Another two days passed.
Juninho D'Alessandro had taken young Messi and his family to settle near Morecambe's training base.
Of course, the family wouldn't be living permanently at the club—this was just to help them understand the environment and get familiar with the setup.
Once things were stable, Juninho wouldn't need to be personally involved anymore.
Now, his attention shifted to the other three names on his list.
Messi had come on a free, no transfer fee, and relatively little expense.
But the others? Completely different stories. Each of them was either already in a first team or climbing the ranks in a youth system—signing them would require serious money.
Juninho thought it over for a moment, then called for Ryan.
His plan was to have Ryan contact the clubs directly, get the ball rolling on transfer fees, and then arrange meetings with the players.
That way, things could move fast—and Juninho wouldn't have to waste time traveling, gambling on uncertain outcomes.
Not long after the call, Ryan entered the office, a little out of breath.
Despite any lingering doubts he may have had about Juninho, Ryan was a veteran of the club—thirty years and counting—and when there was club business to be handled, he responded quickly. It was a habit baked into his bones.
"Mr. D'Alessandro," Ryan greeted him.
Juninho gave him a nod in return. "How's the scouting situation? Any targets on your radar?"
"Coming along well. Our guys are putting together a long list of transfer prospects—multiple names for each position. Once they're ready, you can come select who you like."
Ryan's tone was earnest and professional.
"No need," Juninho said, waving it off. "I'm not from this era, after all. Aside from the future world-class stars, I don't really know the players in League Two."
"If I had to pick from that list blindly, I'd probably get it wrong."
Ryan froze in surprise.
"Mr. D'Alessandro... you're leaving all the transfer decisions... to me?"
He was visibly shocked. Not only was Juninho handing over full control of scouting, but he was also allocating €10 million for transfers—just like that.
€10 million, in one window, for Morecambe?!
This was by far the largest sum Ryan had ever touched in his career at the club.
The more he looked at Juninho, the more he couldn't understand this new owner. What kind of rich madman was he?
Fired the head coach the moment he walked in and appointed himself manager.
Now handing over €10 million with no strings attached?
Dictator or visionary?
Before Ryan could fully process it, Juninho slid a piece of paper across the desk.
"And there's one more thing."
"Yes, Mr. D'Alessandro?"
"I want you to contact the clubs of these three players. Work out the terms, and sign them."
Ryan glanced at the paper. Three names. Three clubs.
Zlatan Ibrahimović, Ronaldinho, Nemanja Vidić.
Juninho added calmly, "But don't worry. I'll personally pay for their transfer fees. The €10 million I just gave you is still yours to use freely."
Ryan's pupils widened in disbelief. His hands trembled slightly as he picked up the list.
Was this guy for real?
He gave me €10 million—and now he's about to buy three more players, out of his own pocket?
This owner might be crazy… but he's the kind of crazy a club dreams of.
He glanced at the list again:
Red Star Belgrade – Nemanja Vidić
Grêmio – Ronaldinho
Malmö FF – Zlatan Ibrahimović
All young players. All international. All playing in clubs that were either in or bordering on elite competitions like the Champions League.
Juninho wanted to poach these guys? From League Two?
Ryan blinked a few times, convinced his eyes were failing him. He read the list again and again to be sure.
"These players…" Ryan hesitated. "Even if they're willing to come, the transfer fees alone—"
Before he could finish, Juninho cut him off.
"€50 million."
"…What?"
"I've got €50 million. I'll buy whoever I want. Doesn't matter if it's profitable. Doesn't matter if it's logical. Doesn't even matter if it's a waste."
Juninho smiled as he said it, but the steel in his tone left no room for argument.
Ryan sat frozen, overwhelmed by the weight of that number.
For the first time in his life, he truly understood the phrase: money talks.
"Fifty… million… euros?"
Ryan looked up again, this time with an entirely different gaze.
That kind of money wasn't just unheard of for Morecambe—it was Premier League-level spending. That was what the likes of Manchester United or Chelsea might shell out in a summer.
And here it was, landing in a small Fourth Division club like a bombshell.
What kind of lunatic takeover is this?!
What in God's name is this rich South American owner planning?!
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