The transfer window was a dangerous time. It was like swimming in a pool full of sharks while wearing a suit made of raw meat. With only three days left Michael Sterling was in London. He was not there to see the sights. He was there to meet with agents, bankers, and lawyers. The mission to steal Endrick from Real Madrid was in motion but it required precision.

It was 9 PM. Michael sat in the corner of The Golden Fork, an Italian restaurant so expensive that they charged you just for breathing the air.

Opposite him sat Arthur Milton. The scout was struggling with a giant lobster.

"This animal is wearing armor Boss," Arthur complained, trying to crack a claw with a metal tool. "It is fighting back. It is like trying to eat Diego Nunez."

"Just use the cracker Arthur," Michael said, looking at his phone. "And keep your voice down. We are incognito."

"I am wearing sunglasses," Arthur pointed out. "Nobody knows who I am."

"You are wearing sunglasses inside a dark restaurant at night," Michael sighed. "You look like a spy who is very bad at being a spy."

Michael took a sip of water. He was stressed. The Endrick deal was complicated. Real Madrid were suspicious. And the squad was thin.

Suddenly the atmosphere in the restaurant changed.

Usually, the sound of the restaurant was a gentle hum of polite conversation and clinking cutlery. But now it went silent.

The waiter dropped a napkin. A couple near the door stopped eating their pasta.

Michael looked up.

Walking through the door was a man. He was tall. He was lean. He wore a long black coat that looked like it cost more than Michael's car.

But it was not the coat that made people stare.

It was the mask.

A black protective mask covered his cheeks and eyes. It made him look like a superhero. Or a villain.

"Boss," Arthur whispered, dropping his lobster cracker. "Is that Zorro?"

"No Arthur," Michael said, his eyes widening. "That is not Zorro. That is the King of Naples."

THE APPROACH

The man walked through the restaurant. He did not wait for the host. He walked with a stride that said I own this room.

He looked left. He looked right. Then he locked eyes with Michael Sterling.

He changed direction. He walked straight towards their table.

Arthur tried to hide behind the lobster.

The man stopped at their table. He loomed over them.

"Michael Sterling," the man said. His voice was deep and smooth.

"Yes," Michael said, standing up. "And you are Victor."

Victor Osimhen took off his sunglasses, but kept the mask on. He smiled. It was a charming, dangerous smile.

"May I sit?" Osimhen asked. "I am tired of standing. My legs are worth one hundred million euros. I must protect them."

"Please," Michael gestured to the empty chair.

Osimhen sat down. He looked at Arthur.

"You are the scout," Osimhen said. "The one who found the pink boots boy."

Arthur swallowed hard. "Yes. That is me. Do you like lobster?"

"I prefer goals," Osimhen said coolly.

THE CONVERSATION

Michael's heart was hammering against his ribs.

Victor Osimhen. The Nigerian striker. One of the best in the world. He was supposed to be at the African Cup of Nations, or in Italy, or anywhere else but here.

"I thought you were in Ivory Coast," Michael said. "For the tournament."

"I have a small knock," Osimhen said, touching his knee. "Nothing serious. But the doctors said I must rest for three days. I came to London to see a specialist."

"And the specialist is in an Italian restaurant?" Michael asked.

"The specialist is boring," Osimhen shrugged. "I was hungry. And I heard you were here."

"You heard I was here?"

"I have ears everywhere," Osimhen said. "And I have been watching Barnsley."

Michael leaned forward.

"Why is the Capocannoniere watching Barnsley?"

Osimhen leaned forward too. The black mask gleamed under the dim lights.

"Because I am bored Michael," Osimhen said. "Napoli is beautiful. The fans are crazy. I love them. But..."

He paused.

"I watched your game against Liverpool. I watched you play with three defenders at Anfield. I watched Diego Nunez headbutt the ball into the net. I watched Erik Olsen scream at Van Dijk."

Osimhen's eyes lit up.

"It was chaos. It was fire. It was... passion."

"We are a passionate team," Michael agreed.

"In modern football," Osimhen continued, "everyone wants to be a robot. Pass, pass, pass. Be safe. Keep possession. It is boring. I want to fight. I want to run. I want to feel the blood pumping."

He looked at Michael intensely.

"I want to join the Misfits."

THE SYSTEM SHOCK

Arthur choked on a piece of bread. He started coughing loudly.

"Water!" Michael said, handing him a glass.

Arthur drank it and wheezed. "Did he say... join us?"

Michael felt the vibration in his pocket. The System was going crazy.

