The week following the news was a heavy, gray, and joyless fog.
The death of Lionel Messi, the man who was more than a player, who was the very symbol of the game's beauty, had cast a long, cold shadow over the entire footballing world.
The Apex FC training ground, usually a place of chaotic energy and terrible jokes, was quiet, muted.
The players went through the motions, their movements sluggish, their usual spark completely extinguished. They were a team in mourning.
Liam Doyle, the 'Badger', wasn't flying into tackles. Jamie Scott, the 'Racehorse', was just jogging. Even Dave the baker's biscuits seemed a little... sad.
Leon, as a manager, was facing his first true, un-fixable crisis. This wasn't a tactical problem. This wasn't a fitness issue. His team's heart was broken. And honestly, his was too. Messi was his hero, the reason he had fallen in love with the game in the first place. He had no idea how to lead them through this.
