"You're 'The Gaffer'."

Ethan's mind went into overdrive.

His two worlds, the secret, high-stakes universe of the FCG and the simple, real world of his dad's toy shop, had just collided.

His dad was looking at him, a completely bewildered expression on his face.

"The Gaffer?" he repeated, a frown creasing his brow. "What's he talking about, son?"

Before Ethan could even begin to formulate a lie, the young fan, Sam, took a step forward, his eyes shining with the pure, unadulterated adoration of a true believer.

"Your son is a genius, Mr. Couch!" he gushed. "I watched his stream last night! The game against Lincoln City? The free-kick routine was a masterstroke! And the puppy! How did you even program a puppy into the game?! It was hilarious!"

Ethan just stood there, a deer in the headlights, as Sam recounted the entire, chaotic match with a breathless, encyclopedic knowledge.

His dad listened, his expression shifting from confusion to a dawning, proud understanding.

He didn't understand the half of what the kid was saying, but he understood the passion.

He understood the admiration in the boy's eyes.

"So, you're a... a star?" his dad asked Ethan after Sam, having secured a hastily scribbled autograph on a wooden rocket ship, had finally, reluctantly, left the shop.

"No, Dad, I'm not a star," Ethan said with a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I just... I play this new football management game. And I started a little online channel where I stream my matches. Last night was my first time. I didn't think anyone would watch."

"Well, it seems they did," his dad said, a slow, proud smile spreading across his face. He picked up the wooden lion he had been carving.

"So, 'The Gaffer', eh? A manager. I always knew you had a good head on your shoulders."

He looked at his son, at the new, quiet confidence in his eyes. "I don't understand the half of it, this streaming and this virtual world. But... if it makes you this happy, this passionate... then I'm proud of you, son. Very proud."

The simple, unconditional acceptance was a feeling more profound than any virtual victory.

The moment he got a break, Ethan stepped outside and called the one person who would understand the sheer, beautiful absurdity of the situation.

"You will not believe what just happened," he said, the second Leo picked up.

"Let me guess," Leo's voice came through, a familiar, cheerful drawl. "You were single-handedly responsible for a 20% increase in regional cheese sales and Mr. Henderson has promoted you to 'Supreme Overlord of Dairy'?"

"Better," Ethan said with a laugh. "I just got recognized. In my dad's toy shop. By a 14-year-old kid who called me a 'genius' and asked me how I programmed a puppy into the game."

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a roar of delighted laughter.

"No way! You're famous! My best friend is a B-list internet celebrity! Does this mean you're going to get a fancy haircut and start referring to yourself in the third person?"

"It's not funny, it was terrifying!" Ethan insisted, though he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Meet me at the park after I finish here. We need to have a proper gaffer's summit. I'll bring intel."

They met at their usual bench as the sun was beginning to set, a comfortable, familiar ritual in their increasingly strange lives.

"Okay, so give me the numbers," Leo said, leaning forward with the intensity of a seasoned analyst. "How bad was the damage?"

"Seven thousand concurrent viewers at its peak," Ethan said, trying to sound casual.

Leo's jaw dropped. "Seven... thousand?" he breathed.

"Dude, my last stream had twelve viewers, and I think eight of them were my mom on different devices."

"And," Ethan continued, a smug grin on his face, "three hundred and fifty-six subscribers. From one stream. The app says I need a thousand to start getting paid."

"You're a natural, man! A prodigy!" Leo declared, slapping him on the back. "I knew it! The Gaffer's Office is going to be bigger than GridironGuru! We just need better merchandise than his ugly hats."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Ethan said, though he was buzzing with excitement. "But it's a start. A real start." He looked at his friend. "Enough about me. How's 'The Fortress'?"

Leo's chest puffed out with pride. "The Fortress, my friend, is impenetrable. We are also top of League Two. Six wins, two draws. But more importantly," he said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper, "we have conceded a grand total of two goals in eight games. Two! My S-Rank defender, 'The Wall', is a living, breathing brick wall. Clean sheets are the new goals, Ethan. It's the future."

"That's because your entire team is made up of defenders," Ethan shot back with a laugh. "Your formation is a 9-1-0. It's not football; it's a siege."

"It's a tactical masterclass in defensive solidity!" Leo insisted.

"Unlike your team, which seems to operate on a principle of 'let's see what happens if we all run forward at the same time'. What are your stats? 4-3? 5-4? 6-2? Your games aren't football matches; they're basketball scores!"

"Hey, it's entertaining!" Ethan said defensively.

"And it works. We're top of the league. Emre is now a 75 overall. A seventy-five! In League One! And Viktor has nine goals already. We're a force of nature."

"You're a beautiful, glorious, high-scoring mess," Leo corrected him. "And I love it. But my defensive solidity will crush your chaotic nonsense when we meet in the cup."

"Bring it on, champ," Ethan said, as they both dissolved into laughter.

The easy, familiar banter was a comforting balm.

As the laughter died down, a more serious look crossed Leo's face.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little quieter.

"Have you... have you heard anything else? From... you know."

The unspoken name hung in the cool evening air. Liam.

"No," Ethan said, the happy buzz of the day fading slightly. "Not a word since the wager match. Just... silence."

"It's just so weird, man," Leo said, shaking his head.

"The double-agent theory is all I've got, but..."

Ethan's phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, expecting a text from his mom asking when he'd be home.

But it wasn't a text. It was a news alert from a major, real-world sports news app.

He almost dismissed it, but the headline caught his eye, and the blood in his veins turned to ice.

"MIRACLE RECOVERY? INJURED STARLET LIAM TAYLOR SPOTTED WALKING AT AETHERIA DYNAMICS HQ"

His thumb trembled as he tapped on the link.

The article was short on details, full of speculation.

But the picture... the picture was undeniable.

It was a grainy, long-lens photograph of a young man with familiar, sandy-blond hair, walking, without crutches, without a limp, through a set of futuristic glass doors.

The logo on the doors was unmistakable. It was the sleek, silver 'A' of Aetheria Dynamics.

He wasn't in a hospital bed. He wasn't recovering. He was at the very heart of the game itself. And he had been lying to them all along.