The Coaching System-Chapter 127: The Aftermath – Bradford Makes History

The media room was packed to capacity.

Every major sports outlet had sent a reporter. Sky Sports, BBC, The Athletic, The Guardian—they were all here, ready to capture the words of the man who had just masterminded one of the greatest comebacks in EFL Cup history.

Jake sat at the podium, hands folded, the roar of celebration from the dressing room still faintly audible through the walls.

The questions came immediately.

The Press Conference

"Jake, Bradford have just completed one of the greatest comebacks in EFL Cup history. How do you put this into words?"

Jake leaned into the mic.

"This club never quits. Never."

He let the words settle for a moment before continuing.

"People wrote us off after the first leg. Three-nil down? We weren't supposed to have a chance. But this team—" He exhaled, shaking his head with a grin. "They don't listen to what's supposed to happen. They just keep fighting."

The reporters scribbled furiously.

A journalist from BBC Sport jumped in.

"Bradford's last final was twelve years ago. You've taken them back. What does this mean for you?"

Jake smiled.

"It's not about me. It's about them."

He gestured toward the dressing room, where the sounds of cheering and chanting continued.

"They deserve this moment. Every single one of them. From the starters to the guys who didn't even make the squad today. This is their story."

A journalist from The Athletic leaned forward.

"You've beaten Premier League sides before, but this? A comeback like this? Does this prove Bradford belongs at a higher level?"

Jake chuckled.

"I don't think we need to prove anything. We're not looking at leagues. We're not looking at status. We're looking at one thing—winning football matches. And tonight, we won one of the biggest matches in this club's history."

Another reporter from Sky Sports asked the inevitable question.

"Jake, you're going to Wembley. You could be ninety minutes away from winning a major trophy. How does that feel?"

Jake took a deep breath, nodding.

"It feels right."

The room buzzed. The reporters loved that answer.

One more question came from the back.

"You were three-nil down after the first leg. Be honest—did you believe this was possible?"

Jake's smirk returned.

"Belief isn't a question for me. It's a requirement."

The reporters scribbled faster.

The headlines wrote themselves.

The Headlines

📰 "Miracle at Valley Parade – Bradford Stuns Newcastle!"

📰 "From 3-0 Down to EFL Cup Finalists – Jake Wilson's Men Defy the Odds!"

📰 "Bradford City Are Going to Wembley!"

Jake didn't care about the headlines.

All that mattered was his team had done the impossible.

Fan Café Reactions – Bradford's Supporters Go Wild

At a pub just outside Valley Parade, the energy was still electric.

Fans stood on tables, waved scarves in the air, and sang club chants until their voices were hoarse.

At the Bradford City Fan Café, the online forum was flooded with reactions:

User: BantamsLegend

"I still can't believe what I just watched. This team is unreal. JAKE WILSON IS A GOD."

User: ClaretAndAmber

"Newcastle thought they had it wrapped up. Thought we'd just roll over. Well, guess what? WE'RE GOING TO WEMBLEY."

User: FA_CupDreamer

"Twelve years, man. Twelve YEARS since we last made a final. Jake Wilson is making history."

User: NeverSayDieBCFC

"Silva. Mensah. Rojas. Novak. Every single one of them was a hero tonight."

User: WembleyBound

"I don't care who we play in the final. I don't care if it's Man City or Real Madrid. This team has something special."

Bradford was alive with celebration.

The team had done the impossible.

And now, they were heading to Wembley.

The Celebration – A Night to Remember

Bradford had done the impossible.

Now, it was time to celebrate.

The squad didn't go to some fancy nightclub or VIP lounge.

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No expensive suits. No celebrity guests.

Just a local bar, packed with players, staff, and a handful of die-hard fans who were still processing what had just happened.

They had done it.

Bradford City were going to Wembley.

Drinks, Laughter, and Unforgettable Moments

Novak slammed a round of beers onto the table, his voice already hoarse from screaming on the pitch.

