The Puppeteer

The left foot of Roberts was placed firmly under Lo Sambou's thigh, and the ensuing contact had sent the teenage striker hurtling to the ground with a snapping sound that echoed from the stadium as the player stayed on his feet but only looked towards his manager, confusion in his eyes.

But Gourcuff could only hurl the same words at the referee.

"What? No, this is a foul! A BIG FOUL!"

The Le Havre coach stood at the touchline, a wild look in his eye as he looked towards the ref for what could be a decisive moment in this match. it was all but certain that Lo Sambou made a last-ditch tackle in the penalty box, but the question was whether it was a foul or just an on-field accident. If it is the former, a penalty would be awarded and Le Havre could erase all hope of getting anything from the match.

"No, no this is a foul... Injured leg... Ow"

The assistant shook his head, sighing heavily before whistling the referee to blow for the break. "This is a shambles, and Le Havre is behind as of now. There is no doubt about it, it is a misplay by the Le Havre defender."

"IT'S CONFIRMED!!! THE OFFICIAL AWARDS LORIENT WITH THE PENALTY!"

Stade Oceane erupted into a symphony of boos as the Le Havre fans booed the referee and yelled "Foul, fou, fou" as the referee's announcement was accompanied by everyone's internal frustration.

And Gourcuff was grateful for the disaster as it turned in his favour. Both of his strikers were specifically targeted, by a relegation-tipped team that shouldn't even be in Ligue 1. Everything about this club would suggest Lorient should win comfortably, yet this wasn't the case as the second half gave them incredible pressure.

This penalty would put the nail right into the coffin for Le Havre. Even as the Le Havre stands booed Gamerio, trying to unsettle the penalty taker, it was all for naught as the striker struck the ball with pure power. There were no tricks to the penalty as Gamerio pounced on the ball with his left foot and the kick went straight to the net.

Stade Oceane was silenced.

Kai gritted his teeth at the penalty. It was undeserved for Lorient to have such a cheap opportunity. The coach was repulsed, what did they even need to do to win? He stared at Gourcuff, tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't cry often, but today, he was in no mood to be pacified.

He couldn't understand how Lorient had even gotten 2 goals in the first place. The referee had completely blown his whistle all the time and there were some dodgy fouls given against Lorient as well, but such a soft tackle garnered a penalty rewarded against them. This was the greatest unjust, yet against the obstacles, he stood tall. Still hinged on the possibility of things turning around in their favour.

