The Tuesday morning after the Bernabéu miracle wasn't just a morning; it was a global hangover of hype.
Michael Sterling sat in the living room of his new lakeside mansion staring at a 100-inch television screen. The volu was turned up to a level that vibrated the coffee table.
On the screen, Sky Sports News had replaced their usual yellow ticker with a purple one. The headline ran on a loop: THE PURPLE REVOLUTION: HOW BARNSLEY BROKE THE KINGS.
Arthur Milton sat on the floor, surrounded by newspapers from every country in Europe. He looked like a conspiracy theorist trying to solve a murder, except he was smiling like a toddler who just found a hidden stash of chocolate.
"Boss," Arthur whispered, holding up L'Equipe.
"They called you 'Le Professeur du Chaos'. The Professor of Chaos. Is that a complint? It sounds like a Batman villain."
"It's French, Arthur," Michael replied, sipping his coffee. "Everything sounds like a villain or a dessert. Take the win."
"And look at this!" Arthur grabbed a Japanese sports daily. "Kaito is on the front page. They drew him as a Gundam robot with hamstrings made of lasers.
Michael chuckled.
The front door banged open. Kenji Sato strode in, followed by Jax and Diego Nunez.
Kenji wasn't wearing a suit today. He was wearing a Barnsley hoodie that looked brand new, paired with pyjama bottoms. He looked frantic.
"Turn it over!" Kenji shouted, pointing at the remote. "Channel 402! ESPN Argentina! Now! Michael, move your ass!"
"Kenji, it's 9 AM," Michael sighed, but he picked up the remote. "What is happening? Did Diego eat soone in South Arica?"
"No," Diego grunted, raiding Michael's fruit bowl for an apple. "I am innocent. Today."
"Just turn it on!" Jax hopped onto the sofa, his neon-pink hair practically glowing. "The GOAT is speaking, Boss! ssi! He is doing an exclusive!"
Michael's heart skipped a beat. Lionel ssi. The god of football. He rarely gave interviews, and when he did, the world stopped turning to listen.
Michael flipped the channel.
The screen showed a sun-drenched patio in Miami. Lionel ssi sat there, looking relaxed in a linen shirt, sipping mate. The interviewer, a famous Argentine journalist, was leaning in with intense focus.
The subtitles flashed across the bottom of the screen.
Interviewer: "Leo, you have seen everything in football. You see the new generation. Haaland. Mbappé. Vinicius. But who... who excites you? Who is the next one?"
The room in Yorkshire went deadly silent. Even Diego stopped chewing his apple.
On the screen, ssi paused. He looked thoughtful. He smiled that shy, knowing smile.
ssi: "There are many good players. But... there is one boy. I watched him last night. In the Copa Libertadores."
Michael leaned forward. His Tactical Insight was tingling.
ssi: "He plays for River Plate. He is small. He is left-footed. He does not run much, but when he has the ball... the ti stops."
ssi looked directly into the cara.
ssi: "I see myself in him. Not the way he plays, but the way he feels the ga. He is special. He is my... how do you say? My next generation."
The interviewer gasped.
Interviewer: "You an... Julian Roro?"
ssi: "Sì. Julian. 'El Arquitecto'. Rember the na."
The screen faded to black.
For ten seconds, nobody moved.
"Holy fuck," Michael whispered.
Lionel ssi had just anointed a successor. Not a generic 'he's a good player' comnt. He had literally said, 'I see myself in him.'
Kenji Sato jumped up. He looked like he had just injected pure caffeine into his veins.
"Arthur!" Kenji scread. "Get the laptop! Get the checkbook! Get the satellite phone!"
"Which one?!" Arthur yelped, scrambling to his feet.
"ALL OF THEM!" Kenji roared. "Julian Roro! River Plate! We need to buy him! We need to buy him yesterday!"
Jax pulled out his phone. "Boss! Look at Twitter! 'Julian Roro' is trending worldwide. Number one. Above 'World Peace' and 'Kylie Jenner'. His price just went up by fifty million in thirty seconds!"
Michael stood up. He walked to the window, looking out at the lake. His mind was racing.
Julian Roro. He knew the na. The System had flagged him months ago as a 'High Potential' target, but he was 17 years old and playing in Argentina. Michael had filed it away for Season 3.
But ssi just blew the secret wide open.
"System," Michael muttered under his breath.
A blue holographic screen flickered into existence in front of his eyes, invisible to the others.
[SCOUTING REPORT: UPDATE]
[NA: JULIAN RORO]
[AGE: 17]
[CLUB: RIVER PLATE]
[NICKNA: EL ARQUITECTO (THE ARCHITECT)]
[CURRENT ABILITY: A-]
[POTENTIAL ABILITY: SSS (GOD TIER)]
[TRAITS: SSI'S BLESSING, VISIONARY, THE SILENT KILLER]
[WARNING: GLOBAL BIDDING WAR IMMINENT]
"SSS Potential," Michael breathed. "I've never seen SSS."
