"Your uncle really doesn't worry much, does he? His own nephew ends up like this, and he's still holed up in Newcastle-under-Lyme tinkering with that lousy team of his!"
Claire winced awkwardly as Sir Alex Ferguson stood at the foot of his hospital bed, hands tucked into his coat pockets.
As the manager of Manchester United, Fergie had every right to criticize any football club in England. But when Claire's uncle heard his nephew had been taken hostage, his first instinct was to rush to Manchester.
Claire, who had just regained consciousness, immediately refused. After all, the uncle-nephew duo had sunk all their savings into the club. If Denis Irwin suddenly returned and something went wrong, they'd be back to square one.
"No, no, I'm grown now. I should take responsibility for my own actions. No need to trouble him with everything," Claire explained earnestly, meeting Ferguson's gaze.
Behind the legendary manager, Cristiano Ronaldo, Wayne Rooney, and Park Ji-sung were busy making exaggerated faces like a trio of unruly schoolboys.
"Good lad. You did the right thing—I'd have done the same in my youth," Ferguson said, giving Claire's shoulder an approving pat. But then his expression turned serious. "You know that footage from that night got leaked, right?"
Claire blinked. "There's footage? After I woke up, the only people who came by were some London councilman's rep and my agent. I haven't even seen the police."
"Right. Well, steer clear of those types going forward. Focus on recovering—I'm counting on you for the Chelsea match."
"That debut I promised you? It's still yours." With that, Ferguson turned and strode out of the room without another word.
The moment the door closed, the remaining three erupted like wild horses let loose. Park Ji-sung excitedly pulled out his phone and shoved a video in Claire's face.
"Mate, have you seen the news? They're playing the whole scene! Bloody intense stuff. After tonight, you might be bigger in England than Ronaldo!"
"Hey, Ronaldo's been on fire too!" Rooney chimed in, shooting a mock-jealous glance at the beaming Portuguese star. "Claire, when are you writing me a song? You've no idea—they're calling The Night the Ronaldo Anthem now!"
Ronaldo, in fact, was thriving far more than in his original timeline. That game-winning goal against Arsenal had been his turning point, and Claire's song had catapulted him into celebrity status. Between post-match TV appearances and impromptu singing performances (despite his questionable vocals), his handsome face and devoted female fanbase kept him in the spotlight. The track even landed him a £4 million BMW endorsement deal—news that nearly made Claire spit blood in frustration.
Still, Claire had to admit: Ronaldo's PR team was savage. They'd not only spun every negative headline but rebranded it into a "Manchester United Golden Era" narrative. While Claire had benefited from the hype, his recognition was mostly confined to Manchester. On YouTube, his songs were viral—but he wasn't. Walk down any street, and you'd struggle to find someone who could pick him out of a lineup.
The video Park showed him ran a full 45 minutes—a mini-documentary. Even as someone who'd lived through the ordeal, Claire sensed something off. The way it meticulously chronicled every detail, the dramatic zooms on Megan Fox's fiancé's reactions, the final montage featuring headshots of Brian, Shia LaBeouf, Megan, and himself...
And then there was the constant emphasis on Transformers.
Too convenient.
The video even included a timeline of Claire's rise at Manchester United, dubbing him a "musical prodigy."
It reeked of a marketing campaign disguised as an exposé.
"I think I'm about to go viral," Claire murmured. "And I've got a brand now."
Ronaldo ruffled his hair like an older brother. "Don't worry, I've got your back. And with your talent? You'd be mad not to run with it. I heard you signed with an agency—just follow their lead. No rogue moves."
"Thanks, mate."
Rooney gave Claire's stomach a playful smack. "You'll blow up. But next match, remember—feed me those through balls, yeah?"
"Don't worry, I've got the England national team's fitness coaches on my side now."
Park snorted. "National team? Useless. My staff knows more than theirs. These days, players pay to get called up, and if you get injured? Tough luck."
Claire's eyes darted to Ronaldo and Rooney for confirmation. Both stayed conspicuously silent.
The trio didn't linger—hospital staff soon shooed them out. With blood loss still sapping his energy, Claire drifted off quickly after taking his meds.
What he didn't know was that the video was spreading like wildfire.
The Manchester Royal Bank of Scotland Heist was becoming the story. And with it, the name Claire Lee.
Thanks to some well-placed nudges from influential backers, Claire, Shia LaBeouf, and Transformers emerged as the incident's biggest winners.
Brian Austin Green?
He became everyone's favorite punching bag.