Alessandro leaned back in his seat, reviewing the schedule.
Next up: the Premier League.
Round 25.
Liverpool.
At Anfield.
The stakes were real.
Manchester United were chasing Manchester City—just one point behind in the title race. Every match mattered now. And no one inside the club believed City would collapse on their own. If United wanted the league, they'd have to be perfect.
Alessandro knew the history.
He knew how the 2011–12 season ended.
Sergio Agüero. Ninety-third minute. Title ripped away by seconds.
If they wanted to flip the ending this time, it started now. Every point. Every match.
But that wasn't his concern—not yet.
What mattered for him was simpler: Would he even play?
This was Liverpool. Anfield. The Double Red Derby.
No manager throws a rookie into a fire like that lightly.
Alessandro couldn't influence the lineup, and he knew it. Ferguson made his own decisions. Always had. Always would.
But he could control one thing.
Training.
---
The next morning, England's sports pages were a wall of praise.
United's 3–0 win in Amsterdam was yesterday's news. Today's headline was Alessandro.
"Midfield Revelation"
"Ferguson Unearths a Diamond"
"China's Rising Star Takes Europe By Storm"
---
At London Colney, Arsène Wenger sat behind his desk, flipping through the reports.
He exhaled through his nose.
"We were this close," he muttered.
Arsenal had scouted Alessandro. They made an offer. They'd seen a gifted defensive midfielder with upside.
What they didn't see was this.
In the match against Ajax, Alessandro had shown both sides of the game. Positionally flawless in defense. Calm and intelligent in possession. And with the ball, he'd orchestrated attacks like a seasoned number 10.
Wenger saw a complete midfielder.
A talent who could've transformed Arsenal's brittle midfield into something formidable.
But Ferguson got him first.
"Of course," Wenger said bitterly. "Ferguson always lands on his feet."
---
Arsenal had become a revolving door. Every year, another core player left. Every summer, promises of rebuilding.
Wenger didn't want to manage a feeder club. But the Emirates project had handcuffed the budget. Wages were lower. Ambitions clipped.
Alessandro in red and white could have changed the trajectory.
Instead, he was now wearing Manchester red—and rising fast.
Wenger shook his head and moved on.
"If Ferguson wins the title again this year," he said, "he's stepping down."
And when that happened?
A new coach would come in.
New ideas. New favorites. Maybe even an exodus of players Ferguson trusted most.
Maybe that would be Arsenal's chance.
---
Back at Carrington, United's training ground, something had changed.
The intensity was up.
And it wasn't because of the derby.
It was because of Alessandro.
He was relentless.
Every drill. Every session. First to arrive, last to leave.
Even the veterans were noticing.
Nobody said it out loud, but the kid's work ethic was contagious. He made everyone sharper—because if they weren't, he'd take their place.
"Only Ronaldo trained like this," Ferguson said quietly from the sideline.
Mike Phelan raised an eyebrow.
"You're going to start comparing him already?"
Ferguson didn't blink.
"Not comparing. Just noticing."
He watched Alessandro finish a passing drill, then sprint over to the rebound wall for extra touches.
"He's got the same drive. That same edge," Ferguson said.
---
The Ferguson of 1995 would've barked at players for every mistake.
The Ferguson of 2003 would've launched a boot at Beckham's head in the dressing room.
But now?
Now he watched like a grandfather at the edge of a schoolyard.
Cristiano had been his second generation.
He was proud of him. Protected him. Pushed him.
And now, here was a third.
Alessandro.
Seventeen. Reserved. Ruthlessly focused.
Ferguson hadn't expected much from him at first. His only previous experience with a Chinese player—Dong Fangzhuo—had been a letdown. Great potential, no drive.
But Alessandro was different.
"He trains like his life depends on it," Phelan muttered.
Ferguson nodded. "If he fails, it'll be because God stopped watching. Not because he gave anything less."
The old man smiled.
Somewhere between father and coach.
Generation to generation, the torch was passing.
And Ferguson knew it.
---