The Coaching System

92nd Minute

Extra time had begun, but the battle hadn't slowed.

Bradford started aggressively, pressing high, determined to finish the game before penalties. They pushed their defensive line up, swarming Notts County's midfielders and forcing them into rushed clearances.

But that aggression came with a price.

In their eagerness to stay on the front foot, they left space behind.

And Notts County were waiting for their moment.

A defender lifted his head, spotting the opportunity.

A long ball curved over the Bradford backline, bending into the open space behind Barnes.

Jake saw the danger instantly.

His stomach dropped.

"Drop! Drop!" he barked from the sideline, his voice sharp, urgent.

But it was too late.

Barnes had been caught half a step too high.

Reid had already reacted, sprinting forward, his acceleration leaving Barnes trailing.

The crowd's roar changed. From anticipation to pure tension.

It was one-on-one with Okafor.

Reid took one touch. Steadied himself.

He picked his spot.

And fired.

Okafor exploded off his line, reading the shot instantly.

His body spread wide, his reflexes at their absolute peak.

The ball cannoned against his outstretched leg.

A powerful block—not just a deflection, but a rejection.

The force sent it spinning sideways, away from immediate danger.

Jake exhaled sharply, but the danger wasn't over.

The rebound fell perfectly for Slater, who had arrived late into the box, completely unmarked.

Jake clenched his fists.

This was it.

Slater didn't hesitate—swung his foot through the ball.

Pure connection.

But before the shot could reach the goal—

Barnes hurled himself forward, throwing his entire body into the block!

His shin met the ball cleanly, deflecting it upward, spinning wildly into the air.

Okafor, already on the move, scrambled to his feet.

The ball hung in the air for what felt like forever.

Then it began to drop.

Okafor read the flight, lunged forward, and snatched it out of the sky before a Notts County attacker could react.

Bradford had survived.

The entire stadium gasped, a mixture of relief and disbelief.

Jake turned to Paul Roberts, exhaling.

"That was too close."

97th Minute

Bradford refused to slow down.

The chaos of the last attack had jolted them into urgency. They couldn't afford to waste this momentum.

Carter, fresh and energized, demanded the ball in midfield. His presence alone had shifted the tempo. Every time he got on the ball, Notts County's defensive shape tightened, sensing danger.

He took one touch to control.

Another to spin past his marker.

Smooth. Fluid. Precise.

Now he had space.

And he saw it.

Novak was already on the move.

The striker's instinct had kicked in. He angled his run between two defenders, perfectly splitting the gap in Notts County's backline.

Carter didn't hesitate.

A perfectly weighted pass, threaded like a needle, cutting through the defense.

Novak timed his movement flawlessly.

His first touch was sharp, bringing the ball just inside the box.

The second set him.

One last breath—

And he struck.

A rocket of a shot, low and drilled toward the far post.

The entire stadium gasped.

The Notts County keeper reacted late, seeing it late, diving at full stretch.

Fingertips.

The ball whipped just past the post, grazing the net on the wrong side.

For a split second, the Bradford fans thought it was in.

Then—realization.

Novak slammed his hands against the turf in frustration. He knew. That was the moment. That was the goal.

Jake clenched his fists from the sideline.

They were so close.

Too close.

105th Minute

Bradford's pressure was relentless.

Notts County were sinking deeper, barely holding their defensive line together. They were defending in pure desperation now.

Carter, at the heart of everything, picked up the ball near the right flank.

Silva was already on the move.

A quick one-two.

Silva played it to Carter, who returned it instantly, threading it between two defenders.

Silva burst into the box.

He had no room to shoot—too many bodies in front of him.

But he had seen it.

Novak was in space.

Silva kept his composure, slid the ball across the goal—

Novak met it first time.

The contact was perfect.

The ball rocketed past the keeper.

GOAL!

The Bradford fans erupted.

Novak sprinted toward the corner flag, punching the air.

The bench emptied in celebration, players and staff surging forward.

Jake was already turning to Paul Roberts, a small grin forming.

And then—

The whistle.

Jake's head snapped back toward the pitch.

The assistant referee stood still.

Flag raised.

Offside.

The celebration froze.

Novak's arms slowly dropped.

Collins turned to the official, shaking his head. "No way. No way."

The replay flashed on the big screen.

