A sharp pain tore through the chest of Aditya Bansal's chest.
His breath faltered.
The scene around him blurred, and the never stopping noise of the crowd faded into nothing. Hid eyesight wandered, and the stadiums light appeared too bright, the rain felt too cold when it hit his skin.
His legs gave out.
Someone was shouting his name. Jake Preacher his assistant manager grabbed his arm, shaking him violently.
"Aditya! what's wrong?! Aditya-MEDICS!! Get the Medics!"
Aditya tried to answer, to say something. To tell Jake to calm down, that it was just exhaustion and that he would be fine.
But he couldn't speak.
The discomfort in his chest became unbearable as it contracted. He felt his heart being pierced by 1000 swords.
The cheers from the stands, the sound of his name being chanted for the first time in his career began to fade.
His body fell forward, hitting the cold and damp ground. The rain continued to fall, soaking through his suit, chilling his skin.
Aditya tried to move, tried to fight against the suffocating darkness pulling him towards it.
But it was useless.
He could hear the frantic shouts of the medical staff rushing onto the pitch, felt hands pressing on his chest trying to revive his fallen heart.
The last thing he saw was the games score line before everything darkened around him.
The score board flashing the final result.
Novara FC 1-0 Atlanta BC .
Victory but then Nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
A sharp inhale.
A desperate gasp for air.
Ethan jerked awake, his body trembling, his lungs burning as though he had been drowning. His hands clawed at his chest, expecting to feel pain—expecting to feel something.
But there was nothing.
No rain. No cold grass. No stadium lights.
Only the dim glow of an old desk lamp, casting flickering shadows against the walls of a small, cluttered office.
His heart pounded in confusion. His breathing was uneven, his fingers still shaking as they pressed against his chest.
He was… alive?
No.
Something was different.
His body—it felt different.
His breathing slowed as he looked down at his hands.
They weren't his hands.
They were thinner. The fingers were longer, bonier, the skin slightly rough. His once broad, athletic frame felt weaker, like he had been trapped in a body that hadn't exercised in years.
The heart rate of Aditya jumped.
In a desperate attempt to comprehend what was happening, his thoughts raced.
This wasn't his body.
And this wasn't Italy.
The air smelled of old leather, dust, and cheap coffee. The walls were lined with filing cabinets, stacked papers, and old team photos.
A sudden movement caught his eye. On the wooden desk in front of him sat a newspaper, slightly crumpled and yellowed.
The bold headline made his stomach drop.
"ADITYA BANSAL DEAD – TRAGIC COLLAPSE AFTER HISTORIC WIN!"
His body went completely still.
What?
His hands, still trembling, grabbed the newspaper, his eyes frantically scanning the text.
"Serie C manager Aditya Bansal, aged 41, tragically collapsed on the pitch after securing his first-ever win with Novara FC. The football world mourns his passing."
He felt sick.
He was reading about his own death. This was a level of strangeness that nobody would have experienced before.
His fingers pressed into the paper, squeezing it so hard that it almost tore. It had to be a joke. A dream. A hallucination.
But it wasn't.
This was real.
His breathing grew ragged as he lowered the newspaper, his gaze locking onto something else on the desk.
A small nameplate.
Leo Faulkner – Head Coach, Wrexham AFC (Fifth-Tier League, England)
His entire body froze.
Leo Faulkner?
Who the hell was Leo Faulkner?
Before he could even begin to process, a soft ding echoed in the room.
A glowing blue screen materialized before his eyes.
[Ding! The Football Coaching System Has Activated.]
Aditya's breath hitched.
His body stiffened as his gaze locked onto the floating screen. The text was clear, crisp, and impossible to ignore.
[Welcome, Leo Faulkner. Your mission is to rise from the bottom and become the greatest manager in football history.]
[Analyzing Current Team: Wrexham AFC (Fifth-Tier League, England)]
[Tactical Insights Unlocked.]
Aditya or rather, Leo Faulkner felt a chill crawl down his spine.
He swallowed hard.
His mind was screaming, demanding answers, but deep inside, a single terrifying realization settled in.
He had died.
And now—
He was somebody else.