The Coaching System

Jake Wilson stood outside his house, staring at the warm glow of the lights inside. Laughter and conversation carried through the walls, the sounds of a family celebration. His family. His wife's family. His teammates.

And yet, the truth weighed on him.

No one inside knew who he really was.

Not Emma, his wife. Not Richard, his father. Not even the players who trusted him with their careers.

Only he knew that he wasn't Jake Wilson.

He took a breath, steeling himself, then stepped inside.

The Celebration – A Party for Baby Ariel

The house was alive with energy. Family members moved between the rooms, chatting over drinks, laughing as they passed around tiny baby gifts for Ariel. Balloons with "Welcome, Ariel!" in soft pink and white floated near the ceiling, and a small cake sat on the kitchen counter, untouched for now.

Jake caught sight of Emma, holding their newborn daughter, beaming as she spoke with guests.

His wife. His child.

He had to remind himself—this is my life now.

Emma turned, catching his eye, and smiled. "There's the man of the hour."

"Not me," Jake said, nodding toward their daughter. "Tonight's all about her."

Emma chuckled and kissed his cheek. It was natural. Effortless. To her, he was still Jake.

But tonight, for the first time, he would be meeting Emma's family as her husband.

And he had to pretend like he knew them.

Meeting Emma's Family – Pretending to Belong

A man approached him—a little taller than Jake, dark hair, strong jawline. He extended his hand, and Jake shook it.

"You don't remember me, do you?" the man asked, grinning.

Jake's mind raced. Shit. Who is he?

Emma, sensing his hesitation, jumped in. "Jake, stop messing around. It's Adam."

Her brother.

Jake forced a laugh, nodding. "Of course, Adam. How've you been?"

Adam smirked. "Better question is—how have you been? You've been... different lately."

Jake tensed.

"Different how?" he asked carefully.

Emma's mother, Linda, appeared, placing a hand on Adam's shoulder. "He means in a good way."

She turned to Jake, studying him with a softness in her eyes.

"You seem... calmer. More patient. Like you're really happy."

Jake felt his stomach twist.

Did that mean the real Jake wasn't like this? Was he supposed to be harsher? More distant?

He smiled, careful not to show hesitation. "Guess being a dad changes you."

Linda's expression softened further. "It does. And it suits you."

Jake pretended like it did.

Confrontation with His Own Father – Resolving Old Wounds

For the first hour, Jake avoided Richard Wilson—the man who had raised the real Jake.

But eventually, their paths crossed.

Richard was standing by the kitchen counter, drink in hand, looking unsure of himself. When he saw Jake, he gave a small nod.

"Jake," he said.

Jake mirrored the nod. "Dad."

A silence stretched between them.

Then Richard sighed. "Look, I know things haven't been perfect between us." He swirled his drink, staring at it. "I was hard on you growing up. Maybe too hard."

Jake said nothing. He knew this wasn't really his problem—but now, it was.

Richard continued, his voice lower now. "I wasn't the father I should've been. I just wanted you to be strong. I didn't realize I was pushing you away."

Jake could hear the regret. He could tell this was the conversation the real Jake never had.

And since the real Jake was gone—this was his moment to fix it.

He set his drink down and met his father's eyes. "Then let's start over."

Richard blinked, caught off guard.

Jake continued, "No more 'should've been' or 'what ifs.' We're here now. Let's just move forward."

Richard studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Alright," he said.

And just like that, it was done.

Not for the real Jake.

But for the Jake that he had become.

The Team Arrives – Brotherhood Beyond Football

The energy inside the house shifted the moment the front door burst open.

"Where's my goddaughter?" Lukas Novak announced dramatically, stepping in like he owned the place.

In his arms, he carried the biggest gift box Jake had ever seen, wrapped in gold paper with an oversized silver ribbon on top. It was almost comically large, as if Novak had gone out of his way to find the most impractical package possible.

"She's not your goddaughter," Silva shot back, strolling in behind him, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a smaller—but more sensibly wrapped—gift in the other.

"You just want the title because it sounds cool," Silva continued, shaking his head.

"That's a lie," Novak declared, his expression completely serious. He turned to Emma, nodding. "But if you need a godfather, I volunteer. I have great wisdom to pass down."

Emma, already laughing, cocked an eyebrow. "You? The guy who thought Italy was a city?"

Novak put a hand on his chest, wounded. "That was a joke."

Emma smirked. "It wasn't."

Harper leaned in from the doorway. "Wait, what? I wasn't here for that story."

"It's fake news," Novak insisted, walking toward the living room to drop off his ridiculous present.

"I was there," Silva said. "We were in a team meeting, and Gaffer asked if anyone had been to Italy. Novak goes, 'Yeah, I heard it's a nice city.'"

Laughter exploded from the players now filling the house.

Novak raised a hand. "In my defense, I was tired."

"It was ten in the morning," Silva said flatly.

Jake leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching as the team spread through the house, turning the family gathering into something much bigger.

The kitchen became a gathering spot, with Silva and Rasmussen opening bottles, pouring drinks, and handing out beers to whoever wanted them.

The living room transformed into an impromptu dance floor when Raphael Mensah decided to challenge anyone to out-dance him.

Richter, Harper, and Fletcher attempted to join in, but none of them had even a fraction of Mensah's rhythm. Fletcher gave up first, retreating to the sofa. Harper, however, was too competitive for his own good.

"Watch this," he announced confidently.

He stepped forward, rolled his shoulders, then proceeded to execute what could only be described as the most painfully awkward robot dance anyone had ever seen.

Silva choked on his drink. Novak clapped. Mensah fell to his knees, laughing.

"Harper," Jake said, shaking his head. "Please stop."

Harper didn't stop. Instead, he attempted a spin, lost his balance, and nearly took out the coffee table in the process.

Rasmussen caught him just in time. "Mate, you're gonna get yourself injured before the next match."

Jake just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is my team."

A moment later, a loud crash came from the kitchen.

Silva froze, holding an empty bottle in one hand, eyes darting toward the source of the sound. The cabinet door was now slightly ajar—and something had very clearly fallen behind it.

"That was not my fault," Silva said immediately.

Richards squinted. "Then why do you look guilty?"

Silva cleared his throat. "We move on."

The chaos, the banter, the complete lack of professionalism—Jake had never loved this group more.

His football family blended seamlessly with his real family.

His father, Richard, was in the corner, having a drink with Novak and Min-jae, laughing about some old football stories.

Emma's brother, Adam, was deep in conversation with Mensah, discussing Premier League teams while Emma stood nearby, watching them with a soft smile.

The baby, Ariel, was completely unfazed by all of it, sleeping peacefully in Emma's arms as if none of this noise affected her.

For the first time that night, Jake felt something real.

Not pressure. Not uncertainty.

Not the weight of knowing that he wasn't really Jake Wilson.

Just a moment of pure, unfiltered joy.

And maybe, just maybe—that was enough.

A Quiet Moment – Jake's Reflection

As the night wound down, Jake found himself standing near the back of the house, looking at everything unfolding around him.

Emma was in the corner, rocking Ariel in her arms, smiling as her mother spoke to her.

His teammates were still chatting, making ridiculous bets on who would score the most goals this season.

And his father—his new father—was actually laughing with Adam, something the system's memories suggested hadn't happened in years.

This was a life he wasn't meant to have.

But he had it now.

"No one knows the truth. Only me."

And maybe—that was okay.

He had spent weeks trying to navigate this new existence, trying to separate the past from the present.

But standing here, watching his wife, his daughter, his team, his family—this wasn't the past anymore.

This was his reality now.

And for the first time, he stopped thinking about the life he lost—

And started embracing the life he had.