The Coaching System

Wembley Belongs to Bradford

The final whistle pierced through the air like a thunderclap.

For a second—just a second—there was silence.

And then, Wembley exploded.

The Bradford fans—who had spent the last 120 minutes living on the edge of heartbreak—erupted into a frenzy.

Scarves flew into the air. Flares lit up the stands in claret and amber. Thousands of voices merged into one deafening roar.

Bradford City were going up.

On the pitch, players dropped to their knees, overwhelmed.

Min-jae, who had given everything, collapsed onto his back, staring up at the sky.

Carter sprinted toward Okafor, tackling him in celebration.

Silva stood frozen for a moment, hands on his head, before letting out a scream of pure emotion.

Novak?

He was still running, shirtless, arms stretched wide, roaring toward the crowd.

Jake stood near the touchline, watching it all unfold.

For a moment, he didn't move.

Didn't react.

Didn't even breathe.

They had done it.

Bradford City had clawed their way back from the dead.

And now, they were League One bound.

Jake Soaks It In

Paul Roberts was the first to reach him.

He grabbed Jake's shoulders, shaking him violently.

"You crazy son of a—" Paul laughed, shaking his head. "You actually did it!"

Jake let out a breath, a small smirk forming.

The noise was deafening, but inside, it was quiet.

All the pressure. All the work. The weight he had carried since stepping into this job… it was gone.

The only thing left was the sound of his players, his team, celebrating like their lives depended on it.

Jake finally nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "We did."

And then the Fans Invade the Pitch

Security didn't stand a chance.

The Bradford fans had waited too long for this.

The first few leaped over the barriers, sprinting onto the field, their arms raised in disbelief.

Then—waves of them followed.

Hundreds. Then thousands.

They stormed the pitch, engulfing their heroes.

Novak was hoisted onto shoulders, his arms raised in triumph.

Silva disappeared into a crowd of fans, a mix of laughter, chants, and pure chaos.

Jake watched, letting it happen.

This was their moment.

He stood at the edge of it all, arms crossed, watching his team get lost in the celebration.

They deserved every second of it.

Novak's Redemption –

A pack of reporters finally managed to break through the chaos, cameras flashing wildly.

Novak barely had a second to breathe before he was swarmed.

Still shirtless, his body glistening with sweat, he stood in the middle of it all—grinning like a man who had just lived through the most unbelievable night of his life.

Microphones were shoved toward his face, questions flying from all directions.

"Novak!" one journalist shouted above the noise. "How does it feel? You weren't even supposed to play—and now you've won it!"

Novak exhaled sharply, still trying to process everything. His chest was rising and falling fast, his heartbeat still hammering from the match.

For a second, he didn't answer.

His mind flashed back—to the injury, to the rehab, to sitting on the bench wondering if he'd even get a chance this season.

And now?

Now, he had just written himself into Bradford's history.

He finally looked up, his voice raw, filled with emotion.

"I had to," he said simply.

Another reporter leaned in. "Had to?"

Novak nodded, swallowing hard.

"I owed them this," he said, his gaze shifting toward the fans.

The words hung in the air.

No bragging. No theatrics. Just the truth.

Because Novak knew—this wasn't just his story.

It belonged to the fans who had believed in him.

To the teammates who had fought alongside him.

To the manager who had trusted him when no one else would.

Another question came, but Novak didn't hear it.

Because suddenly—he was yanked backward.

His teammates had found him.

Carter wrapped an arm around his neck, dragging him toward the celebration.

"Oi, superstar!" Silva laughed, shoving him from the other side. "Quit talking, we've got a trophy to lift!"

Novak barely had time to react before the entire squad engulfed him, pulling him back into the madness.

Laughter. Cheers. Pure, unfiltered joy.

The cameras kept flashing, but Novak wasn't paying attention anymore.

Because this?

This was the moment that mattered.

Bradford wasn't done partying yet.

The Trophy Lift –

The squad gathered near the tunnel, waiting for the moment.

The walk up the Wembley steps.

The trophy.

Barnes, the captain, led the charge. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the silver prize, standing under the flashing lights.

He turned, looking over his shoulder.

Straight at Jake.

Then, slowly, he held the trophy out toward him.

"This is yours, boss," Barnes said, voice steady. "You built this team."

Jake shook his head.

"No," he said, stepping back. "This is ours."

Barnes grinned.

And then—

He lifted it high.

Champagne exploded. The roar of the Bradford fans shook Wembley.

Bradford City, against all odds, had done it.

Press Conference

The energy was still electric as Jake sat down in front of the microphones.

The journalists were buzzing.

The questions came fast.

"Jake, what does this win mean for Bradford?"

Jake leaned forward slightly.

"It means we're back where we belong. But we're not stopping here."

Another journalist spoke up.

"You dominated the playoffs. Were you ever in doubt?"

Jake smirked.

"Not for a second."

Laughter rippled through the room.

Then came the biggest question.

"And what's next for you?"

Jake exhaled, tapping his fingers on the table.

"League One," he said.

A pause.

"And after that?"

Jake smirked again.

"We'll see."

A Quiet Moment –

Away from the cameras, away from the noise, Jake found a quiet spot in the tunnel.

He pulled out his phone.

Dialed.

A few rings. Then—

A familiar voice.

"Hey," his wife answered.

Jake let out a breath, closing his eyes for a second.

"We did it," he said softly.

Silence.

Then laughter.

"I know," she said. "I saw. I've never screamed at a TV so much in my life."

Jake smiled.

He ran a hand through his hair, finally letting himself relax.

"How's the baby?" he asked.

"Asleep. Unlike you," she teased.

Jake chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't think I'll sleep tonight."

The Parade –

The streets of Bradford were alive.

The entire city had poured into the roads, flooding the streets in claret and amber.

An open-top bus crawled through the heart of it all, the players waving, singing, celebrating.

Flares. Fireworks.

Bradford had waited years for a moment like this.

And now, they had it.

Silva hung over the edge of the bus, leading chants with fans.

Carter and Benson danced near the front, arms around each other.

Novak?

He was still shirtless.

Jake stood at the back, watching.

Just watching.

Taking it all in.

This team.

This city.

This moment.

He had built something special.

And yet—

The journey wasn't over.