Here’s a revised version of your passage in a more polished novel format:
"That was insane!" a youthful voice bellowed inside the hospital room.
Wayne Rooney, who had just stepped in, raised a brow at the outburst. His gaze landed on David, who sat up in bed, looking elated. Amused, Rooney smiled. "Seeing you this happy, I’m guessing it’s good news?"
David only nodded, still caught up in his thoughts. "Yeah, the doctors said—" He trailed off, his mind drifting back to what had unfolded just monts ago while he was watching the match.
He had been watching with a grin on his face, completely engrossed. Rooney had just bagged his second goal of the ga, sealing a dominant 5–0 victory. David had always known his coach was a legend—he was Wayne Rooney, after all. But this? This was sothing else. After training and playing alongside him, David had started to grasp just how vast the gap truly was.
And then a realization struck him.
Co to think of it... whenever I make my runs or find spaces to exploit, it’s mostly the gaffer who picks out with a pass.
David was undoubtedly talented. His raw instincts and natural ability had carried him far, and until now, that had been enough. He’d never been one to overanalyze tactics or break down the finer details of the ga. No one had ever truly guided him in that direction. Even Rooney, for all his coaching, hadn’t yet unlocked his full potential—using him primarily as an offensive weapon.
But David never complained. Scoring goals was what he lived for, and he had to admit—he was damn good at it.
But he knew he could do much more. That was another thing that excited him about the prospect of joining Manchester United. A top team, a top coach—he could already picture himself evolving into sothing even more dangerous. Just the thought sent a surge of anticipation through him.
Lost in thought, David barely noticed when the hospital room door swung open. The sound of footsteps pulled him back to reality, and he turned his head just in ti to see an older man step inside. Dressed in a crisp white coat, the man was clearly a doctor.
The doctor didn’t say a word at first. Instead, he moved around the room, checking the monitors and jotting sothing down on his notepad. David watched impatiently, waiting for so kind of acknowledgnt, but the man remained focused on his task, seemingly indifferent to his presence.
Annoyed, David finally spoke up. "Hello, sir."
The doctor, hearing him, finally acknowledged his presence. "Yes, young man?" he said, his tone neutral.
David, sensing the doctor’s detached attitude, chose his words carefully. "Uh... my injury. They ran so tests. Can you tell what it is?"
...a Grade 2 MCL sprain," the doctor finally said, flipping through the report. "It’s not as bad as we feared. There’s no ACL tear."
David exhaled sharply, his body slumping against the hospital bed in relief. "So... what does that an? How long am I out?"
The doctor set the clipboard down and crossed his arms. "Typically, a Grade 2 sprain takes about six to eight weeks for full recovery. You’ll need rehab, physiotherapy, and complete rest before you can return to the pitch. But—" he lifted a finger, his expression serious, "—you need to take this seriously. Push too hard too soon, and you could turn this into sothing worse."
Hearing that, David was initially devastated. Six weeks? That felt insane. But at least the season was ending soon, which brought him so relief. Honestly, he tried to focus on the positives—because as much as the news stung, what he had feared most was far worse.
"Oof, sorry, kid," Wayne said, cringing as David recounted what the doctor had told him.
Then, with a sly grin, he added, "And about what the doctor said, honestly, he’s right."
David bristled defensively. "What, that it’s karma for what I did to Murray? It was a clean tackle, even the ref judged it that way," he protested, trying to justify himself.
Wayne chuckled, shaking his head. "No, I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about how he said you shouldn’t push yourself too hard."
David’s face flushed with embarrassnt, and he smiled sheepishly. "Oh... that, yeah," he said, scratching the back of his head.
But then Wayne’s tone shifted. His voice grew serious. "But listen, David, what you did to Murray? Honestly, that could’ve ended really badly, really fast."
David paused, his smile fading as he saw the serious look on Wayne’s face. He hesitated before speaking. "But... he was fine. Nothing was wrong."
Wayne opened his mouth to speak again, but David quickly cut him off. "And like my dad used to say—nowadays, football’s soft," he added, his confidence returning as his voice rose a little. "Coach, you should know what I an."
David continued, his eyes shining with excitent. "I rember watching a match with my dad, where you got injured against Leverkusen. You were bleeding badly, but you still kept playing—and even scored, winning the match. That was incredible."
Wayne let out a small sigh, a smile tugging at his lips. "Well, yes, I admit the rules are a bit stricter now, but that’s for the players’ protection. Honestly, so of the rules we have in place today would have helped prevent a lot of unnecessary injuries back in the day."
He paused, looking at David with a serious expression. "I an, look at you now. You know how bad it is when injuries like this happen, and how much it must hurt."
David nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that’s true." Then, his smile returned. "But don’t worry about . I trust myself. I’ll bounce back ten tis better."
Wayne chuckled. "That attitude of yours, I love it. Lord knows I could’ve used that ntality back in the day."
Wayne raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "But that match... it was in 2013. How could you rember it? You would’ve been, what, five?"
David shot him a playful glare. "Hey, I was nine! And how could I forget? That match was insane! Plus, have you forgotten? I’m a Red through and through!" he said, a grin spreading across his face.
Wayne burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. A proper fan, then," he said, still chuckling.
They spent the next while chatting—mostly about Wayne’s experiences playing top-level football. But David couldn’t resist diverging a little, asking about the high life of footballers: the money, the fa, everything that ca with it. Wayne smiled, more than happy to explain.
While they were talking, the door to the room suddenly burst wide open, leaving both Wayne and David startled. They turned their heads toward the door, only to see a man grinning widely. His clothes were mismatched, and his appearance looked... off.
Wayne’s smile disappeared instantly. His gaze shifted to the man, the playful expression from earlier replaced with a serious one. Through the face mask he’d been wearing, he muttered, "Who’s this?" He scanned the room, his mind already working to figure out if he needed to call in the doctors, suspecting it was just an overzealous fan who’d sohow made his way in.
David hesitated for a mont before answering. "Oh, that’s... uh, my agent."
David shook his head, his confusion evident. "What are you doing here?" he asked, then quickly added, "How did you even get in?"
But Jonathan just stood there, grinning from ear to ear, not offering an answer.
Wayne’s head snapped back to David, surprise flashing across his face.
Jonathan, still grinning from ear to ear, stepped forward, his voice brimming with excitent. "David! I got it! I got it!" he said, holding out a contract.
David looked at him, a confused expression on his face. "What did you get?"
Jonathan handed him the docunt. David took it, his eyes scanning the paper. What he first read left him perplexed, but then his gaze shifted. His eyes widened as the shock set in, clearly stunned by what he saw.
"How...?" David started, then paused, clearly shocked. "How did you get this?"
"Well, I just—" Jonathan began, but was cut off by Wayne, who had been quietly observing.
"What did he get?" Wayne interrupted, his voice firm.
David’s eyes widened. "Oh, sorry! Jonathan, this is—" He stopped, a smile tugging at his lips. "I’m sure you don’t need to tell you who that is."
Jonathan’s smile faltered slightly as he looked at Wayne. "My Rooney. What an honor," he said, the humor in his tone not quite matching the tension in the room. Wayne nodded, clearly sensing sothing was off.
He turned to David. "So about the docunt... what is it?"
David’s smile grew. "It’s my parents’ signature. They’ve signed it. I’m officially a Manchester United player," he said, his voice almost in disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite process the words.
Jonathan’s voice ca back, full of excitent. "I told you, kid. We could do it. Just believe in yourself, huh?"
David smiled, but then Jonathan’s expression shifted. "And about your leg... what’s up with it?"
David waved him off. "It’s just a sprain. I’m out for six weeks, but really, about the contract—how did you get it signed? Knowing my dad, I could’ve sworn he would never agree to it. But... how?"
Jonathan smiled smugly, preparing to explain, but before he could speak, Wayne cut him off again. "Jonathan, is it?"
All eyes turned to Wayne, his tone sharp. Jonathan looked at him, and Wayne said, "Can I see you privately?"
Cut to the back of the hospital, a little distance between them. Wayne, no longer in the mood for pleasantries, wasted no ti.
"Now," Wayne said, his voice all business.
Jonathan gave a casual reply, "Miller. But you can call Jonathan... or just ’Jonah’."
Wayne nodded. "Okay, Mr. Miller," he said, earning a slight frown from Jonathan. It was clear the agent hadn’t been a fan of Wayne for so ti, especially after the coach tried to convince David not to leave.
Back in Manchester, at the iconic Theatre of Dreams—Old Trafford—a eting was taking place that would affect the future of Manchester United.
This stadium, which had seen legends like Beckham, Cantona, Sir Bobby Charlton, Cristiano Ronaldo, and even the great Sir Alex Ferguson, was now the site of a critical discussion that would shape the club’s course.
Inside, the heart of the stadium, a pivotal eting was unfolding, one that could alter the fate of Manchester United as a whole.
I want to sincerely apologize for the previous Chapter. I was rushing and didn’t take the ti to properly review it before uploading. I understand it may have been unclear, and I’m truly sorry for that. I really appreciate your patience and understanding, and I’m grateful for the chance to make it right. Thanks for bearing with !
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