When McGuinness and Bincer brought Alessandro Dybala into the training ground, the reaction was immediate.
"Who's that?"
"Wearing training gear… is he joining us?"
"No way, he looks like he's already twenty!"
"Is he Asian?"
Murmurs and side glances spread among the U18 squad like wildfire.
McGuinness clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, lads. Good news! This guy right here will be playing with us in today's match against the U19s!"
The players' surprise quickly turned to panic.
"Aghhh, not them again…"
"Why do we have to face those monsters?!"
"Coach, I'm out. Give me the ball—I'm going home!"
Their groans filled the pitch.
Bincer's face darkened. "What are you lot going on about? You're barely a year younger than them. Scared already? Football doesn't fear strength—it rewards courage!"
He rattled off the usual morale boosters about narrow paths and round balls, but it did little to lift the spirits.
Alessandro soon saw why.
Their opponents were the reigning FA Youth Cup champions. In Manchester United's history, winning the Youth Cup had always been a big deal—the last time being 1992, when the legendary Class of '92 lit up England.
The U19 team? Stacked.
Paul Pogba. Jesse Lingard. Ravel Morrison. Will Keane. Jonny Evans. Michael Keane…
All future Premier League mainstays—except for Morrison. He would eventually become football's great "what if," but for now, he was still seen as United's most naturally gifted academy product in years.
Alessandro's eyes scanned his own team.
Only one name stood out—Adnan Januzaj. A talented player, no doubt, but ultimately someone who'd fall short of stardom in La Liga.
Compared to the firepower across the pitch… their squad looked woefully underpowered.
---
Meanwhile, at the other end of the pitch...
Warren Joyce, head coach of the U19s and reserves, grinned as he spoke to McGuinness.
"How's Januzaj holding up?"
"Still rash, still explosive," McGuinness chuckled.
Youth training wasn't about winning matches—it was about shaping players into stars. At most, one or two from each age group would break into the first team.
And in this crop, Paul Pogba looked like the chosen one.
Or so Manchester United thought.
What they didn't see coming? The agent.
Mino Raiola.
The man who'd soon turn negotiations into war and Pogba into Juventus' prize steal.
Within a year, Pogba would walk out for free—and four years later, Manchester United would buy him back for €100 million.
Yes, United's most expensive "academy sale"… was a sale they paid for.
---
Across the field, Jesse Lingard squinted into the distance.
"Yo, Paul, is that a new kid warming up?"
He raised a hand like a visor, watching Alessandro move confidently on the pitch.
"They're bringing someone new in? What's the point?" Lingard chuckled. "These U18 lads can barely stay on their feet against us."
Beside him, a younger, more grounded Paul Pogba stood quietly.
No flashy hair. No designer gear. Just clean boots and clear eyes.
He wasn't the media sensation yet—not the celebrity midfielder on a six-figure weekly salary.
But he already had plans.
His new agent had promised him the world—starting with a massive deal in Italy. Why stay at United for £8,000 a week and be called the next Scholes, when you could earn five times more abroad?
Pogba didn't want to be anyone's successor.
He wanted to be irreplaceable.
"This game's a waste," he shrugged. "They'll get wrecked and lose whatever confidence they had."
His eyes fell on Alessandro.
Coincidentally, Alessandro was staring right back—calm, composed, and burning with competitive fire.
"Tch…" Pogba scoffed.
"Redneck."
He turned away, already dismissing the threat.
But that fire in Alessandro's gaze?
It wasn't just confidence.
It was the look of someone with something to prove.
---