Leaving the sterile, quiet hospital and stepping back out into the late afternoon sun felt like surfacing from deep water.
Ethan and Leo walked in silence for a few blocks, the weight of Liam's shattered dream and the impossible secret they had just shared hanging between them.
"So," Leo said finally, breaking the silence. "That happened."
"Yeah," Ethan replied, his mind a whirlwind. "It did. I can't believe we told him."
"We had to, man," Leo said, his voice earnest.
"He's our best friend. And look at him... he's broken. If this game can give him something to focus on, some way to still be in football... then we had to."
"You're right," Ethan agreed. "And did you see his face at the end? When he told us about that Kerrigan kid? It was the first time he looked like the old Liam. The analyst. The player."
"Exactly! It's like we gave him a new job," Leo said, a spark of excitement returning to his voice. "He can't play, but he can scout. He can be our secret weapon! He knows all those under-the-radar guys from playing in the youth leagues. This is huge!"
The gravity of the situation began to morph into a thrilling new possibility. Liam wasn't just a friend in need; he was now their inside source, a real-world professional football brain feeding them information that no in-game scout could ever find.
"I'm going to look him up as soon as I get home," Ethan said, his pace quickening. "David Kerrigan. Bohemians."
"Text me the second you find out his potential," Leo insisted.
"I've got my own training session to run. My S-Rank defender isn't going to train himself!"
They parted ways, a new sense of shared purpose buzzing between them. The upcoming friendly match was still on, but now it felt like part of something bigger.
They weren't just two friends playing a game; they were a team, a secret three-man operation poised to take on a world that didn't even know they existed.
The moment Ethan got through his front door, he gave Gaffer a quick pat, ignored his family's calls, and sprinted up to his room. He didn't even bother with the computer menu. He dove straight into the pod.
The transition to his virtual office was instantaneous.
He bypassed his emails, ignored the match report from the Ipswich game, and went directly to the "Scouting & Transfers" screen. His hands moved with practiced speed.
Player Search. Name: David Kerrigan. Club: Bohemians.
A single profile popped up. The player's picture showed a wiry 18-year-old with fiery red hair and a smirk that screamed confidence, bordering on arrogance.
Ethan's eyes immediately went to the stats. As Liam had predicted, the mental attributes were a mixed bag. 'Teamwork' and 'Work Rate' were low. 'Determination' was high, but so was 'Aggression'. Then he looked at the technicals. 'Dribbling', 'Flair', 'Technique'—all glowing with the golden star of high potential.
Then he saw it. The number he was looking for.
Potential Ability: 89 (A-Rank)
Not quite the generational talent of an S-Rank, but an 89 potential was still massive. It was the rating of a future star player for a top-five league.
A player who could absolutely dominate League One. And Liam had found him.
Ethan looked at the valuation. £125,000.
It was criminally low. With his remaining budget of £575,000, it was more than achievable.
This was a no-brainer.
He clicked [Initiate Transfer Negotiations].
The world shifted. He was back in the sleek, impersonal negotiation room. This time, the man sitting across from him was the polar opposite of the analytical Dane from Midtjylland.
He was an older man with a weathered face, a flat cap perched on his head, and a gruff expression that suggested he'd seen it all. The nameplate read: "Pat Riley, Manager, Bohemians FC."
Beside him, slouching in his chair and looking thoroughly bored, was David Kerrigan himself. He was idly scrolling through a virtual phone, not even bothering to look up.
"So," Pat Riley began, his voice a gravelly Dublin brogue. "You're the new moneybags from England, are ya? Come to poach my best young lad."
"Mr. Riley," Ethan started politely. "I wouldn't say poach. We're very interested in David's potential and believe we can offer him a great opportunity."
"Potential?" Riley let out a short, bark-like laugh.
"Oh, the lad's got potential, alright. The potential to drive a manager mad. He's got feet touched by angels and a head full of rocks. One day he'll score a goal from the halfway line, the next he'll get sent off for arguing with a corner flag."
David Kerrigan looked up from his phone, a lazy smirk on his face. "The flag was looking at me funny."
Riley shot him a glare that could curdle milk before turning back to Ethan.
"See what I mean? He's a handful. So, if you want him, it'll cost ya."
The holographic interface appeared. Transfer Fee: £125,000.
"We're prepared to offer £150,000," Ethan said, starting slightly above the valuation to show he was serious.
Riley grunted. "Not bad. But I'll need a sell-on clause. Thirty percent. And a buy-back clause. If he becomes a star, I want the option to bring him home."
This was tricky. A buy-back clause could ruin his long-term plans. Ethan decided to address the player directly.
"David," he said, his tone changing. Kerrigan looked up, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "My scout—the one who told me to sign you—said you have a left foot like a magic wand.
He also said you were inconsistent. He thinks you have the talent to play in the Premier League, but not the focus."
"Your scout sounds like he knows what he's talking about," Kerrigan said with a shrug, a hint of respect in his voice.
"I'm not going to promise you the world," Ethan continued. "I'm not going to tell you you'll walk into the first team. You'll have to earn it. But our club is a meritocracy. If you work hard and produce on the pitch, you will play.
We have another young attacker, Emre Demir, who is one of the most creative players you will ever see. He needs someone like you to make runs, to take players on, to create chaos. You won't be the only star. You'll be part of a partnership."
He turned back to Riley.
"I can't agree to a buy-back clause. It limits his future and ours. But I can agree to the sell-on clause. And I'll make you a better offer."
He adjusted the numbers on the interface.
Transfer Fee: £200,000
Sell-On Clause: 35%
Additional Clause: £100,000 bonus after 50 first-team appearances.
"I'm giving you more money now, a bigger piece of his future sale, and a significant bonus if—and only if—we succeed in developing him into a first-team regular," Ethan explained.
"You get a great deal if he succeeds, and we take on all the risk of his 'attitude problem'."
Riley stared at the offer, stroking his chin. It was a very clever deal. It protected his club's interests while putting the onus on Ethan to manage the difficult player.
David Kerrigan, for his part, was now sitting up straight, his phone forgotten. The idea of a partnership, of being a key part of a new project, had clearly intrigued him.
"You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that," Riley said finally. He looked at Kerrigan. "Well, lad? It's your career. What do you say?"
Kerrigan looked at Ethan, a challenging glint in his eye.
"You really think you can handle me, gaffer?"
"I think I can give you the platform to handle yourself," Ethan replied without missing a beat.
A slow grin spread across Kerrigan's face. "Alright then. Let's do it."
Riley grunted and extended his hand. "Deal."
The interface flashed green. [DEAL AGREED]. Ethan had his winger.
He had spent another £200,000, leaving him with only £375,000 in the bank, but he had assembled a trio of attacking teenagers with world-beating potential.
He felt a massive surge of accomplishment. He was about to log off when his real-world phone, sitting on his desk, buzzed. He picked it up. It was a text from Liam.
Liam:Found him, did you? Knew you would. He's a player.
Ethan smiled, typing a reply.
Ethan:Just signed him. You're a genius scout.
A new message from Liam came through instantly, and as Ethan read it, a cold shiver ran down his spine, the joy of his new signing instantly replaced by a sense of profound mystery.
Liam:Good. Now that you have a winger, you'll need a proper defensive midfielder to protect the back four. There's a kid... plays for a team in the Brazilian third division called 'Volta Redonda'. He's 17. His name is João Costa. They call him 'The Octopus'. Go find him.