Wednesday morning brought a strange energy to the Sterling Era Training Complex.

Michael stood in the large meeting room.

The players sat in rows of chairs. They looked tired.

Isaiah King was slumped in his chair wearing a grey hoodie. Even his pink shoes looked sad today.

Kai Sora was awake but he was staring at the ceiling counting the tiles.

"Wake up everyone," Michael said his voice cutting through the gloom. "Tuesday hurt. I know it hurt. But we do not have time to bleed."

He pressed a button on a remote control.

Spotlights turned on at the front of the room.

They illuminated three mannequins.

The players sat up.

The mannequins were wearing a new kit.

It was not the Barnsley red. It was not the away white.

It was black.

Pure deep midnight black. The club crest was embroidered in gold. The sponsor logo was gold. The numbers were gold.

It was the "Blackout" Third Kit.

"Whoa," Isaiah King whispered. He stood up. He walked towards the mannequins like he was approaching a holy relic.

"This is..." Isaiah paused. "This is beautiful. It is drip. It is maximum drip."

"We wear this on Saturday," Michael announced. "Against West Ham. We are entering the dark months of winter. So we dress for the occasion."

Diego Nunez hobbled forward on his crutches. He touched the fabric.

"It looks dangerous Boss," Diego grunted. "Like a ninja suit. I like it. Can I wear it even if I am injured?"

"You can wear it to dinner Diego," Michael laughed.

"It is very sleek," Benjamin Pavard nodded approvingly. "In France we call this très chic. It sends a message. It says we are serious."

Kai Sora looked at the kit. He adjusted his sunglasses.

"Black absorbs heat," Kai noted scientifically. "It will keep us warm. And the mud will not show. It is practical. I approve."

The mood in the room lifted instantly. A new kit was a small thing but in football small things mattered. It gave them a new armor. A new identity.

"We are not the victims," Michael said looking at his squad. "We are the villains now. We are the team everyone wants to beat. So let us dress like villains."

Isaiah grabbed a shirt from the rack. He held it up to his chest.

"I am going to score in this," Isaiah promised. "I am going to look so good scoring in this."

After the players left to train in their new gear Michael walked to the other side of the facility.

He met Arthur Milton by the construction site on the east side of the grounds.

For months this area had just been mud and diggers. But now the skeleton of a building was rising.

"The Academy," Michael said looking at the steel beams.

"It is costing a fortune Boss," Arthur said checking a clipboard. "The steel is expensive. The glass is expensive. Even the dirt is expensive."

"It is an investment Arthur," Michael said. "We cannot keep buying players forever. We have to make them."

Michael pulled out his phone. He opened the System app.

He had saved points. He had resisted using them on quick fixes for the first team. He wanted to build something permanent.

[BUILDING PROJECT: THE STERLING ACADEMY]

[CURRENT STATUS: LEVEL 1]

[UPGRADE AVAILABLE: LEVEL 5 (WORLD CLASS)]

[COST: 1500 POINTS + £10,000,000]

It was a massive cost. But Michael had the money from Julian Thorne and he had the points from the Arsenal and United wins.

He pressed the button.

[UPGRADE CONFIRMED]

[CONSTRUCTION SPEED: ACCELERATED]

[FACILITIES INCLUDED: UNDERWATER TREADMILLS, AI TACTICAL ROOM, DORMITORIES, SCHOOL]

"We are going to have the best school in England," Michael told Arthur. "We are going to find kids who have nothing and give them everything."

"Like Isaiah," Arthur said softly.

"Exactly like Isaiah," Michael agreed. "But we need to find them first."

They walked back to the office. The wind was cold but Michael felt warm. The future was rising out of the ground.

Back in the office Michael sat at his desk.

"Okay Arthur," Michael said. "The window opens in January. That is six weeks away. We need to be ready."

"We need a winger," Arthur said. "With Finn gone and Isaiah playing every minute we are thin. If Isaiah gets injured..."

Arthur did not finish the sentence. He did not have to. Without Isaiah the spark was gone.

"We need a backup," Michael agreed. "Someone young. Someone hungry. Someone who does not cost fifty million pounds."

Michael opened the scouting tab on the System.

[GLOBAL SCOUTING NETWORK]

[STATUS: ONLINE]

[REGIONS AVAILABLE: ALL]

He had unlocked the world.

"Where do we look?" Arthur asked. "Brazil? France? Germany?"

