Two days had passed since the miracle at the Bernabéu. Barnsley was still drunk.
The pubs were empty because everyone was asleep, and the streets were covered in purple confetti that the council had given up trying to sweep away.
Michael Sterling sat at the kitchen island of Kenji Sato's mansion. He was wearing a bathrobe that cost more than his first car and eating a piece of toast that tasted like cardboard because he was too tired to put butter on it.
"You look terrible," Sarah said, walking in with a pot of coffee. She looked fresh, radiant, and annoyingly awake.
"I feel like I went twelve rounds with Tyson Fury," Michael groaned, accepting the coffee like it was the Holy Grail. "And then Tyson Fury invited Diego Nunez to jump on my stomach."
"Diego is actually outside," Sarah noted casually, pouring herself a cup. "He's wrestling Kenji's dog in the pool."
Michael choked on his coffee. "He's what?"
"Wrestling. The dog is winning, I think."
