Training never really ended, even if so far England was holding their own when it came to their matches. Filip was proud of the team that had been put together, even if he felt there was still some work to be done. As long as they continued to play at the level they’d been playing, a few moments of downtime wouldn’t do too much damage. Even for him, as the fifty-five-year-old proceeded to stroll down one side of the Alley. For once, his limp was barely noticeable, however slight it was usually, and yet he still had the trusty Union Jack-emblazoned cane that had become his recognizing factor over the years, along with his ever-present attire of a three-piece suit minus the jacket. It was that much more appropriate now, given his status as the one keeping the national team together. No need to let himself slack now.

He was always prepared. That wasn’t about to change now.