The rest of the first half passed without anything major happening. Neither of the two teams had managed to break the deadlock despite their best efforts. The assistant manager stopped the game for a little break before blowing his whistle and getting the second half back on the way.

The second half was way more intense than the first half. The two teams, desperate for the win started running more, pressing more, attacking more, it was a perfect end to end football. And for someone like Will whose vision was his main strength, having his attackers continuously running into space whenever he was with the ball was like heaven for him. It was like he was living the dream.

In the tenth minute of the second half, Will got the ball again. Usually, he would immediately send a pass towards the flanks for one of his two wingers or someone in a more advanced position, but this time, he decided to slow things down and instead of passing with his first few touches like he usually did, he drove forward with the ball.

Within a few moments, his first marker already came to him. He calmly got past the person using a La Croquets and continued his movement with the ball, dancing his way through until he got to the edge of the box. Then, he simply chipped the ball over the top for his striker, who after bullying the opposition center back managed to get to the ball and hit it first time on a half volley.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep his shot down and could only watch the ball blaze over the goal frame.

"Fuck!’ Will shouted, unable to hide his frustration. That was like the third clear goalscoring opportunity that he had created for the striker but he managed to fluff them all.

"Will! You’re coming off!"

When Will was about to go back to position, he heard the voice of the assistant coach prompting him to turn to where the players who were substitutes sat. At first he was upset, but when he saw the player that was about to come on, a big smile settled on his face. It was Alex.

Obviously, he wouldn’t play the same position as Will, as Alex was a wing demon. Maybe David wanted a shift in tactics or something. Will didn’t think to much about it and went towards where Alex was and gave him a handshake before walking to sit with the other substitutes.

As Will was walking, he passed David, and raised his hand to shake him, but David pulled him aside.

"Come here for a second," David said, pulling Will slightly away from the dugout area, just far enough so the noise of the game wouldn’t swallow everything they were about to say.

Will turned to face him. "Gaffer."

David didn’t say anything immediately. He crossed his arms and looked at Will with the kind of expression that wasn’t angry, but wasn’t entirely satisfied either.

"First half," he started. "Talk me through it. What were you doing?"

Will blinked. "I was... playing my game. Keeping it simple, moving the ball, finding pockets of--"

"Keeping it simple," David repeated, cutting him off. Not aggressively, just firmly. Like he wanted Will to hear his own words played back to him. "That’s exactly the problem."

Will opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"You spent the entire first half being a passenger, Will. A talented passenger, yeah, but a passenger. You were reacting to everything. Someone gave you the ball, you gave it back. Someone made a run, you found them. Someone pressed you, you shifted it on." He tilted his head slightly. "You were waiting for the game to come to you instead of going and getting it."

Will looked down briefly, then back up. He knew David wasn’t wrong. He had felt it himself at certain points during the first half, that slight hesitancy in his own movement, like he was second guessing himself without even realizing it.

"Second half though," David continued, and his tone shifted just slightly. Not warmer exactly, but different. More direct in a different way. "Second half, you were better. Way better. That run you made before the chip for Callum, that was you. The way you were positioning yourself between the lines, the way you started demanding the ball instead of just waiting for it to arrive. That was good, Will. That was really good."

Will said nothing. He just listened.

"But here’s the thing." David unfolded his arms and pointed a finger, not aggressively, just to make the point land. "Even then, even in the second half when you were better, you were still just going with the flow. The game happened to become more open, more end to end, and it suited you. Your attackers started making runs and you fed off that energy. Fine. But what happens when the game doesn’t open up on its own? What happens when you need to be the one to force it?"

Will exhaled slowly. He understood where this was going.

"You play attacking mid," David said. "I know that. And I know a lot of people think that means your job is just to be the link between midfield and attack, just be the creative presence in that pocket, just make the final pass when it matters." He shook his head. "That’s not how I see it. Not with you."

Will frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I think you can be good enough to run a game, Will. Not just participate in it. Run it." He paused to let that sit. "A deep lying midfielder controls the tempo from the base. A box to box controls the energy and the transitions. But an attacking mid? When they’re truly elite? They control everything. They decide when the game slows down and when it speeds up. They decide which side of the pitch gets attacked. They decide when the press gets triggered by where they position themselves. You can do all of that. But you have to actually impose yourself. You have to want it."

"I do want it," Will said, a little defensiveness creeping into his voice despite himself.

"I know you want it," David replied, without even flinching at the tone. "I’m not questioning that. I’m questioning whether you’re showing the game that you want it. There’s a difference." He paused again. "That La Croqueta you did before setting up the chance for Callum. That was the real you. That was you saying, you know what, I’m not just going to play safe here, I’m going to take responsibility and make something happen. That’s the mentality I need from you every single time you’re on that pitch. Not just when the game opens up and makes it easy."

Will rubbed the back of his neck and nodded slowly.

"You’re not just a passer, you’re not just a creator," David continued. "You’re a controller. Start controlling. Pull the strings when the game gives them to you, and when it doesn’t, go and find them yourself." He glanced back towards the pitch briefly, then back to Will. "When you come back on, and you will come back on, I need you to walk onto that pitch already knowing you own it. Not hoping you will. Not waiting to see how the game feels. Already knowing."

Will looked at him for a moment. "Alright," he said quietly.

"Alright," David echoed, and that was that. He patted him once on the shoulder and walked back towards the touchline without another word.