?"
Situ Yunbing paused, deep in thought. After a moment, he answered calmly, "Let's go eat first."
Regardless of whether the players were training, the club's staff still had to work, which meant the restaurant would be open as usual. The two men made their way to the club's dining hall, where a few staff members shot them puzzled or cold glances. Situ Yunbing remained unfazed and ate his breakfast leisurely, with Alonzo sitting quietly beside him.
After they had finished, Situ Yunbing led Alonzo to the head coach's office. "Wait here for a bit," he said. "I need to take care of something."
The office was in the training complex, located in the same building as the coach's lounge. Meanwhile, the chairman, Jerome de Bontin, had his office in the administration building across the complex.
Situ Yunbing swiftly made his way to the chairman's office. Upon reaching the door, he knocked, and after hearing a terse "Come in," he entered.
De Bontin sat behind a large desk, his face immediately darkening when he saw who had entered. "Situ, you've screwed up," De Bontin said, his voice laced with frustration. "You're finished! If I hadn't been in the royal box watching that disaster yesterday, I would have booed you off the field myself. The media's right—this farce has to end."
His words cut deep, but Situ Yunbing kept his composure, walking up to the desk. He glanced at several newspapers scattered across the surface, all featuring photos of him standing shell-shocked on the touchline during the second half of the previous night's game. One of the pictures even showed Gourcuff Sr., the opposing coach, patting him on the shoulder in a moment of pity. The headline, written in bold French, was unfamiliar to Situ Yunbing, but he didn't need to understand the language to know it wasn't flattering.
De Bontin, seeing the young coach's silent struggle, sighed heavily, and his tone softened, albeit only slightly. He pulled a letter from his desk drawer and slid it across to Situ Yunbing.
"You should resign, Situ. Go back home, leave all of this behind. Monaco isn't the place for you. This letter was given to me by several of the team's players last night. They're asking for your resignation—there are signatures."
Situ Yunbing picked up the letter, his face betraying no emotion as he read it. Luckily, it was written in English. The letter contained a slew of complaints, criticisms, and thinly veiled accusations, all pointing to him as the root of Monaco's recent failures. And then, at the bottom, were the signatures.
His gaze lingered on the first name: Müller. He had led the locker room revolt after the match yesterday. Situ Yunbing cursed under his breath.
Haruna. This one stung even more—he had trusted the young midfielder, only to have the boy turn on him.
He continued reading, his eyes narrowing at the names of the three forwards who had started the match: Yannick Sagbo, Freddy Adu, and Chu-young Park. They had been terrible the night before, yet it seemed they wanted to shift all the blame onto him.
Then came two more names: Kévin Diaz and Djamel Bakar—both young, barely into their twenties. Either they had been swayed by others, or they were hoping to stir the pot in a bid to create chaos and secure opportunities for themselves.
Eight signatures in total.
Situ Yunbing read through the names again, mentally repeating them three times before finally tearing the letter in half. He dropped the torn paper into the trash bin beside the desk, his hand shaking slightly with anger.
They wanted to hang him out to dry.
De Bontin frowned, his eyes narrowing as he tried to gauge what Situ Yunbing was up to. There was an air of defiance about the young coach that unsettled him.
Situ Yunbing clapped his hands, his expression calm but his voice firm. "Have you already found my replacement?"
De Bontin didn't bother to hide his irritation. "That has nothing to do with you!"
Situ Yunbing's gaze sharpened. "Monaco is in chaos right now, and it's unlikely you'll find many coaches willing to take over in these circumstances. Besides, I've only managed one game. I don't think I should resign. Or, to put it another way, is there a coach in the world right now who can guarantee Monaco will win the next match? No, there isn't!"
He took a step closer, speaking with more intensity. "Mr. Chairman, I'm not here asking for more opportunities. All I'm asking for is enough respect and a reasonable amount of time for proper evaluation."
De Bontin let out a heavy sigh. "Situ, you've messed up. Losing a game isn't the issue—it happens. But losing the locker room, losing the support of the players—that is what's fatal. Without their trust, you're finished."
Situ Yunbing shook his head slowly, his tone deliberate. "I noticed the names on that letter. But where are the signatures of players like Meriem, Modesto, Ruffier, or Simic? Why didn't they oppose me too? And what about the other coaching staff? Why haven't they turned against me?"
