The Coaching System
Chapter 296: Twenty-Seven Candles

Chapter 296: Twenty-Seven Candles

The barbecue smoke wafted across the Barnes family garden, carrying the mouthwatering scent of charred meat and lighter fluid. Nathan stood by the grill, tongs in hand, watching sausages bubble and split while his five-year-old daughter, Emma, tugged at his shorts.

"Dad, when can we bake the cake?" She asked, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"After everyone eats, love." Nathan replied, flipping a burger, grease spat against his forearm. "Go find your brother."

Emma dashed toward the climbing frame, where her seven-year-old brother, Oliver, hung upside down, showing off for Silva’s girlfriend, who was snapping photos on her phone. Beneath the apple tree, the Brazilian winger sat with his shirt sleeves rolled up, laughing at something Vélez had whispered in rapid Spanish.

Sarah Barnes emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray of bread rolls. At twenty-seven, with her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, she still wore the apron that read "World’s Best Mum"–a Christmas gift from Oliver.

"Need help?" she asked, setting the tray on the picnic table, which was already crowded with salads and sides.

Nathan shook his head. "Nearly done."

Across the garden, Chapman sat cross-legged on the grass with his fiancée, both engrossed in a card game with Holloway and Cox. The young goalkeeper kept glancing at his phone between hands.

"Expecting someone?" Chapman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cox shrugged. "Mum said she might drop by later."

Lowe and Walsh had claimed the wooden bench near the fence. The veteran midfielder nursed a beer while Walsh animatedly demonstrated something with his hands–likely explaining a goal celebration from last weekend.

Kang stood alone by the flower beds, studying Sarah’s roses with the same intensity he applied to match footage. Munteanu approached him, carrying two bottles.

"For the garden expert," the Romanian said, offering one.

Kang accepted it with a small bow. "My grandmother grew roses in Seoul. These are... a different variety."

"English roses are stubborn," Munteanu replied. "Like English weather."

Near the back door, Richter crouched beside Emma, showing her something in a small cardboard box. She squealed with delight, drawing curious looks from the adults.

"What’s he got there?" Sarah asked, approaching with a fresh beer for Nathan.

"Probably something that’ll need feeding," Nathan replied, accepting the bottle. "He’s been talking about getting a pet."

The German striker lifted a small hamster from the box. Emma clapped her hands while Oliver abandoned the climbing frame to get a closer look.

"His name is Fritz," Richter announced to the gathering crowd. "A birthday present for the family."

Sarah shot Nathan a look. He raised his hands in surrender. "First time I’m hearing of it."

Rasmussen and Bardghji sat on the patio steps, the Danish winger strumming an acoustic guitar while the young Swede attempted to sing along in broken English. Their voices carried across the garden–not particularly good, but filled with enthusiastic.

Obi wandered between groups, his plate already loaded with food despite the official meal not having started. The young striker had claimed he was "taste-testing for quality control" when Sarah caught him sneaking sausages twenty minutes earlier.

"Food’s ready," Nathan called out, wiping his hands on his apron.

Players converged on the table with the organized chaos of a team accustomed to sharing meals. Plates filled quickly, conversations overlapped in multiple languages, and children weaved between legs, reaching for dropped napkins.

Sarah sat beside Nathan at the head of the outdoor table they had borrowed from the community center. Twenty adults, two children, and one hamster named Fritz currently exploring a makeshift pen Richter had constructed from kitchen chairs.

"Speech!" Chapman called out, raising his beer bottle.

"No speeches," Nathan replied quickly. "Just food."

"Come on," Silva insisted. "The birthday boy has to say something."

Nathan stood reluctantly, with Sarah’s hand resting on his lower back for support. The conversations gradually quieted.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming. It means a lot to have..." He paused, looking around the table at the faces that had become familiar over three seasons together. "To have mates who actually want to spend their day off here instead of somewhere decent."

Laughter rippled around the table.

"Seriously though. Sarah worked hard on this, so eat everything, or she’ll have words with you at the next family day."

More laughter erupted, and Sarah blushed, waving him to sit down.

"And thanks for the hamster, Tobi. We’ll discuss that later."

Richter grinned, raising his own bottle in salute.

Conversations resumed as people returned to their food. Kang had somehow ended up discussing gardening with Sarah’s mother, who’d arrived fashionably late carrying a bottle of wine and strong opinions about slug control.

Emma approached the table, cradling Fritz in her cupped hands.

"Can Fritz have some cake?" she asked, her eyes wide with hope.

"Hamsters don’t eat cake, sweetheart," Sarah said gently.

"What about sausage?"

"No sausage either."

Emma’s face fell. Vélez leaned down from his chair.

"Fritz likes special hamster food," he said seriously. "Much better than human food. It makes him strong."

"Really?"

"Really. We’ll ask Uncle Tobi to show you later."

Emma brightened, carefully returning Fritz to his pen before climbing onto Nathan’s lap.

The afternoon stretched on. Oliver challenged anyone willing to a penalty shootout competitions against the garage door. Cox, predictably, proved unbeatable until Obi arrived and somehow managed to hit the crossbar formed by the guttering on his first attempt.

"Show off," muttered Walsh, who had missed the target entirely on three attempts.

As evening approached, candles appeared on a chocolate cake that Sarah had somehow hidden in the open-plan kitchen. Twenty-seven candles crowded together, their flames dancing in the gentle breeze.

"Make a wish, Dad," Emma whispered, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

Nathan looked around the garden. His wife beside him, children healthy and happy, and teammates who had become genuine friends crowded around a borrowed table. Just three years ago, he been playing for Morecambe in League Two, questioning whether football was a viable career or merely a delay into adulthood.

He closed his eyes and blew out the candles.

Applause erupted as the flames flickered and died. Sarah began cutting slices of cake while conversations resumed around the table.

"What did you wish for?" Chapman asked quietly.

Nathan glanced toward the house, where Jake Wilson stood in the kitchen window, phone pressed to his ear, his expression serious despite the celebration just twenty feet away. The manager had arrived an hour ago, stayed for one drink, and then disappeared inside for what seemed like an important call.

"Just... for things to stay like this," Nathan replied, though even as he spoke, he felt a tightening in his chest. Across the street, a figure half-hidden behind a parked car watched the garden with keen interest. Not a neighbor–Nathan knew all them. This was someone else entirely.

The figure raised what looked like a camera, pointed it toward the gathering, and quickly lowered it when Nathan’s gaze locked onto him.

Chapman followed Nathan’s line of sight. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," Nathan replied, but his attention remained fixed on the street.

The figure had vanished.

Jake emerged from the house, sliding his phone into his pocket. His expression was carefully neutral, but Nathan had played under him long enough to recognize the signs of controlled tension.

"Sorry about that," Jake said, reclaiming his seat. "Work never stops."

"Everything sorted?" Sarah asked politely.

"Getting there," Jake replied, but his eyes briefly met Nathan’s across the table.

As the party wound down and players began saying their goodbyes, Nathan helped Sarah clear the plates while keeping one eye on the street. Nothing unusual now–just parked cars and evening shadows.

Yet the feeling lingered.

Later, after the last guest had left and the children were in bed, Nathan stood at the front window while Sarah finished washing up.

"Good party," she called from the kitchen.

"Yeah," he replied, scanning the empty street.