The Coaching System

21st Minute—

Rapid Wien were settling into the game, their confidence growing. Bradford had started brightly, but now the hosts were finding space, moving the ball with rhythm. Their midfield trio—Oswald, Ljubic, and Kerschbaum—began dictating play, quick, sharp touches pulling Bradford's shape apart bit by bit.

Jake could see it happening. Too much space between the lines. Too much freedom for Rapid's playmakers.

Then came the warning.

Oswald picked up the ball just inside Bradford's half, Vélez stepping toward him, trying to close him down. But Oswald was a step ahead. Instead of taking a touch, he let the ball roll through his legs—an intentional dummy that completely took Vélez out of the play.

Bianchi and Fletcher reacted late. The gap was there.

Burgstaller saw it.

He burst through the opening, accelerating into the final third. Fletcher turned, scrambling to recover, but the Rapid striker was already gone, driving straight toward goal. The home crowd roared as the chance unfolded.

One-on-one with Emeka.

Burgstaller had time. He had options. He could have gone low, slotted it past the keeper. He could have taken a touch, forced Emeka to commit.

Instead, he went for power.

A thunderous right-footed strike—but it lacked control. The ball sailed high, rising too quickly, smashing into the stands behind the goal.

A massive let-off.

Burgstaller held his head in his hands, disbelief on his face. Oswald threw his arms up in frustration. The Rapid bench groaned. That should have been 2-0.

On the other side, Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He turned to Robert, his voice low but firm.

"Too easy," he muttered. "Way too easy."

Robert nodded. "Fletcher and Bianchi lost him."

Jake clenched his fists. They couldn't afford lapses like this. Not at this level. Not in Europe.

25th Minute –

Bradford weren't backing down. They weren't here to sit deep and absorb pressure—they pressed, they harassed, they forced mistakes.

And it nearly paid off.

Rapid Wien were attempting to build from the back, their defenders passing between themselves, trying to draw Bradford out. But Vélez saw an opportunity. As Kerschbaum received the ball just outside his own box, Vélez exploded forward, closing him down with a burst of intensity.

Panic.

Kerschbaum tried to spin away but miscontrolled the ball, a fraction too heavy. That was all Lowe needed.

Like a predator sensing weakness, Lowe pounced—lunging in, nicking the ball away cleanly. A perfect interception.

Rapid were caught. Their defense was stretched, their shape broken.

Lowe didn't hesitate. One quick glance up, then an immediate through ball—sliding it between two defenders, straight into Obi's path.

Obi was on it in a flash, his speed too much for the recovering centre-backs. He took one touch with his right foot, knocking the ball into space, leaving his marker trailing.

Now it was just him and the keeper.

The stadium held its breath.

Obi opened his body, eyes locked on the far corner. He aimed for placement over power, trying to guide it into the bottom right corner, curling it just beyond the keeper's reach.

But he got it wrong.

The ball curled… but too much.

It drifted agonizingly past the post, skimming the outside of the net.

A collective groan from the traveling Bradford fans. Obi stood frozen for a second, hands on his head, frustration etched across his face. He knew that was a golden chance.

Jake clapped on the sideline, his voice loud and clear.

"Keep going! It'll come!"

Obi exhaled, nodding to himself. No time to dwell. The next chance had to count.

31st Minute –

Bradford had been holding firm. They had weathered spells of Rapid Wien pressure, pressed high when the opportunity was there, and created a couple of their own half-chances. But football can be cruel—one mistake, one lapse in concentration, and everything shifts.

The warning signs had been there. Rapid were starting to dominate possession, their midfield trio pulling the strings. Ibáñez and Vélez worked tirelessly to close spaces, but the home side were patient, waiting for gaps to appear.

Then came the mistake.

Bianchi stepped forward, looking to intercept a pass meant for Burgstaller just outside the box. But he mistimed it. The ball slipped through his legs, and Burgstaller spun away, now with a clear run at goal.

Panic.

Bianchi scrambled to recover, lunging after him, but his foot caught Burgstaller's heel. Not a brutal foul, not cynical—just a desperate, mistimed attempt to recover. The Rapid forward stumbled, went down, and before he could even turn to the referee, the whistle had blown.

Free kick.

Jake exhaled sharply on the touchline. A needless foul in a dangerous position.

The referee pointed at the spot just outside the area. Protests were minimal. Bianchi raised his hands slightly, frustrated but knowing he had no argument.

Marco Grüll stepped up. The Allianz Stadion buzzed with anticipation.

He took his time, adjusting the ball, stepping back, eyes fixed on the goal. Bradford's wall stood firm—Fletcher, Rojas, Vélez, and Taylor side by side, arms linked. Emeka positioned himself, barking orders, bouncing on his toes, his eyes scanning every inch of the situation.

The whistle blew.

Grüll took two quick steps and struck the ball with his left foot.

Pure precision.

The ball curled over the wall, dipping viciously. Emeka reacted, springing off his line, stretching his frame as far as it would go. His fingertips grazed the ball—but not enough.

It kissed the underside of the bar and crashed into the net.

The stadium exploded. Green and white scarves waved in the air, Rapid fans roaring in celebration.

Emeka lay on the ground for a second, staring at the ball nestled in his net. He had been close. So close. But close didn't matter.

Bianchi slapped his hands together in frustration, while Rojas pointed at his teammates, rallying them to stay focused.

Jake stood still on the sideline, expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, he clapped twice.

"Reset! Reset!" he barked, his voice cutting through the noise.

There was still a long way to go.