[SUPERSTAR ALERT]

[PLAYER: VICTOR OSIMHEN]

[CLASS: WORLD CLASS]

[TRAIT: THE MASKED ASSASSIN]

[DESIRE: HIGH]

[WARNING: WAGE BILL WILL EXPLODE]

Michael looked at the Nigerian star.

"Victor," Michael said slowly. "You are one of the most expensive players in the world. Your release clause is huge. Your salary is huge. We are Barnsley. We have a nice stadium now, but we are not oil sheikhs."

"Money is paper," Osimhen waved his hand. "I have enough paper. I want glory. I want to be part of a story. When people talk about Napoli, they talk about Maradona. When people talk about Barnsley... I want them to talk about Osimhen."

"But the transfer fee," Michael said. "De Laurentiis, your president... he is a tough negotiator. He will ask for the moon."

"He is tough," Osimhen admitted. "But I am tougher. I can make life difficult. I can refuse to train. I can eat pizza with pineapple on it to offend him."

Arthur gasped. "Pineapple on pizza? That is a war crime in Italy."

"Exactly," Osimhen grinned. "I will do whatever it takes."

THE DILEMMA

Michael sat back. His mind was racing at a million miles an hour.

He was two days away from trying to sign Endrick. The Brazilian wonderkid was the future.

But Osimhen? Osimhen was the now. He was a guarantee. He was a monster who bullied defenders for fun.

Imagine a front line. Erik Olsen on the left. Osimhen in the middle. Leo Stone behind them.

It would not be a football team. It would be a firing squad.

"We are chasing another target," Michael admitted. "A young one. From Madrid."

Osimhen nodded. "The Brazilian boy. Endrick."

Michael froze. "How do you know that?"

"I told you," Osimhen tapped his mask. "I hear things. Endrick is good. He is a diamond. But he is a baby. I am a grown man. Do you want to win the league in five years? Or do you want to win it this year?"

The question hung in the air.

Win the league. This year.

It sounded impossible. But they were third. They had beaten Liverpool. They had beaten City.

With Osimhen... it was not impossible.

"If I come," Osimhen said, "I will not ask for crazy money immediately. Give me a loan. With an obligation to buy in the summer. Pay me in bonuses. If I score, you pay. If I do not score, I eat beans."

"You will score," Michael said. "You always score."

"Then we have a deal?" Osimhen extended his hand.

It was a massive hand. A hand that had lifted trophies.

Michael looked at the hand.

If he shook it, he was changing the trajectory of the club forever. He was declaring war on the established order.

He looked at Arthur.

Arthur had abandoned the lobster. He was nodding so fast his head looked like it was going to fall off.

"Shake the hand Boss!" Arthur mouthed silently. "Shake it!"

Michael took a deep breath.

"Victor," Michael said. "If you come to Barnsley, you have to know one thing."

"What is that?"

"Diego Nunez will try to tackle you in training. And he does not stop for anyone."

Osimhen laughed. It was a loud, booming laugh that made the waiter jump.

"Let him try," Osimhen said. "I grew up on the streets of Lagos. A bald Uruguayan does not scare me. I will tackle him back."

Michael smiled.

He reached out and shook the hand.

"Welcome to the madness, Victor."

THE EXIT

Osimhen stood up. He put his sunglasses back on.

"I will call my agent," Osimhen said. "He will scream. He will cry. But he will do it. Expect a call in the morning."

He turned to leave.

"Oh," Osimhen paused. He looked at Arthur's plate. "The claw is the best part. Use the small fork."

Then he walked out. The long black coat swished behind him. The Masked Assassin vanished into the London night.

The restaurant was silent again.

Arthur stared at the empty chair.

"Boss," Arthur whispered. "Did that just happen? Or did I hallucinate from eating too much shellfish?"

"It happened Arthur," Michael said, looking at his shaking hand.

"Victor Osimhen," Arthur said. "At Barnsley. Boss, we are going to need a bigger bus."

"We are going to need a bigger everything," Michael said.

He picked up his phone.

He had two days left in the window.

He had a plan to sign Endrick.

And now he had a verbal agreement with Victor Osimhen.

If he pulled this off, it wouldn't just be the best transfer window in history. It would be a cheat code.

"Arthur," Michael said, standing up and throwing cash on the table.

"Yes Boss?"

"Leave the lobster. We have work to do."

"But there is still meat in the tail!" Arthur protested.

"Bring it with you," Michael said, walking to the door. "We need the energy. Because I don't think we are going to sleep for the next forty eight hours."

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