He turned back to the room.
"Kenji, sit down," Michael ordered. His voice had that steely edge that made even billionaires listen.
Kenji sat. "But Michael... ssi said..."
"I know what ssi said," Michael cut him off. "And now, every club in the world knows. Real Madrid is calling his agent right now. City is preparing a bid. PSG is probably offering him a private island."
"So we give up?" Arthur asked, looking relieved. "Good. We don't have space. The bus is full."
"No," Michael grinned. A slow, predatory grin. "We don't give up. We are the Misfits. We don't buy players with money. We buy them with vibes."
He looked at Jax.
"Jax. You speak Portuguese, right?"
"Sì, Boss. And Spanish. And Vibes."
"Good. Get his number. DM him. Slide into his DMs like you slide into the box."
"Say less, Boss," Jax winked, his thumbs already flying across his screen.
He looked at Diego.
"Diego. Do you know anyone at River Plate?"
Diego scratched his bald head. "I have a cousin. He is... how you say... 'in charge of security' for the Ultras."
"Perfect," Michael nodded. "Tell your cousin to send Julian a fruit basket. And a Barnsley shirt. A purple one."
"And a threat?" Diego asked hopefully.
"No threats, Diego. Just love. Aggressive love."
They spent the rest of the morning huddled around Michael's laptop.
They watched Julian Roro highlights.
The kid was... ridiculous. He was 5'7". He looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over. But the ball was glued to his left foot.
He didn't run. He glided. He played passes that didn't make sense until three seconds later.
"He plays like Enzo," Arthur whispered. "But faster."
"He plays like God," Kenji corrected, wiping a tear from his eye. "Look at that valuation, Michael. His release clause is only £25 million. But the agent fees... the add-ons..."
"The release clause is £25 million?" Michael asked sharply.
"Yes. It was set when he was 15."
Michael stood up. He buttoned his bathrobe like it was a suit jacket.
"Kenji. Arthur. Pack a bag."
"Where are we going?" Arthur asked, terrified. "Argentina?"
"Not yet," Michael said. "First, we have to survive Dortmund. But after that? We are going to Buenos Aires."
"Why?"
"Because," Michael pointed at the screen where Julian Roro was currently chipping a goalkeeper from 40 yards. "That kid is the missing piece. We have the Wall (Lars). We have the Bull (Diego). We have the Samurai (Kaito). We have the Magician (Enzo)."
He paused.
"But we don't have the Prince."
"The Prince?" Jax asked.
"The Prince who was promised," Michael smiled. "If ssi says he is the next generation, then he belongs in the Dynasty."
Later that afternoon, the house cleared out. Kenji went to find a way to legally bribe an entire South Arican football federation. Jax went to make TikToks about the rumors. Diego went to eat lunch (a whole chicken).
Michael sat alone on his terrace.
The sun was setting, casting a golden light over the lake.
He looked at his phone. The transfer rumors were already starting.
Fabrizio Romano: Manchester City leading race for 'The New ssi'. Real Madrid monitoring.
Barnsley wasn't even ntioned. Why would they be? They were a cool story, but they weren't royalty.
"Yet," Michael whispered.
He opened the System one last ti.
[MISSION: THE HEIR TO THE THRONE]
[OBJECTIVE: SIGN JULIAN RORO]
[DIFFICULTY: IMPOSSIBLE]
[REWARD: THE 'ERA DEFINING' SQUAD]
He took a sip of his cold coffee.
He rembered the kid in the park, Leo. He rembered the feeling of building sothing from nothing.
Julian Roro wasn't just a wonderkid. He was a statent. If Barnsley could sign the player anointed by ssi himself, over Madrid and City...
It would be the end of the fairytale. And the beginning of the Nightmare for everyone else.
"Impossible," Michael muttered, testing the word.
He smiled.
"I love that word."
He picked up his phone and dialed a number.
"Hello? Enzo?"
"Boss? It is siesta ti. Why you call?"
"Enzo, do you know Julian Roro?"
There was a pause on the line.
"The kid from River? The one ssi loves?"
"Yeah."
"I know him," Enzo said, his voice serious. "He followed on Instagram last year. He likes my beard."
"Good," Michael said. "Text him. Tell him the coffee in Barnsley is terrible."
"Why?"
"Because then tell him the football is magic. Tell him we are building a kingdom. And tell him we have a throne waiting for him."
Enzo chuckled. A low, smooth sound.
"Consider it done, Boss. The Magician will summon the Apprentice."
Michael hung up.
He looked out at the water. The ripples spread out, wide and far.
The ga against Dortmund was in three days. The Yellow Wall was coming.
But Michael's eyes were already fixed on the horizon, towards South Arica, where the next jewel of his crown was waiting to be stolen.
"You're coming ho, kid," Michael promised the air. "You just don't know it yet."
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