A fraction of a second.

Collins had mistimed his positioning by inches before making the final pass.

The call was correct.

Jake ran a hand over his face.

The stadium groaned in frustration.

The momentum was with them.

But they still had to find the goal.

105+2 Minute

The referee blew his whistle.

for half time.

One last push.

Bradford players walked toward the sideline, some shaking their heads, others muttering under their breath.

They knew how close they were.

Jake stepped onto the pitch, motioning for them to gather in a tight huddle.

He looked at them one by one, his voice firm but calm.

"We are dominating this game. We are doing everything right."

Some of the players still had their hands on their hips, breathing heavily.

Jake continued, his tone unwavering.

"We've got them. You see it. They're finished. They're hanging on by a thread."

Silva wiped sweat from his brow, nodding.

Carter cracked his knuckles, locked in.

Jake's voice lowered slightly, commanding their focus.

"Fifteen minutes. That's all. Fifteen minutes to finish this. We do not let this go to penalties."

His gaze shifted toward Novak.

"You've got one more in you," Jake said. "I know it."

Novak didn't blink.

Jake clapped his hands once.

"Let's go."

The players turned back toward the pitch.

The final fifteen minutes of the season awaited.

106th Minute

The referee blew his whistle, signaling the start of the final 15 minutes.

This was it.

Fifteen minutes to decide everything.

Fifteen minutes to determine whether Bradford would climb into League One or suffer heartbreak on the biggest stage.

Jake stood near the edge of his technical area, arms crossed but eyes sharp.

His team had been dominant.

They had pinned Notts County deep, dictated possession, and created the better chances.

But the score was still 3-3.

110th Minute

The game slowed.

Every pass. Every movement. Everything looked heavier now.

Players on both sides were running on fumes.

Bradford had spent the last half-hour pressing relentlessly, throwing everything at Notts County.

Notts County had spent it absorbing pressure, blocking shots, chasing shadows.

Now, both teams looked drained.

Silva bent over, hands on his knees after every sprint. His chest heaved, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the Wembley turf.

Carter wiped sweat from his brow, his usually sharp movements now sluggish.

Even Notts County—who had parked themselves in their defensive third, hoping to survive—began to break down.

Misplaced passes. Late tackles. Hesitation.

Their full-backs, who had once closed down Bradford's wingers quickly, now lagged behind, reacting a second too late.

Their midfielders, who had doubled up on Carter and Ortega earlier, now gave them just a little too much space.

Jake paced the touchline.

He could feel it.

One goal. That's all it would take.

Bradford just needed one more breakthrough.

119th Minute – Disaster? PENALTY FOR NOTTS COUNTY!

The ball hung in the air, spinning under Wembley's floodlights.

A hopeful lofted cross from Notts County's right-back wasn't particularly dangerous—but it didn't have to be.

It just had to cause chaos.

Jake's breath caught as Min-jae and Reid both leapt for it.

Min-jae, Bradford's defensive rock, rose first—but his timing was off by a fraction of a second.

His jump was too early.

By the time the ball arrived, he was already on the way down.

Reid, still airborne, made contact.

The slightest of nudges.

Min-jae lost balance.

Their bodies collided mid-air.

Both players crashed to the turf in a tangled heap.

For half a second, nothing happened.

Then—

The whistle.

Loud. Sharp. Final.

The referee was already pointing to the spot.

Penalty.

Jake's heart sank.

The entire stadium erupted.

Bradford fans screamed in outrage. Notts County supporters roared in celebration.

Jake didn't move.

His jaw tightened, his fingers digging into his arms.

This couldn't be how it ended.

On the pitch, chaos unfolded.

Bradford players surrounded the referee, shouting, pleading.

Barnes threw his hands in the air. Silva pointed furiously at the big screen. Even Okafor ran out of his goal, shaking his head.

Min-jae, still on the ground, looked stunned. He didn't even argue. He just stared at the referee, disbelieving.

Jake exhaled slowly.

Then—

The referee pressed his earpiece.

VAR check.

Jake glanced at the scoreboard. 191:40.

The referee jogged toward the screen at the side of the pitch.

The ref used two minute to check if min jae made a contact,

A two-minute wait.

The longest two minutes of the season.

Every player froze.

Wembley held its breath.