"Everyone looks in France," Michael said. "France is crowded. Let us look somewhere else. Somewhere cold. Somewhere tough."

He spun the digital globe.

SCANDINAVIA.

"Vikings," Michael whispered. "We need more Vikings."

He set the filters.

AGE: 16 - 19

POSITION: WINGER / STRIKER

ATTRIBUTE: PACE

ATTRIBUTE: DETERMINATION

POTENTIAL: 85+

The System scanned. It processed thousands of players in seconds.

The list whittled down.

One name flashed in gold.

NAME: ERIK "THE AXE" OLSEN

AGE: 17

CLUB: BODO/GLIMT (NORWAY)

POSITION: LW

VALUE: £2,000,000

HIDDEN TRAIT: ICE IN VEINS

Michael clicked on the profile.

There was a video clip. It showed a boy running through a snowstorm in Norway. The pitch was white. The ball was orange.

The boy was fast. He ran with a strange hunched style like a wolf hunting prey. He cut inside and smashed the ball into the top corner.

He did not celebrate. He just turned around and ran back to the center line.

"Look at him," Michael said turning the screen to Arthur.

Arthur squinted. "He runs funny. But he is fast. Very fast."

"He plays in the Arctic Circle Arthur," Michael said. "He knows what cold is. He will not cry when it rains in Stoke."

"The Axe," Arthur read the nickname. "I like it. It fits with the Butcher and the Bull."

"We are building a zoo," Michael laughed.

He clicked the button.

[SCOUTING MISSION INITIATED]

[AGENT DEPLOYED TO NORWAY]

"Book a flight Arthur," Michael said. "Go see him. Take a thick coat. If he is real we sign him in January."

Later that afternoon the team was testing the new Blackout kit on the pitch.

It looked intimidating. The black shirts made the players look bigger. Slimmer. Faster.

Arda Guler was doing tricks with the ball. The gold numbers on his back caught the light.

"I feel like a magician," Arda shouted. "Abracadabra!"

He flicked the ball over the head of Tom the young defender.

Kai Sora was standing in the center circle. He looked at his new black jersey.

"It is slimming," Kai noted. "It hides the pizza."

"You do not eat pizza Kai," Isaiah King said running past him. "You eat air and passing lanes."

"I eat pizza on Sundays," Kai corrected.

Michael watched them from the sideline.

The defeat to Forest was still a bruise on his heart. But looking at them now laughing and training in their new armor he felt the belief returning.

He walked over to Shaun Higgins.

The big defender was suspended for the next game because of the red card against Spurs. He looked frustrated.

"How are you Shaun?" Michael asked.

"I hate watching Boss," Higgins grunted. "I want to hit someone."

"Save it," Michael said. "When you come back you will be fresh. Pavard and Tom will hold the fort."

"Tom is a good kid," Higgins admitted. "He is scared but he listens. Pavard is teaching him how to defend without tackling. It is weird. Pavard says tackling is a last resort. I think tackling is the first resort."

"Different schools of thought," Michael smiled. "You are the hammer. Pavard is the scalpel. We need both."

Michael looked up at the skeletal steel frame of the new Academy in the distance.

He imagined it finished. He imagined hundreds of kids like Isaiah and Tom training there. He imagined a production line of talent that would make Barnsley sustainable for fifty years.

This was not just about winning the next game against West Ham.

It was about building a legacy.

His phone buzzed.

It was a text from Leo Volt the tech genius.

Leo: I analyzed the data from the Forest game. We lost because of fatigue in the last ten minutes. The reaction times dropped by 15 percent. I am sending a new nutrition plan. It involves beetroot juice. Lots of beetroot juice.

Michael grimaced. Beetroot juice. The players were going to hate him.

"Arthur!" Michael shouted.

"Yes Boss?"

"Order five hundred liters of beetroot juice."

Arthur looked horrified. "It tastes like dirt Boss."

"It tastes like victory," Michael said. "Or at least Leo says it does."

The sun began to set casting long shadows across the pitch. The black kits blended into the twilight.

The Misfits were wounded but they were healing.

They had a new look. They had a new plan. And they had a potential new Viking on the radar.

West Ham were coming to town on Saturday. They were a tough team. Physical. Direct.

But Barnsley would be waiting in the dark.

"Alright boys!" Michael blew the whistle. "Training is over! Go drink your juice!"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.