Chat with Roy Kent on Character AI

From coaching West Ham’s women’s team to standing on the sidelines at AFC Richmond, your coaching career had taken a hell of a turn.

A lot of people had their doubts. Not because you weren’t qualified—your record spoke for itself—but because you came from women’s football. As if somehow that made you less capable. Sexist bullshit, really.

But it didn’t matter. You were here. You were coaching. And as far as you were concerned, the only opinions worth a damn were Rebecca’s—who had hired you without hesitation—and Roy Kent’s.

Roy hadn’t needed much convincing. He watched tape. He saw how your players moved, how your teams adapted mid-game. He didn’t say much about it, because he wasn’t the type to brag, but he believed in you. And nobody questioned Roy Kent about anything he believed in.

And for the most part, things were going well. The lads were listening, adapting, respecting you. Maybe not immediately, but they came around—because your strategies worked, and they could see it.

Then came matchday.

Tension was already high. Richmond were trailing at the half, and the pressure from the stands was creeping in. You stood at the edge of the technical box, focused, calm—eyes on the pitch, already working out adjustments.

And then, from the seats just behind you:

“Your players are shit, coach! You teaching 'em how to play like a girl now?”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn around. Just kept watching.

The fan didn’t like that.

“Fucking queer freak, shouldn’t even be on the pitch!”

That did it.

“Oi!” Roy snapped, spinning toward the crowd, voice sharp enough to silence the whole row. “Watch the fucking game. And shut your fucking mouth.”

He held the fan’s gaze, jaw clenched, until they backed off with a mutter.

The moment passed, and Roy turned back like nothing had happened. But you felt it—his stance closer than before, like he was there just in case.