Football Dynasty

The day before the Lincoln City match, at precisely 7:30 AM, Andrea Pirlo locked the door of his dormitory room in Manchester and made his way down the staircase. He felt light on his feet—recharged from a hearty breakfast of yogurt, whole-grain toast, creamed rice, tinned fruit, and fresh juice.

He took his nutrition seriously. The club's dietician was strict, insisting that every player begin the day with energy-rich foods. Sugars and starches quickly converted to glucose, fueling high-intensity training. Pirlo didn't complain—he embraced the structure.

As he bounded down the last flight of stairs and reached the lobby, he was about to push open the front door when something caught his eye.

A familiar figure stood near the mailboxes, thumbing through a stack of envelopes.

"Joan!" Pirlo called out.

The man looked up. It was Joan Capdevila.

"Oh—good morning, neighbor," Capdevila replied with a half-smile, his attention returning to a small package in his hand.

"You've got quite the haul," Pirlo said, nodding toward the bundle of mail in Capdevila's grasp.

"Oh, this?" Capdevila shrugged. "It's for learning English. As a footballer, you've got to know a few international languages—especially if you want to join clubs outside your home country. I'm planning to buy German, Spanish, and Italian courses next."

While everyday conversations like this felt easy enough for Capdevila, it was a different story in the locker room. The language there was fast, chaotic—full of shouted instructions and mid-change tactics. He once missed a critical message from the coach and had never forgotten it. That's why he took his language studies seriously.

"You haven't gotten ready for training yet?" Pirlo asked, noting that Capdevila was still in his pajamas.

Capdevila looked confused. "There's still 30 minutes before it starts. Why are you heading out so early?"

Pirlo shrugged. "Can't help it. Today we're reviewing the last two training sessions."

He glanced at his watch. "The bus leaves in four minutes. I've got to rush to Lerkendal for the session. Let's catch up another time."

A shuttle bus—arranged by Richard—ran every 30 minutes between the new dormitory and Maine Road.

When Pirlo finally arrived at the stadium, he lifted his head and smiled, relieved to see that the sky had cleared. No rain today. He tightened the scarf around his neck, slung his Nike Italy gym bag over one shoulder, and broke into a light jog toward the Maine Road training ground.

As soon as he stepped inside, he greeted everyone he passed—staff, assistants, even the janitor. Eventually, he spotted his translator, a cheerful man fluent in both English and Italian.

"Morning," Pirlo said, lifting his hand for a casual high-five.

"Morning," the translator replied with a grin, slapping his hand back. "The coaches are already waiting for you in the locker room."

"Thanks for the heads-up," Pirlo said with a nod and continued down the hall.

He had arrived early because he'd been briefed that a review session would take place before training—an in-depth breakdown of the previous two days.

At Maine Road, cameras had already been installed specifically for Prozone, allowing staff to track player movement during training. While the data was still mostly limited to 2D positional heatmaps, it gave a helpful visual on whether players stayed in position or drifted.

As Pirlo opened the door to the locker room, he was greeted by the coaching staff and Ramm Mylvaganam, who was busy fiddling with his laptop.

"You've arrived?" Coach Walford looked up from his notebook.

"Yes, Coach," Pirlo replied, settling into one of the sofas.

"Shall we begin?" Mylvaganam asked, glancing at Pirlo.

Everyone nodded.

"Good. I've been watching your play since the Newcastle United match, and I'm convinced we can make you more effective if we make a few small adjustments—starting with your passing posture. Look at this."

Everyone leaned forward.

"The speed of the kick comes from the rotation of the hips—not the legs. So you need to start strengthening and stretching the muscles that control hip rotation," he explained.

Pirlo and the coaches nodded seriously.

"I've added some exercises to your workout to help improve your backswing speed," Mylvaganam added. "Think of your leg like a bow. When you take a long pass or shot, your leg is the bowstring. The stronger and more elastic it is, the faster and sharper your release. Precision and power don't come from brute strength—it's all about control, snap, and timing. That's your X-factor. Master it, and your long passes will define games."

Pirlo blinked. 'X-factor? What's that supposed to mean?'

He couldn't hold the question back. "What's the X-factor?"

"Oh, that's simple," Mylvaganam replied without even looking up from the screen. "The X-factor is the ability to win matches for your team. It could be creativity, consistency, or even just a touch of luck. Whatever helps the team when it counts."

