CHAPTER 46: OLD TRAFFORD

Ethan’s nineteenth birthday was, without a doubt, the best day of his life.

It wasn’t about the presents—though the new trainers from his parents and the vintage football shirt from Sarah were perfect. It was about the feeling.

The feeling of being surrounded by his team, his real team, and knowing, with absolute certainty, that everything was going to be okay.

The week that followed was a happy, peaceful blur.

His mom’s recovery was steady, her laughter returning to the house like a long-lost melody. His shifts at CostMart became a comfortable routine, and the small but significant wage packet he received at the end of the week felt more valuable than any virtual prize money.

He handed most of it to his dad, who put it away for household expenses, but he kept a little for himself. For the first time, he had his own, hard-earned money.

On Saturday, with no Apex United match scheduled, a rare sense of freedom filled the air.

He met Leo at their usual spot in the park.

"First official wage packet," Ethan announced, fanning out a few crisp bills with a theatrical flourish. "Feels good."

"Look at you, Mr. Moneybags," Leo said, impressed. "What are you going to do with all that wealth? Invest in a sensible index fund?"

"Even better," Ethan said, a wild, brilliant idea sparking in his eyes. "I’m going to take my best friend and lead scout to a football match."

Leo raised an eyebrow. "Our local team? They’re playing away this week."

"I’m not talking about our local team," Ethan said, his grin widening. "I’m talking about the biggest game in the country. Manchester United versus Liverpool. It’s at Old Trafford tomorrow. I checked for last-minute tickets. There are two, way up in the nosebleeds, but they’re there. And with my first paycheck, I can actually afford them."

Leo’s jaw dropped. "United vs. Liverpool? At Old Trafford? Ethan, that’s... that’s the holy grail. But why that game?"

"Think about it, Leo," Ethan said, his voice dropping. "Who’s the manager of Manchester United now?"

The realization dawned on Leo’s face. "Prodigy," he whispered. "The number one player from the FCG beta. The guy who got a real-world job."

"Exactly," Ethan confirmed. "This isn’t just a match. It’s a field trip. It’s a chance to see one of us, a ’game’ manager, in action. On the biggest stage of them all."

The next day was a pilgrimage.

They took an early train, the carriage buzzing with the excited chatter of red-shirted United fans and the defiant songs of the traveling Liverpool supporters.

"Have you seen the transfer news?" Leo asked, scrolling frantically on his phone. "Since Prodigy took over, United have been making some weird moves."

"Weird how?"

"They haven’t signed any big superstars," Leo explained. "They’ve signed three kids. An 18-year-old right-back from Ecuador named Ivan Fresneda, a 19-year-old midfielder from a Belgian club, and some 17-year-old winger from Sweden called Roony Bardghji. The pundits are slating them for it, saying they’re not buying Premier League quality."

Ethan felt a shiver of recognition. He knew those names. They weren’t just random kids.

They were all A-Rank or S-Rank wonderkids in the FCG database.

Prodigy wasn’t just playing the game; he was rebuilding one of the world’s biggest clubs using its secret knowledge.

Stepping out of the station in Manchester and seeing the iconic silhouette of Old Trafford, the ’Theatre of Dreams’, rising in the distance was a breathtaking moment.

The sheer scale of it, the roar of the crowd that was audible even from half a mile away, was on a different level to anything Ethan had ever experienced.

They found their seats, high up in the corner of the stadium, the players on the pitch looking like tiny, brightly-colored ants.

But the view was perfect.

They could see the whole pitch, the tactical shapes, the patterns of play.

The teams were announced, and the stadium erupted.

Liverpool’s lineup was a who’s who of world football superstars. United’s was a strange, exciting mix of established players and the three new, unknown teenagers, who were all starting.

"He’s actually starting them," Leo breathed, his eyes wide. "Against Liverpool. He’s either a genius or completely insane."

The teams walked out, and there he was. ’Prodigy’.

He was a young man, probably in his mid-twenties, with sharp, analytical eyes and a calm, focused demeanor. He didn’t rant or rave. He just stood in his technical area, observing, his hands in his pockets, looking exactly like a player contemplating their next move in a game.

The match began.

The first thirty minutes were a revelation. Liverpool, as expected, were dominant.

They passed the ball with a fluid, terrifying precision.

But United were different. They weren’t trying to match Liverpool’s quality. They were playing with the frantic, organized chaos of a team managed by a gamer.

They pressed with an insane intensity, led by their three new wonderkids who ran as if their lives depended on it.

The Swedish winger, Bardghji, was a whirlwind of energy, tracking back, making tackles. The Ecuadorian right-back, Fresneda, was a rock, shutting down Liverpool’s world-class winger with a maturity that defied his age.

"Look at their shape," Ethan said, completely captivated. "It’s a high-press 4-3-3, but the trigger is the position of the ball, not the player. It’s a pure FCG tactic! He’s using an algorithm!"

In the 28th minute, the impossible happened.

United won the ball back deep in their own half.

The 19-year-old Belgian midfielder, instead of playing a safe pass, turned and drove forward with an explosive burst of speed.

He played a quick one-two with an established United forward and then, from just inside the Liverpool half, he launched a perfectly weighted, defense-splitting through-ball into the path of Roony Bardghji.

The 17-year-old Swede was in a footrace with Liverpool’s world-famous center-back. He shouldn’t have stood a chance.

But he had a raw, explosive pace that was pure, video-game speed.

He got to the ball a fraction of a second ahead of the defender, took one touch to push it into the box, and, as the world’s best goalkeeper rushed out to meet him, he coolly slotted the ball through the keeper’s legs and into the back of the net.

Old Trafford exploded into a single, deafening roar of disbelief and ecstasy.

Ethan and Leo were on their feet, screaming along with the home fans, completely lost in the moment.

A 17-year-old nobody had just scored against the best team in the world.

But as Bardghji slid on his knees towards the corner flag, celebrating his miracle goal, Ethan saw something.

Something that made his blood run cold.

The way Bardghji had taken that final touch, the way he had opened his body up to slot the ball... it wasn’t just a good finish. It was a specific animation.

A ’Cool Finisher’ trait from the Football Coaching Game, a unique, signature move that only players with that specific, high-level attribute could perform.

He had seen Emre do it in training a dozen times.

"Leo," Ethan said, his voice a strange, tight whisper, grabbing his friend’s arm. "Did you see that finish?"

"Yeah! It was insane! So calm!" Leo yelled over the noise.

"No," Ethan said, his eyes locked on the celebrating player. "It wasn’t just calm. It was a trait. A game trait. That’s not a real player, Leo."

Leo looked at him, confused. "What are you talking about? Of course he’s a real player!"

Ethan shook his head, the terrifying, world-altering implication of what he was seeing crashing down on him with the force of a physical blow.

"I don’t think he is," Ethan said, his voice trembling. "I think he’s an NPC."