Glory Of The Football Manager System

Chapter 95: Setting Things Right II

Next on my list was Mark Crossley. Of all the conversations I had to have, this was the one that sat like a stone in my gut. He wasn’t just a player who had left; he was the captain, my lieutenant on the pitch, a friend.

His departure had felt like a personal betrayal, a knife to the gut that had almost derailed our entire season.

But then I’d seen him in the stands on the final day, his face a canvas of raw, conflicting emotions pride, regret, hope, and pain.

He hadn’t just been watching a football match; he’d been watching his family win without him. He deserved more than closure. He deserved a way back.

We met in a quiet park halfway between our houses. It was a place of jarring normality, with kids screaming on the swings and old men walking yapping terriers.

He was sitting on a bench overlooking a duck pond, hunched over in a plain grey hoodie, looking smaller than I remembered.

The confident, commanding centre-half was gone, replaced by a man whose shoulders were slumped under an invisible weight. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks.

"I’m so sorry, Danny," he said before I could even sit down, his voice raspy and low. He didn’t look at me, just stared at the murky water. "I never meant for it to happen like that. Chen... he told me the deal was for the end of the season. A clean break. I didn’t know about the loophole, I swear on my kids’ lives. I wouldn’t have done that to you. To the lads."

"I know," I said, sitting down beside him, leaving a careful foot of space between us. It felt like a chasm. "I saw you at the match, Mark. You were still with us."

ever had to do, watching you

gently. "And you were a part of that. You were our leader for almost a year, Mark. We wouldn’t have been in a position to win the league without the work you put in, the

bitter, hollow laugh escaped his lips, a sound utterly devoid of

I asked, though a cold dread was already beginning to

Due in August. When Chen offered me that three-year deal, the security... I couldn’t see straight, Danny. All I saw was a future where I didn’t have to worry every time the car broke down. I thought I was doing the right thing.

went ballistic. Called me this morning, screaming down the phone, blaming

clarity. It wasn’t just ego. It was a gamble. Chen had used Mark’s life, his family’s future, as a chip in a high-stakes

do that," I said, my voice low and tight with anger. "A

say otherwise," Mark said, the fight completely gone from his voice. "They’ll bury me in legal fees I can’t afford. I’ve got nothing, Danny. No club. No

park fading into a dull roar in my ears. My sympathy for Mark was curdling into a cold, hard fury directed squarely at

our club; he’d tried to destroy this man’s life, all for a bet. He had

told him then about the Crystal Palace offer, about my decision to leave. He listened patiently, the sad, knowing look on his face deepening with

Danny," he said when I’d finished, and for a moment, a flicker of his old self, the supportive captain, returned. "You’re the best manager

means a lot," I said. "But I’m not leaving Moss Side in the lurch. I’m recommending Scott Miller as the new

"Good choice. The lads respect him. He’s a

he’s going to need help," I continued, turning to