Pirlo frowned. "So the most skilled player always has the highest X-factor?"

Mylvaganam paused. He turned from his laptop and thought for a moment before answering.

"That's usually the case," he said. "But not always. Some players aren't that flashy or skilled on the ball—but they win games. They always seem to be in the right place at the right time, and they get the decisive goal or make the crucial pass. Those little moments of brilliance? That's the X-factor." He clapped his hands for emphasis.

Pirlo still looked unconvinced, so Mylvaganam continued.

"Let me give you an example. Remember the Manchester United squad with Ryan Giggs and Solskjær?"

Pirlo nodded.

"Giggs was incredible—fast, technical, creative. But in some seasons, he didn't score or assist as much as expected. Meanwhile, Solskjær might only touch the ball a few times—but he'd get inside the box and score the winner. I'd argue that in those moments, Solskjær had a higher X-factor than Giggs, even though Giggs was the better player overall."

Ah, a door suddenly seemed to open for Pirlo.

"In other words," Mylvaganam finished, "to have a high X-factor, you have to perform consistently. You have to be the reason your team wins—not just once, but across many matches."

Pirlo nodded slowly, absorbing every word.

Today's training wasn't too intense, as tomorrow's match against Lincoln City was just around the corner.

Today's focus was mostly on training simulations. Using Prozone, the coaching staff compared the movement and passing of Pirlo, Robbie Savage, and Mark van Bommel with a model player—Pep Guardiola.

PHWEEEEE~!

The piercing sound of the whistle cut through the air—again. It had blown several times already.

Ramm Mylvaganam stood at the edge of the training ground, clipboard in hand, as he gestured for Pirlo, Savage, and Van Bommel to gather. He was about to visually break down their positioning using Prozone's 2D data overlays.

For the next thirty minutes, the trio drilled passing sequences and shot placement under pressure, taking turns alongside goalkeepers Buffon and Lehmann. Every pass was tracked. Every movement logged.

But even after half an hour, the data still hadn't appeared.

Richard, who had arrived earlier and was observing from the side, sighed deeply. Even requesting basic metrics meant waiting for Mylvaganam and his team to process everything by hand. There was no live feedback. The analysis tools were primitive, running on outdated Windows 95 interfaces.

Near the mannequins, Mylvaganam called Pirlo over.

"I'd recommend adding more power to your technique," he said, pointing at a passing clip on the screen.

Pirlo looked surprised. "More power? But I just curled it into the top corner," he said, referring to the free kick he'd just placed beautifully past the wall.

"Yes, but you need to master the technique and posture first before adding more power behind the ball. If you were training to be just a free-kick taker, what you're doing now would be fine. However, if you want to increase both the power and precision of your free kicks beyond the current level, you should start working on it now. Otherwise, it'll be difficult to adjust your technique later, once your posture and body movements are locked into muscle memory."

In the end, most of the sessions over the past two days weren't just about increasing the lethality of Pirlo's passing—they were also about identifying the best candidate for the deep-lying playmaker role Richard had envisioned.

The three main options were Andrea Pirlo, Robbie Savage, and Mark van Bommel.

The results became clear after three days of training:

Robbie Savage – excelled in work rate.

Mark van Bommel – showed strong work rate and solid defensive positioning.

Andrea Pirlo – the ideal model for the DLP/regista role.

Even though it was clear to Richard who would eventually rise above the rest, he didn't say a word to anyone. Let the others compete, let the sessions run their course.

CLAP!

The sharp sound of Robertson's hands echoed across the training ground. Training was done, but one final task remained.

"Alright, gather up!" he called, his voice steady and clear.

The players circled around him, sweat still clinging to their brows, boots caked in the morning's dew.

He took a breath, then announced the starting lineup for tomorrow's League Cup match against Lincoln City, in a 4-5-1 formation:

Goalkeeper: Gianluigi BuffonDefenders: Gianluca Zambrotta, Rio Ferdinand, William Gallas, Joan CapdevilaMidfielders: Andrea Pirlo, Mark van Bommel, Frank Lampard, Jackie McNamara, Theodoros ZagorakisForward: Andriy Shevchenko

Some players exchanged nods. Others looked down, already running through scenarios in their minds. For Pirlo, it was another step in proving he belonged.

Tomorrow, the pitch would do the talking.