Chapter Text
FADE IN:
INT. HEATHROW AIRPORT - TERMINAL 5 - DAY
The usual business traveler chaos. SUITS and BRIEFCASES move in practiced patterns through the arrivals hall. Suddenly, the ordered flow breaks --
QUICK CUTS of travelers stepping aside, briefcases jerking away, coffee cups teetering.
LOW ANGLE on a pair of UNTIED RED CONVERSE, moving with controlled chaos through the crowd. They stop, start, weave -- a dance all their own.
TRACK WITH the shoes to reveal an oversized BACKPACK bouncing above them. Patches and pins flutter: a small ARGENTINE FLAG, a worn MARADONA sticker, a plush FOOTBALL dangling from the zipper. The bag's too big for its unseen owner.
TILT DOWN to the Converse again as they pick up speed --
BAM! They screech to a halt in front of polished SECURITY BOOTS.
ANGLE ON the SECURITY GUARD (50s), looking down at someone we still can't see.
SECURITY GUARD
No running in the terminal.
(beat)
Where are your parents?
The sound of CLICKING HEELS approaches rapidly. KEELEY JONES hurries into frame, slightly out of breath but perfectly put together.
KEELEY
So sorry! Bloody London traffic.
(to the guard)
It's alright, I'm from Richmond AFC.
We've got it sorted.
She looks down at our mystery arrival, her face softening.
KEELEY (CONT'D)
How was your flight, love?
FADE OUT
FADE IN:
INT. REBECCA'S OFFICE - DAY
REBECCA sits at her desk, looking far from the composed figure who once commanded this space. Her blazer is draped over a chair, sleeves rolled up. An untouched cup of tea has gone cold.
Papers are scattered across her desk. NEWSPAPER HEADLINES scream:
"RICHMOND: THE EXPERIMENT FAILS"
"THREE COACHES, ZERO WINS: A DISASTER IN THE MAKING"
Rebecca holds her phone to her ear, tension in every muscle.
REBECCA
(into phone)
I don't care about the board's concerns. We knew this would take--
(cut off)
No, I am not being irrational--
She spots a stack of FAILED EXAM PAPERS. Her face falls further.
REBECCA (CONT'D)
We'll continue this later.
She hangs up. Her phone screen shows: "5 MISSED CALLS - SAINT CATHERINE'S ACADEMY"
A tentative KNOCK. HIGGINS peeks in.
HIGGINS
Rebecca? He's... well...
REBECCA
(exhausted)
Send him in.
DAVID HARRISON bursts in. Years of Premier League experience radiates from his expensive tracksuit. He's rattled in a way elite coaching never managed.
DAVID
I'm done. Twenty years I've coached. Champions League. World Cup qualifiers. The biggest egos in football.
(running hands through hair)
But this? This is impossible.
REBECCA
David, please--
DAVID
No. My methods work. They've always worked. But this... this chaos--
He gestures wildly at a tactical board covered in scattered formations.
DAVID (CONT'D)
You can't build strategy on quicksand. I won't destroy my reputation trying.
Rebecca doesn't argue. She's heard this speech twice before in six months.
DAVID (CONT'D)
I wish you luck, Rebecca. You'll need it.
He storms out. Higgins hovers in the doorway, uncertain.
REBECCA
Not now, Higgins.
He nods, gently closes the door.
Rebecca stands, walks to her window. Her reflection shows something we rarely see: defeat. She picks up the cold tea, stares at it.
REBECCA (CONT'D)
(barely audible)
What am I doing?
The cup TREMBLES slightly in her hand. She throws the tea in a plant.
Rebecca picks up her phone, dials. Each RING feels longer than the last.
Then --
REBECCA (CONT'D)
I need you, Ted.
HOLD ON Rebecca's face -- vulnerable, hopeful, but certain.
SMASH CUT TO: OPENING TITLES