The text from Liam glowed on Ethan's phone screen, a breadcrumb trail leading to another hidden corner of the footballing world. João Costa. 'The Octopus'.
The nickname alone was enough to send a shiver of excitement down Ethan's spine. A great defensive midfielder was the engine of any successful team, the shield that allowed the artists to paint their masterpieces.
He was still in his virtual office, the ink barely dry on David Kerrigan's contract. The temptation was too strong.
He couldn't log off now. He had to know.
With renewed energy, he turned back to the transfer hub, his fingers flying across the virtual keyboard.
Player Search. Name: João Costa. Club: Volta Redonda.
The search parameters were so specific that only one profile appeared. The player's picture showed a serious-looking 17-year-old with intense, focused eyes and a lean, wiry frame.
He looked like he hadn't smiled in a week. Ethan immediately navigated to his attributes.
The stats were incredible. 'Tackling', 'Stamina', 'Work Rate', and 'Positioning'—all glowing with the golden star of S-Rank potential. This kid wasn't just a shield; he was a mobile fortress. Liam's nickname, 'The Octopus', was perfect.
You could just imagine his long legs sliding in from nowhere, wrapping around the ball, and emerging from a challenge with possession, leaving attackers in a tangled heap. He was the perfect anchor to unleash a creative force like Emre and a wild card like Kerrigan.
Ethan's heart was pounding. This was it. This was the final piece of his youth puzzle. The holy trinity of defense, midfield, and attack. He held his breath and looked at the valuation.
Valuation: £400,000
Ethan's heart sank like a stone. He stared at the number, then at his own remaining budget displayed in the corner of the screen: £375,000.
He was £25,000 short.
He slumped back in his chair, the triumphant feeling of his earlier signings replaced by a gnawing frustration. He was so close. He could almost taste it. He ran the numbers again and again, as if hoping a mathematical error would magically appear.
He looked at his wage budget, wondering if he could reallocate funds, but the system was rigid. The transfer budget was the transfer budget.
There was no clever negotiation to be had here. He simply couldn't afford the entry fee. The Octopus was within sight, but tantalizingly out of reach.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He had been on a rollercoaster of emotions for days, and the final dip was a brutal one. He knew he couldn't do any more tonight. Defeated, he logged off, the image of João Costa's determined face burned into his mind.
The next morning, Ethan slept in late. When he finally emerged, it was to the sight of his father struggling to move a large, heavy-looking box near the entrance of the toy shop.
"Ethan! Perfect timing," his dad grunted, his face red with exertion.
"Give your old man a hand, will you? New shipment of rocking horses just came in. Heavier than they look."
For the next hour, Ethan wasn't a high-flying football manager; he was just a son helping his dad. He hauled boxes, unpacked wooden toys, and listened to his father talk about the simple joy of seeing a child's face light up when they saw the perfect toy.
The work was physical and grounding. The scent of sawdust and paint was a world away from the electric hum of the pod.
"You know," his dad said, wiping a layer of dust from a beautifully crafted wooden horse, "this shop... it's not like your fancy games. There's no secret level or high score. But there's a different kind of reward. A real one."
Ethan looked at his dad, at the genuine passion he had for his craft, and felt a pang of deep affection. "I know, Dad."
They finished up, and he went back inside for lunch. The whole family sat around the table, with Gaffer sleeping at their feet.
They talked about Sarah's work, about a leaky faucet, about what to have for dinner. It was simple, mundane, and wonderfully real. For a few hours, Apex United and its budget problems didn't exist.
But as the afternoon wore on, a familiar excitement began to build in his chest. Today was the day. The Couch-Leo derby. The battle for ultimate bragging rights.
After lunch, he excused himself. "Big match today," he said to his family.
Sarah rolled her eyes playfully. "Don't forget to eat real food when you're done."
"Good luck, son," his dad said with a wink. "Go win the big game."
He entered his room, the anticipation a palpable force. This wasn't about climbing the ladder or impressing the world. This was about pride. This was about Leo.
He lay down in the pod, a grin spreading across his face. "Let's do this."
The world materialized around him. He was in the home dressing room at The Apex. The atmosphere was light, relaxed.
His players, dressed in the royal blue home kit, were chatting and laughing. The sting of the Ipswich defeat had faded, replaced by the quiet confidence of being back on home turf.
His two new signings, Viktor and David, were sitting together, talking animatedly. Viktor looked far less nervous than he had at Portman Road, while David Kerrigan looked right at home, gesturing wildly as he told a story. It was a good sign.
Ethan clapped his hands, and the room turned to him.
"Alright, lads," he began, a playful glint in his eye. "Today is the day. The most important match of our careers. Forget the league. Forget the Champions League. Today, we face Orion FC."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"Their manager is a tactical novice who probably thinks a 'false nine' is something you report to the police. He's my best friend, and he is insufferable when he wins at anything. We cannot, under any circumstances, let that happen. Our primary objective today is to win. Our secondary objective is to score so many goals that he considers deleting his account."
The players erupted in laughter. The pre-match tension vanished, replaced by a shared sense of fun.
"On a serious note," Ethan continued, his tone shifting slightly.
"This is our last test before the season begins. I want to see everything we've worked on. The defensive shape, the quick transitions. And I want to see you have fun. Let's play with a smile on our faces."
He turned to his new winger. "David, you're making your debut. No pressure. Just do what you do best. Take players on, be a menace."
Kerrigan gave him a cocky grin. "No worries, gaffer. Their full-backs won't know what hit 'em."
Ethan looked at the tactics board. He was going with a balanced 4-3-3.
He trusted his players. He trusted his system.
He walked out of the dressing room and down the tunnel, the roar of the home crowd washing over him. As he stepped into the technical area, he looked across to the away dugout.
He saw a familiar avatar—a taller, cooler version of Leo—decked out in a sharp Orion FC tracksuit. Leo caught his eye and gave him a confident smirk, mouthing the words, 'You're going down.'
Ethan just grinned back and shook his head.
The teams walked out, Apex in their royal blue, Orion in their striking black and gold.
The two wonderkids, Emre Demir and Matias Gallardo, eyed each other from across the line, the future SSS-Rank attacker versus the future S-Rank defender.
The referee's whistle blew. The match began. The battle for bragging rights was on.