Jake already knew.

The decision wasn't getting overturned.

But he could hope.

Hope that Okafor had one last save in him.

120+1st Minute

The penalty stood.

Reid stood over the ball, placing it down on the spot with a deliberate, careful movement.

Okafor watched him closely, bouncing lightly on his toes.

The stadium was electric—half of Wembley buzzing with anticipation, the other half praying for a miracle.

Jake stood motionless on the touchline, arms crossed, eyes locked on his keeper.

One moment. One save.

That was all it would take to keep Bradford's dream alive.

Reid exhaled, took three steps back, and locked eyes with Okafor.

The referee blew his whistle.

Jake clenched his fists.

Reid sprinted forward.

Low shot—driven toward the bottom right corner.

Okafor reacted instantly.

He dived fully stretched, his entire body extending to meet the ball.

His gloves met the shot, fingers bending slightly under the force, but he held strong.

The ball ricocheted off his hands, spinning away from the goal.

The Bradford fans erupted.

But Jake didn't celebrate.

The danger wasn't over.

The ball had fallen perfectly for Slater, who was already sprinting into the box.

A free shot.

No defenders.

Just him and the open goal.

Jake held his breath.

Slater swung his foot through the ball—clean, pure contact.

But Okafor moved again.

Despite being on the ground just seconds ago, he exploded back to his feet, reacting faster than anyone expected.

Jake barely saw the movement—Okafor lunged forward, throwing his body in front of the shot.

The ball smashed against his chest.

A second save.

A miracle save.

The ball deflected wildly, bouncing out toward the edge of the box.

Wembley erupted.

The Bradford players rushed toward Okafor, slapping his back, screaming in disbelief.

Min-jae grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. Silva pointed at him, yelling, "You're a monster!"

But there was no time to celebrate.

The ball was still in play.

Benson, reacting quicker than anyone, charged forward and smashed it upfield—a clearance, a desperate escape.

But then—

Carter was already running onto it.

Jake's eyes widened.

Suddenly, Bradford had one last chance.

120+3rd Minute

Time was almost up.

But Bradford had one last attack.

The clearance from Benson wasn't just a desperate boot forward—it was perfect.

It landed exactly where Carter needed it.

Carter took one touch to control, another to push forward.

Jake shouted from the sideline, voice cutting through the Wembley chaos.

"Go!"

Carter didn't need to be told twice.

He exploded forward, pushing the ball past the first defender like he wasn't even there.

Notts County were completely out of position.

They had gambled everything on that penalty.

Now, they were scrambling.

Their defenders weren't set. Their midfielders were chasing shadows.

Silva was already making the run.

Carter saw it—and launched a perfect pass down the wing.

Silva sprinted into open space, the ball arriving at his feet in stride.

One defender—that was all that stood between him and glory.

Silva slowed for half a second, tempting the challenge.

The defender lunged—too soon.

Silva skipped past him, brushing him aside like he wasn't even there.

Only the keeper stood in the way now.

But Silva wasn't shooting.

He had seen Novak.

The striker was tearing into the box, pointing.

Far post.

Silva didn't hesitate.

He swung his foot through the ball—a perfect cross, curling into the danger area.

Novak was already in motion.

One step. Two steps. Launch.

He threw himself forward, body parallel to the ground.

A first-time volley.

The moment his foot connected, everyone knew.

The keeper didn't move.

The ball rocketed past him, smashing into the net.

GOAL.

BRADFORD 4 – 3 NOTTS COUNTY.

Absolute chaos.

The Bradford end exploded.

Scarves were thrown into the air. Fans surged forward, hands clutching their heads in disbelief.

On the pitch, Novak ripped his shirt off, sprinting toward the corner flag, screaming.

His teammates chased him, piling on top, a mess of bodies and wild celebrations.

The Bradford bench emptied—coaches, substitutes, even medical staff stormed the pitch.

Jake?

He dropped to his knees, fists clenched.

He had done it.

They had done it.

Notts County's players stood frozen.

Some had their hands on their heads.

Others just stared at the ball inside the net, unable to believe what had just happened.

The momentum had completely shifted.

Bradford had dragged themselves back from the dead.

And then—

The referee blew his whistle.

Final whistle.

Bradford City were promoted to League One.

Wembley belonged to them.