USWNT: A New Era

Chapter 10: Fire Burns Against Japan

The stands were filled, anticipation buzzing through the stadium like electricity in the air. It was a friendly, but nothing about it felt friendly. Japan was always a tough opponent, but tonight wasn't just about the game—it was about making a statement. I could feel it from the moment we stepped onto the pitch. The tension, the hunger, the aggression bubbling just beneath the surface.

From the first whistle, the match was a war. The Japanese players were quick, sharp with their movements, darting in and out, but we had something they didn't: fire. The intensity from my players was unmatched. Every tackle was brutal, every pass came with a snap, and the first collision happened only minutes in. Sophia went in hard on their midfielder, bodies crashing together as they tumbled to the ground. She was up first, towering over the Japanese player who was still trying to catch her breath.

I stood on the sideline, arms crossed, face blank, but inside, I loved it. This is exactly what I wanted from them—no mercy, no hesitation, just pure, relentless drive.

The game escalated. Our players were closing in faster, hitting harder, and every missed chance from Japan only fueled the fire more. Then came the moment that set it all off.

Sophia again. She had been on a tear all night, dominating her side of the field, but when she missed a shot—one she should've buried—I saw the look in her eyes. Frustration, anger, like she was letting me down. She glanced at me, searching for approval, and I didn't give her any. Instead, I just stared, my hand rising slowly across my throat in a slicing motion.

She saw it. Everyone saw it.

And from that point on, it was chaos.

Minutes later, Japan made a run down the wing, their number 10 darting between two of our players. Crystal Dunn stepped in, hard, knocking her off balance with a shoulder. The ref blew the whistle, but the shove didn't stop there. The Japanese player retaliated, pushing Crystal back, and that's when everything exploded.

Within seconds, both teams were on each other, shoving, yelling, fists ready to fly. Lindsey Horan grabbed one of their defenders by the shirt, pulling her back as tempers flared. Sophia shoved another player to the ground. Even the usually composed Kelley O'Hara was in the mix, jawing off at their captain. It was a mess, bodies pushing and pulling, chaos erupting all over the field.

And I didn't move. I didn't scream. I didn't rush in to pull anyone apart.

I just stood there, arms still crossed, watching it all unfold.

Let them feel it. Let them release that anger, that fire. This wasn't just a game anymore—it was personal. It was about showing the world who we were, who I was turning them into. Tough, unbreakable, willing to do whatever it took to win.

The referees finally broke it up, players dragged away from the skirmish, but the energy didn't die. The rest of the game was brutal—hard tackles, rough fouls, the ball barely staying in play. No one backed down. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Backlash

The next morning, as I scrolled through the headlines, I saw the fire I'd ignited had spread beyond the field.

"Toxic Coaching or Tough Love?"

"USWNT's Aggressive Attitude: A Reflection of Their Coach?"

"Fight Breaks Out During Japan Friendly: Is This the New USWNT Under Y/N?"

The media had their teeth out, and they were going for blood. I clicked on one article, reading through the scathing assessment of the match.

"Under Y/N's leadership, the USWNT has become something unrecognizable—aggressive, brutal, and at times, out of control. During last night's friendly against Japan, a full-blown fight broke out, and instead of stepping in to calm her players, Y/N stood by, arms crossed, watching as the chaos unfolded. The cut-throat gesture she directed at Sophia Smith after a missed shot was the final straw for many critics who believe this 'no mercy' mentality is doing more harm than good."

I snorted, tossing my phone onto the bed. What did they know? They wanted to paint me as the villain, fine. But I knew what I was doing. I wasn't here to babysit these women—I was here to make them champions. Champions didn't back down. Champions didn't flinch at a little contact. This was exactly what we needed.

Another headline caught my eye.

"'Make Their Lungs Burn': Inside the Mind of USWNT's New Coach."

I clicked on it, curious.

"During the match against Japan, Y/N was heard shouting to her players to 'make their lungs burn,' a phrase that seemed to encourage pushing their opponents to their physical limits. The message was clear: win at all costs, even if it means crossing the line. Former players and analysts have weighed in, with many expressing concern that this mindset could lead to injuries—or worse, a complete loss of the team's integrity."

I gritted my teeth. They didn't get it. These women were warriors, not delicate little flowers. Injuries? Injuries were part of the game. Pushing the line? That's how you win. No one remembers the team that played it safe; they remember the team that fought with everything they had.

I glanced out the window, my thoughts still lingering on the match, on the fight. The fire I'd sparked was burning hotter now, and I wasn't about to put it out.

Let them write their headlines. Let them criticize me. At the end of the day, all that mattered was results. And this was just the beginning.