The score remained 2–0.

~~~

The dressing room remained rather quiet as each player received a solitary towel that had a white strip on the bottom. Most of the players had merely just switched to white clothing when the coaches had finally settled down after the game, refusing to touch anything.

Even with the downturned result, Marley's mood was still positive. Thee manager's mood rarely deviated, always able to maintain a neutral state of mind at all times. He wasn't one to be easily upset, yet he wasn't one to be easily overjoyed. "Stable" was the word to describe him.

The manager well understood the current mental state of the players. He didn't want to show his face either. For the players, they wanted to be home, and for the management, they didn't want to show up on the post-game comments. Marley spoke the few words he thought of on the spot, offering solace to the players as he felt it was a suitable time to deliver his consolation.

His assistant stood closely by him in the dressing room as Marley noticed Lanier and Kai. The two "buddies" were having a discussion on their own, no doubt it was on the match that had just previously concluded.

When he noticed Marley, the duo moved towards him and offered their kind words. Marley accepted their kind words and did the same for the assistant as well.

But Marley wasn't done just yet. He wished he could continue staying in the dressing room, but duties call beyond the management of his players as his presence is required elsewhere. Outside to locker room, the press officer waited patiently.

"Mr Marley,"

"Officier."

"Manager, it's time to face the press."

"The hell should I?"

"Only if you feel ready. I can call off the post-match interview at any time, but there are consequences..."

The press officer gave a meaningful look at the pot-bellied manager as he hinted at the repercussions. Journalists are changing, and news and messages spread like wildfire under their control. Being a "boss" made Marley more responsible, showing up for interviews is almost a requirement to keep on their good side.

In a few hours, he found himself in the main press room, surrounded by about 20 people. There is an air of expectancy from the journalist.

Marley looked at the cluster of reporters and sighed. He had decided that he would be humble and he wished the interview to be over as soon as possible. The manager eyed the press officer as he questioned why the interview has yet to begin. He had already been sitting here for a while, yet none of the reporters has been called to talk with him.

The press officer, now the moderator, announced, "Seems like the manager Gourcuff has a pressing matter he needs to tend to immediately. The Lorient staff has indicated that there will be a delay before Gourcuff arrives for the interview."

Tension filled the air. There was no such thing as an accidental delay. It was clear Gourcuff is igniting a silent war between him and Marley.

"Let's carry on without Mr Gourcuff," The pot-bellied suddenly spoke to the microphone, causing all voices to instantly cease.

"This interview is of low priority to him."

Journalistic intent filled the interviewees' hearts as they could already foresee tomorrow's headlines. The discreet jab sent to Manager Gourcuff could surely be an eye-catching title for the subsequent article. Their focus aligned on Marley as they reevaluated the individual in charge of Le Havre.

"Yes. You in the front row. Please ask your question." The press officer directed the audience.

"Yes Mr Marley, I have a question for you," a female in the front row almost shouted, "What are your thoughts on Le Havre's frugal spending in the summer transfer window?"

The press officer almost cursed out loud as he was almost expecting this question. "The manager has indicated he has the right to remain silent. He has no comment on the question. Next person ple—"

Yet the manager raised his hand as he interrupted the press officer. Marley understood the officer's good intentions, but he saw no need for him to cover this issue. Marley eyed the female journalist once more.

"No. It's not frugal. But we didn't need to spend the money. "

The lady had a cheeky smile as she realised the fish has caught on her bait. "Didn't need to spend the money? Can I confirm Mr Marley's opinion that Le Havre has spent an adequate amount of money this season? Even when the team is at rock bottom of Ligue 1? I'm not here to be disrespectful but everything on the pitch suggest Le Havre is in dire need of reinforcements."

Marley uttered with a smirk, "Yes, I do agree. I have no problem with you reporting how much we have spent in the transfer window. However, why do you have to stress the fact that we are rock bottom?"

The lady stared back at Marley, a hint of curiosity burning in her eyes. She stated her case, "Counting this lost. Le Havre is 10 points adrift from 19th place Caen."

"Really?" Marley had to force himself not to shoot back. "Is that why you are here asking this question? Because we are an inglorious rock bottom in Ligue 1?"

She continued to stare at Marley without blinking. Marley almost reminded himself that this is business for both parties involved. She is the reporter.

"Well," The lady replied, "Isn't it?"

Marley drew in a breath. "The season is long. This is a marathon, not a race. The turtle eventually won against the rabbit. That doesn't mean we should call the results early.."

Another reporter raised his hand. "Maxime Baca had been an individual that often blur the lines between passion and nefariousness. Kevin Gamerio and Marama Vahirua are the unfortunate recipients of Baca's indifference. Thoughts?"

Marley saw through the intention in the journalist's phrasing of the question. He had a condescending smile on his face as he addressed him. "On Kevin Gamerio and Marama Vahirua? Injured? They look fine to me..."

At this moment, someone out of earshot shouted from the back. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY LOOK FINE!? GAMERIO WAS ON THE GROUND CRYING!"

The lady was furious. She obviously felt offended by this statement. "YOU CALL YOURSELF A MANAGER?! WHERE IS YOUR DIGNITY?" She shouted back.

The press officer was barely able to contain his rage. "Please! Please! Please! Calm down. Wait for your turn."

Marley looked at the lady and simply shrugged his shoulders. "Please. I don't mind a debate. But calm down. Don't like the usual headlines. Ignore it. Like a lion, we have faced so many challenges in the past few years. So take your time and think through the article's main point."

Every word was like a lightning strike sent their way as the journalists felt discomfited. But Marley had his own plan in mind. He was like a puppeteer, controlling the room with his subtle gestures. The lady kept protesting, the male journalist just glared at the lady like she was the kitchen's sewage, and the male journalist with the camera didn't have a clue what to focus on.

Marley only kept smiling, yet his facial gestures had a new level of meaning "Make it a relevant headline and you'll see that we can enjoy a healthy debate. However, don't try your luck with me. I'm only here for your benefit."