"To the craziest match of our lives!" he shouted, raising his glass.

Everyone clinked their drinks together, the sound of celebration filling the bar.

Silva, still drenched in sweat from the game, jumped onto a chair and started singing.

"OH, BRADFORD CITY, WE LOVE YOU SO!"

The rest of the squad joined in immediately, voices loud, completely out of sync, but no one cared.

"OH, BRADFORD CITY, WE NEVER LET GO!"

Mensah, already feeling his drink, climbed onto a table, trying to dance.

He lasted five seconds before slipping and nearly crashing into Costa, who barely dodged out of the way.

"Sit down before you break something!" Ibáñez laughed, pulling him back onto the bench.

"Mate, I just ran a hundred kilometers tonight," Mensah grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I earned the right to fall over."

More laughter. More drinks.

Jake let himself relax.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn't thinking about tactics, training, or the final.

He wasn't even thinking about football.

He was just living in the moment.

Then—the chairman walked in.

The Chairman's Words – A Moment of Recognition

Henry Lowe, the Bradford City chairman, was not an emotional man.

Jake had seen him more in business meetings than celebrations.

But tonight, he looked different.

He walked through the bar, nodding at players, shaking hands, then stopped in front of Jake.

The squad went silent, watching.

Lowe studied Jake for a moment, then smiled.

"Jake," he said, voice calm, steady.

Jake straightened up. "Chairman."

Lowe exhaled. Then, he extended his hand.

"You did it," he said. "You took us back to Wembley."

Jake shook his hand, feeling the weight of those words.

"We're not done yet," Jake replied, his voice steady despite the alcohol. "One more game."

Lowe chuckled.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

He turned toward the squad.

"Enjoy this night," Lowe told them. "You've earned it."

The team cheered, raising their glasses.

Jake leaned back in his chair, watching his players laugh, joke, and celebrate.

They weren't just teammates.

They were family.

And this night?

They would remember it forever.

Jake's Drunken Confession

The front door creaked open, and Jake stumbled inside.

His jacket was half off, his shirt untucked, and the scent of alcohol clung to him.

Emma was already waiting.

She stood near the stairs, arms crossed, her expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"You're drunk," she sighed.

Jake blinked at her, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face.

"Nah," he slurred, attempting to kick off his shoes and failing miserably.

Emma rolled her eyes, walking over to steady him.

"Come on," she muttered, looping his arm over her shoulder. "Let's get you to bed before you fall over."

Jake let her guide him toward the bedroom, his body heavy against hers.

Then, he mumbled something.

Something that made Emma's entire body freeze.

"I'm not even Jake."

Emma stopped walking.

Her hands tightened on his arm.

"...What?"

Jake slumped onto the edge of the bed, head swaying slightly.

"I died," he mumbled, his voice distant, as if speaking to himself.

Emma's stomach twisted violently.

"What... what are you talking about?"

Jake's dazed eyes met hers, and for the first time that night—he looked like a stranger.

"I reincarnated," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Emma's breath hitched.

She took a step back.

Her mind raced.

Drunken nonsense. That's all it is.

But the way he was looking at her...

The way he spoke—like someone who wasn't supposed to be here...

It made her stomach churn with something cold and unfamiliar.

Jake blinked slowly, eyes glistening, his words turning softer.

"I'm sorry... for living as him."

Emma's pulse pounded in her ears.

Jake's voice cracked.

"I love you," he murmured. "I love them."

Emma's chest tightened painfully.

She wanted to tell herself it was just the alcohol.

That it meant nothing.

But something about it—the weight in his voice, the rawness of his words—

It felt too real.

She staggered back, gripping the edge of the dresser for support.

Her throat was dry.

Her voice barely came out.

"Who are you?"

Jake didn't answer.

His body slumped forward, fully unconscious.

The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the bedside lamp.

Emma stared at him.

Her hands trembled.

Jake had no idea what he had just said.

But Emma?

She would never forget it.