The morning after the Newcastle victory, the Sterling Era Training Complex looked less like a professional football facility and more like a field hospital.

Michael walked into the physio room holding two cups of strong coffee.

Mateo was sitting on a treatment table holding an ice pack to his face. His left eye was completely swollen shut, turning a spectacular shade of purple.

He looked like a panda that had lost a boxing match.

"You look beautiful, Mateo," Michael said, handing the first coffee to the head physio.

Mateo grinned, which looked painful. "I stopped the goal, Boss. My face is fine. I have another one."

Michael laughed, but deep down, he was worried.

Next to Mateo, Shaun Higgins was asleep on a massage table. The Butcher was snoring so loudly the windows were vibrating. His legs were covered in bruises, souvenirs from his battle with the Swedish striker.

In the corner, Finn Riley was soaking his feet in a bucket of ice water, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

"Boss, look!" Finn yelled, waving his phone.

"I have ten thousand new followers! They are calling me The Mud Shark!"

"Mud Shark?" Michael raised an eyebrow.

"Because I slide in the mud and eat wingers," Finn explained happily.

Michael shook his head. The morale was high. The vibes were immaculate. But the reality was brutal. They were fifth in the Championship and into the Fourth Round of the cup, but his squad was paper thin.

If Higgins got injured, they were finished. If Danny Fletcher needed a rest, they had no creative spark.

Michael left the physio room and walked up the stairs to his office.

Ideally, he needed five new players. Realistically, he had a small budget and a System that had just leveled up.

Arthur Milton was already in the office. The old scout was sitting on the sofa, surrounded by piles of paper scouting reports, watching a video of a French second division game on his tablet.

"Morning, Gaffer," Michael said, sitting behind his desk. "Ready to go shopping?"

Arthur paused the video. "Shopping? The transfer window is closed, Boss. We cannot buy anyone until January. That is three months away."

"I know," Michael said, opening his laptop. "But we can agree deals now. We can find them now. And when January first hits, they walk through that door ready to play."

Arthur grunted, looking skeptical.

"And where are we finding these players? I have scouted every academy in England. They are all too expensive."

Michael smiled. He tapped the enter key on his laptop.

Only Michael could see the blue light that suddenly flooded the room. The System interface materialized in the air above his desk, shimmering with digital potential.

[SYSTEM FEATURE: GLOBAL SCOUTING NETWORK]

[STATUS: ONLINE]

[CURRENT POINTS: 550]

The map of the world appeared. It was greyed out, like fog of war in a video game. Only England was bright green.

"We are not looking in England, Arthur," Michael said, his eyes scanning the holographic map.

"We are going global."

Arthur leaned forward, squinting at Michael's laptop screen, which to him just showed a spreadsheet. "Global? We don't have the budget for plane tickets, Michael."

"Trust me," Michael whispered.

He looked at the System menu.

[UNLOCK REGION: SOUTH AMERICA (200 PTS)]

[UNLOCK REGION: ASIA (200 PTS)]

[UNLOCK REGION: EASTERN EUROPE (200 PTS)]

[UNLOCK REGION: AFRICA (200 PTS)]

Michael did the math. He had 550 points. He could unlock two regions and still have enough left over for some specific scans.

He needed a defender. A nasty, aggressive defender to rotate with Higgins.

Where did the best aggressive defenders come from?

South America.

"Arthur, what do you think about Argentina?" Michael asked.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Tough kids. Good technique. But getting a work permit is a nightmare unless they have European passports."

"Let's see what we can find," Michael said.

He mentally clicked the button.

[CONFIRM: UNLOCK SOUTH AMERICA?]

[YES]

-200 POINTS.

The map of South America suddenly burst into light. It glowed gold. Dots appeared all over the continent. Thousands of dots.

[FILTERING...]

[CRITERIA: HIGH POTENTIAL, LOW COST, AGGRESSIVE]

The thousands of dots disappeared. Only three remained.

Michael focused on the brightest one. It was hovering over a city in Uruguay, not Argentina. Montevideo.

He clicked on the dot. A player profile card spun into view.

NAME: DIEGO "EL TORO" NUNEZ

AGE: 18

POSITION: CB / CDM

CLUB: DANUBIO FC (RESERVES)

CURRENT ABILITY: 66

POTENTIAL ABILITY: 89

PRICE: £250,000

TRAIT: [THE ANCHOR] - NEVER LOSES BALANCE.

Michael's jaw dropped. A Potential Ability of 89? That was Premier League elite level. That was Champions League level. And he was hiding in the reserves of a Uruguayan team for the price of a used Ferrari.

"Arthur," Michael said, his voice trembling slightly. "Write this name down. Diego Nunez. Danubio FC."

Arthur frowned, grabbing a pen.

"Who is he? Never heard of him."

"He is eighteen," Michael said, reading the stats from the floating blue screen.

"He is strong. He is angry. And he has an Italian passport."

Arthur paused. "Italian passport? That solves the visa issue. How do you know that?"

"My network is very thorough," Michael lied smoothly. "Get on the phone. Offer them two hundred grand. Tell them we will loan him back until January."

Arthur looked at Michael, then at the name. "Okay. I will make the call. We need a backup for Higgins. If this kid is half as angry as Higgins, I will like him."

"He is angrier," Michael grinned.

He had 350 points left.

He needed energy. The Championship was fast. His midfield was getting overrun in the last twenty minutes of games because Kai Sora refused to run and Danny Fletcher was exhausted. He needed a battery. Someone who could run for ninety minutes without sweating.

