The text blinked across Greg Byrne's phone at 6:03 a.m. Kaleb DeBoer, the coach everyone assumed would step into the Alabama program, had declined. Washington had pulled him back, leaving Alabama scrambling with four weeks until the season opener. Byrne read the message again, disbelief settling into tension. Outside, assistants muttered and boosters shuffled nervously. "We're running out of options," one said. "Who's left who can take this?" Another muttered, "Impossible."
Meanwhile, the media erupted. Adam Schefter's tweet was instantaneous: "Kaleb DeBoer staying at Washington. Alabama now in search of Brandon Antonio. Unknown. Four weeks until kickoff." Paul Finebaum's voice carried over local radio: "Alabama is in a corner. Bold move, risky, maybe genius. Could be a disaster." Fans flooded Twitter with speculation, memes, and mockery. Brandon Antonio, in his rented townhouse across town, scrolled past the noise, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Let them underestimate me. Let them talk. That will work in my favor.
He drove into Bryant-Denny Stadium under the early fog, stepping from his car with notebook and suitcase in hand. Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions he ignored. Each step was precise, deliberate. Inside his mind, decades of coaching experience hummed perfectly. Four weeks. Staff first. Players second. Media third. Everything else follows.
Inside the hallways, the scent of leather, polished metal, and liniment clung to the air. Trophies gleamed under the lights, banners of past championships hanging proudly. Brandon's gaze swept the space. Respect is earned. Pressure is irrelevant. I've done this before. This is just a new body, a new era — NIL, recruits obsessed with social media, fans scrutinizing every move. Every variable can be controlled.
Outside the locker room, he paused. Empty cleats lined the floor, lockers gleaming. Malik Henderson — stance off. Jalen Roberts — overcommits. Trey Simmons — hesitates. Four weeks is enough. I'll fix it.
The boardroom awaited. Byrne, boosters, and key staff filled the seats, faces tense, eyes flicking nervously. Brandon entered calmly, suitcase and notebooks in hand, analyzing every micro-expression, every pause. Who will follow immediately? Who needs guidance? Who can be leveraged subtly?
"Brandon," Byrne said, exhaling, "four weeks. The season opener is looming. Salary, clauses, everything is ready."
Brandon listened politely, nodding. His mind was already cataloguing the staff he would inherit: Kane Wommack, Freddie Roach, Nick Sheridan, JaMarcus Shephard, Robert Gillespie, Chris Kapilovic, Chuck Morrell, Christian Robinson, Bryan Ellis, Jay Nunez, David Ballou. Each has strengths and weaknesses. Each prideful habit can be used, molded, or tempered. Staff can be trusted — eventually. Staff can be manipulated — strategically.
A booster leaned forward. "Can you handle the pressure?"
Brandon's gaze swept the room, landing on the trophies, the staff, and the fog-draped practice field outside. "Pressure is irrelevant. This program exists because of discipline, preparation, and structure. I will respect that, and I will improve it where necessary."
The papers were signed. Brandon Antonio was Alabama's head coach. Four weeks. That was all he had to earn trust, shape players, manage staff, control perception, dominate rivals, and mold the program for a new era of college football.
He began a methodical tour: locker room, training room, weight room, practice fields. Every detail absorbed — spacing, alignment, timing, stamina, form. Four weeks. Enough to assert authority, earn trust, show results, and establish influence. NIL, social media, perception — all tools to control the narrative.
Players trickled in, some nervous, some curious. Brandon observed silently: posture, hesitation, micro-expressions. Malik Henderson hits stance — confidence grows. Jalen Roberts adjusts timing — improvement. Trey — timing recalibration. Drill tomorrow. Execute perfectly. Trust builds incrementally.
He gathered the staff. "Patterns from yesterday observed. Fundamentals first. Execution second. Every player must understand adjustments." Nervous glances, hesitant nods. Slowly, recognition spread. Authority was sensed without words. Staff respect comes from observation, not volume. Let them see mastery — they will follow instinctively.
Outside, reporters shouted. Cameras flashed. Twitter exploded: "New coach looks intense. Wonder if he's serious." Brandon scrolled briefly, smirking. Let them doubt. Every clip, comment, viral moment — a tool for control.
Rival SEC coaches were watching closely. Josh Heupel muttered to assistants, "Four weeks? Impossible… or brilliant."
Billy Napier frowned. "They'll implode… probably."
Kirby Smart narrowed his eyes. "We'll see if they're vulnerable… or unstoppable."
By the stands, Samantha Saban observed quietly. Analytical, cautious, curious. A spark passed between them. Brandon noted it, filing it for later. Timing, patience, subtlety. Not yet. But soon.
That night, in his townhouse, notebooks sprawled with diagrams, drills, staff notes, player tendencies, TikTok ideas, NIL strategies, Brandon leaned back. Four weeks. Staff, players, media, boosters, recruits — all variables under control. Dynasty adaptation begins now. And yes… I'm still Nick Saban, just in a new body, in a new era.