He continued, undeterred. "Mr. Chairman, we have 34 players in Monaco's first-team squad. That number is far too large! Have you ever wondered why clubs like Manchester United, Chelsea, Real Madrid, or Barcelona don't keep over 30 players in their first team, even though they compete on multiple fronts—domestically, in Europe, sometimes even internationally?"
De Bontin's expression softened slightly as he considered this.
"It's because a first team only needs elite players, not more players. More isn't always better."
Situ Yunbing's voice grew more confident as he pressed his point. "What happens when you have too many players fighting for just 11 positions on the field? It creates confusion, discontent, and frustration. Players become disgruntled. Some will fight for their place, but others will sulk or disrupt the harmony of the squad."
He gestured with his hands, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. "It's like going to battle. Our opponents might field small, highly trained elite units, while we have sheer numbers but lack cohesion. Among us, we have those who've already surrendered, mercenaries who take their paychecks but don't put in the effort, and others who lack the will to fight."
De Bontin's frown deepened as he listened.
Situ's voice lowered, but his conviction remained. "The absurdity isn't in my appointment. The absurdity is expecting a coach—who's only just begun learning about this chaotic squad—to shoulder all the blame for one loss. And now, you want to replace me, thinking that the disorder will magically resolve itself?"
He leaned forward, locking eyes with De Bontin. "It won't. But here's what I know from yesterday's defeat—I've identified who lacks ability, who has a poor mentality, who's unwilling to follow orders, and who has no fight left in them. That insight is invaluable for moving forward."
Pausing for effect, Situ finished with quiet intensity, "Now is not the time to fire me. Things are finally becoming clear, and if you give me time, I can turn this team around."
De Bontin was momentarily speechless, stunned by Situ Yunbing's conviction and his deep analysis of the squad's problems. After a few moments, he shook his head slightly, still doubtful. "What's the use of all this talk? The players are against you. How can you possibly move forward?"
Situ Yunbing knew that arguing or debating with De Bontin wouldn't change the situation. He needed to pivot quickly. Taking a deep breath, he spoke with purpose. "Alright, let me get straight to the point. Everyone thinks Monaco is already at rock bottom—there's no lower we can go.
We lost to Lorient at home, which should never happen. If we can't even beat them here, what hope is there? You can look for a new coach, but while you do that, let me continue my work. Typically, it takes at least three months to measure the effectiveness of a coach, but I only need half that time."
De Bontin raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious.
Situ Yunbing pressed on. "By the end of October, we will have played six more league matches. Give me until then—let me see this through, and we can evaluate the situation after those six games."
De Bontin leaned back in his chair, considering the offer. Firing Situ Yunbing would cost the club 60,000 euros—a small price to pay. But the real problem wasn't just the money. It was the fact that there was no clear successor lined up. A rushed replacement could plunge the team into further disarray. Monaco was already in chaos—bringing in someone new without a plan would only make things worse.
He stared sharply at Situ Yunbing, his expression hardening. "Alright," De Bontin said, his voice firm. "I'll give you another month and a half. But I have conditions. In the next six league matches, you must win at least three games."
Situ Yunbing stood taller, his presence suddenly commanding. He replied with conviction, "Deal."
De Bontin wasn't done. "And there can be no two-game losing streak during that time."
Situ Yunbing nodded confidently. "Understood."
The chairman's eyes narrowed. "You should remember that, because after losing to Lorient, you cannot lose the next match."
Situ Yunbing remained unfazed. "No problem."
De Bontin's tone grew harsher as he laid out the final terms. "If you lose the next match, or if you lose two consecutive games at any point before November, or if you fail to secure three wins in these six matches, I don't want to hear any excuses from you. The only thing I want to see is your resignation letter on my desk."
Situ Yunbing didn't flinch. He met De Bontin's gaze directly and said, "A word is a word. I'll deliver."
With that, he turned and headed toward the door. Just as he reached the threshold, he paused, turning back to face the chairman.
"Mr. Chairman, I have one more condition," Situ Yunbing added, his tone measured but firm. "I've brought in an assistant—he's not on a contract yet. But if I'm still here in November, I want the club to offer him one. It doesn't have to be extravagant, just on par with the minimum standards for the other members of the coaching staff. Is that fair?"
De Bontin leaned forward slightly, a faint, amused smile crossing his lips. "Fine," he said, his expression unreadable. "No problem. If you're still here in November, he'll get his contract."
Situ Yunbing gave a brief nod of gratitude. "Thank you."
Without another word, he opened the office door and walked out with a determined stride, already formulating the plan for Monaco's next critical match.
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