Where did the most disciplined, high-energy players come from?

He looked at the map.

[CONFIRM: UNLOCK ASIA?]

[YES]

-200 POINTS.

The continent of Asia lit up.

[FILTERING...]

[CRITERIA: HIGH STAMINA, HIGH WORK RATE, CHEAP]

The scan swept across China, Korea, and Japan.

It stopped on a single dot in Tokyo.

Michael clicked it.

NAME: KENJI SATO

AGE: 17

POSITION: CM / RM

CLUB: TOKYO VERDY (YOUTH)

CURRENT ABILITY: 62

POTENTIAL ABILITY: 85

PRICE: £50,000

TRAIT: [THE ENGINE] - STAMINA RECOVERS 50% FASTER.

Fifty thousand pounds? That was nothing. That was less than they paid for the new coffee machine in the canteen.

"One more name, Arthur," Michael said.

Arthur looked up from his notebook. "You are on a roll today."

"Kenji Sato. Tokyo Verdy. Seventeen years old."

Arthur dropped his pen. "Japan? Michael, are you serious? The scouting budget..."

"He costs fifty grand, Arthur," Michael interrupted. "And he runs. He runs more than Finn. He runs more than a marathon runner who forgot where the finish line is."

Arthur picked up his pen again. A slow smile spread across his face. "I like runners. We need legs. The Bouncer is lazy. We need someone to do his running for him."

"Exactly," Michael said. "Kenji is the engine. Kai is the steering wheel."

Arthur chuckled. "I will call my contact in Tokyo. If this kid is real, we are robbing them."

Michael leaned back in his chair. He had spent 400 points. He had found two wonderkids. The future of Barnsley Football Club was looking bright.

But he had 150 points left.

He looked at the map. He could save the points. He should save the points.

But then he saw a flashing notification in the bottom corner of the System screen.

[SPECIAL OFFER: "THE REJECT BIN" SCAN]

[COST: 100 PTS]

[DESCRIPTION: SCANS TOP EUROPEAN ACADEMIES FOR RECENTLY RELEASED PLAYERS WITH HIGH POTENTIAL]

Michael's heart skipped a beat.

The reject bin. Players who had been cut by big teams like Chelsea, City, or Arsenal because they were too small, or had a bad attitude, or just bad luck.

Arthur was busy dialing the number for Uruguay. Michael looked at the blue button.

"Why not?" Michael whispered.

He clicked it.

-100 POINTS.

The map zoomed into England. It scanned London. It scanned Manchester.

It stopped in London. Specifically, North London. Arsenal.

A profile popped up.

NAME: ISAIAH "IZZY" KING

AGE: 16

POSITION: ST / CAM

STATUS: FREE AGENT (RELEASED YESTERDAY)

CURRENT ABILITY: 64

POTENTIAL ABILITY: 92

REASON FOR RELEASE: "ATTITUDE PROBLEMS" / "TOO SMALL"

TRAIT: [THE STREET BALLER] - +10 DRIBBLING IN TIGHT SPACES.

Potential Ability 92.

That was higher than Danny Fletcher. That was higher than anyone in the squad except Kai Sora.

And he was free.

"Arthur," Michael said, his voice suddenly very serious.

Arthur looked up, holding the phone to his ear. "Hola? Si, si. Danubio FC?" He covered the microphone.

"What is it, Boss? I am buying the angry Uruguayan."

"Hang up for a second," Michael said.

Arthur frowned but lowered the phone. "This better be good."

"I need you to drive to London," Michael said. "Right now."

"London? Why?"

"There is a kid," Michael said, staring at the profile of Isaiah King. The kid in the photo had dreadlocks and a scowl that could curdle milk. "Arsenal just released him. His name is Isaiah King."

Arthur snorted. "I know him. Everyone knows him. He is talented, Michael, but he is a nightmare. He fought his coach. He is arrogant. He is unmanageable. That is why Arsenal cut him."

"Does he remind you of anyone?" Michael asked.

Arthur paused. He looked at the photo Michael had pulled up on the screen. He thought about a certain lazy midfielder who was currently annoying everyone in the Championship with his genius.

"He is another Kai," Arthur muttered.

"No," Michael corrected. "Kai is lazy because he is bored. This kid? This kid is angry because nobody believes in him. Arsenal said he was too small. Arsenal said he was trouble."

Michael stood up. He walked over to the window and looked out at the training pitch. He saw the rain falling on the grass. He saw his team of misfits and rejects who had just beaten Newcastle.

"We are the island of misfit toys, Arthur," Michael said. "That is who we are. We take the broken ones and we fix them. Go get him."

Arthur stared at Michael for a long moment. Then, the old scout sighed and put his phone in his pocket.

"I will take the car," Arthur grunted, grabbing his coat.

"But if he punches me, I am punching him back."

"Deal," Michael laughed.

Arthur walked to the door. He stopped and looked back. "Uruguay. Japan. And a reject from London. You are building a strange empire, Michael Sterling."

"Normal is boring, Arthur," Michael grinned.

The door closed.

Michael sat back down. The System screen faded away.

He had done it. He had three targets.

If he could pull this off, January wasn't just going to be a transfer window. It was going to be a revolution.

His phone buzzed. It was a text from Jessica.

Jess: "Mom is asking if we are going to Wembley again this year. She wants to buy a new hat."

Michael typed back.

Michael: "Tell her to buy two. We aren't just going to Wembley, Jess. We are going to take over the world."

He put the phone down. He looked at the league table on the wall one more time. Fifth place.

"Coming for you, Leicester," Michael whispered.

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