Thursday. 10:00 AM. The Boardroom.
The chairs were leather. The table was mahogany. The view overlooked the pristine green of the Mornflake Stadium pitch.
Kwame sat opposite Charles Grant, the club Chairman. To his left sat Lee Bell, looking uncomfortable in a suit jacket, and Mr. Vance, a representative from the PFA whom Kenny had called in to ensure everything was above board.
"The terms are straightforward, Kwame," Mr. Vance said, sliding a thick document across the table. "This is a three-year professional contract. It takes you off the scholarship stipend and puts you on a First Team wage."
Vance lowered his glasses. "And it's a good wage. A very good wage for a 17-year-old in League Two. The club is valuing you as a starter, not a prospect."
Kwame looked at the numbers. It was more money in a week than he used to see in a year. But he didn't pick up the pen.
"I have one condition," Kwame said. His voice was quiet, but steady.
The Chairman raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"I don't have family here," Kwame said. "My father is late. My mother passed when I was small. It's just my sister, Afia, back in Ghana. She's doing her Master's in Nursing at the University of Ghana."
Kwame looked Lee Bell in the eye.
"I want her here. She's the only one I trust to manage my affairs. I want the club to help sponsor a transfer for her to a university here, Manchester, Keele, I don't care. I want her to finish her Master's here and act as my agent."
The room went silent.
"That's... unusual," Grant muttered. "Immigration, student visas... it's complicated."
"I'm not asking for free money," Kwame said quickly. "She works. She's a nurse. She will provide for herself. I just need the Club's legal team to handle the paperwork to get her into the country. If you can do that... I sign today."
Lee Bell leaned forward. "Charles, we have scouts from the Championship asking for his phone number. If getting his sister here secures the signature, we get his sister here."
The Chairman sighed, then smiled. "You drive a hard bargain, son. Fine. We have contacts at Keele University. We'll make the calls."
Kwame picked up the pen. He signed his name.
KWAME ABOAGYE.
10:45 AM. Unit 4B.
Kwame sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand. It was ringing.
"Hello? Kwame?"
"Afia," Kwame breathed out. "It's done."
"You signed?"
"I signed. And... start packing your bags. You're coming to England."
He explained the deal. On the other end of the line, there was a stunned silence, followed by a scream that nearly blew out his speaker.
"Me? England? Masters? Kwame, are you serious?!"
"Dead serious. The club is sorting the visa. You'll be here next week if the paperwork clears. I need my manager."
"Manager?" Afia laughed, a sound of pure joy. "I will manage you alright. I will make sure you eat your vegetables and sleep on time! Oh, Kwame... Pa would be so proud."
Kwame felt a lump in his throat. "Yeah. He would."
They talked for an hour—about logistics, about the weather (Afia was dreading the cold), about the future. When he finally hung up, the silence in the apartment didn't feel lonely anymore. It felt expectant.
He lay back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
His life had changed. He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was thriving.
Manchester United, he thought suddenly. The image of Old Trafford flashed in his mind. That's the goal. I want to play at the Theatre of Dreams. I want to be the best midfielder in the world. He drifted off. Falling asleep.
As the clock ticked over to 11:00 PM, a familiar hum vibrated in his skull.
[SYSTEM REBOOTING...]
[HIBERNATION COMPLETE.][ENERGY LEVELS: 100%]
The blue interface snapped into existence, floating above his bed.
[WELCOME BACK, KWAME ABOAGYE.]
Kwame woke up immediately. 'About damn time'. He said with a wide grin on his face.
[PENDING REWARDS APPLIED:]> GLOBAL STAT BOOST (+2) APPLIED.> ATTRIBUTE POINTS: 4 AVAILABLE.
Kwame sat up. He pulled up his stats.
NAME: KWAME ABOAGYE LEVEL: 5 OVR: 66 (Adjusted post-boost)
His Vision (81) was elite. His Stamina (79) and Strength (73) were high. But his Pace sat at 64.
In modern football, speed was the currency. If he wanted to play for Man Utd one day, he couldn't be slow. He needed to be able to recover when he made mistakes. He needed to drive past players.
"All on red," Kwame whispered.
He dumped all 4 Points into PACE.
[PACE: 64 -> 68]
It wasn't electric yet, but 68 was respectable. He wasn't slow anymore. He was mobile.
[NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: IRON LUNGS (PASSIVE)][NEW FEATURE UNLOCKED: THE ZONE (STATUS: READY)]
Kwame looked at "The Zone." The description was terrifying. Neuro-cognitive mode... Time Dilation... The Crash.
"I'll save that for a rainy day," he muttered.
Friday. 10:00 AM. The Training Ground.
Kwame stood on the sideline, wrapped in a heavy club jacket.
Dr. Patel was strict. Three days rest. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. That meant he couldn't train today. He could only watch.
The First Team were going through light drills ahead of the Doncaster game.
"Alright, Superstar?"
Kwame turned. Conor Thomas was jogging past. The senior midfielder, whose injury had given Kwame his chance was back in light training, doing laps.
"Morning, Connor. How's the hammy?"
"Getting there," Thomas grinned. "Better hurry up though, hadn't I? If I leave you in the team much longer, I'll be out of a job."
Kwame laughed. "I'm just keeping the seat warm."
"Yeah, warm. Scorching more like," Thomas winked. "Good to see you resting. You earned it."
As Thomas jogged on, Shilow Tracey and Courtney Baker-Richardson waved from the rondo circle. Even the staff seemed warmer. Kwame wasn't the "Academy Kid" anymore. He was part of the furniture.
"He looks happy."
Kwame turned to his left.
Maya was standing there. She wasn't wearing her revision clothes today; she was in a smart coat and scarf, looking like she'd actually made an effort, though she was holding a textbook.
"Hey," Kwame smiled. "Escaped the books again?"
"Brain break," she said, coming to stand next to him. "Dad said you were banned from the grass today. Forced labor camp?"
"Something like that. I feel useless just standing here."
"You're recovering," Maya corrected him. "It's part of the job."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching Lee Bell bark instructions at the defense.
"You fit in," Maya said softly. "Look at them. Rio, Mickey... they look at you like a teammate. Not a kid."
"I feel like a teammate," Kwame admitted. "It's weird. A week ago, I was terrified of them."
"And now you're saving their bonuses," Maya teased.
Kenny Lunt looked over from the center circle. He saw Kwame leaning on the barrier, and his daughter standing next to him, laughing at something he said.
Kenny nudged Lee Bell. "Look at that."
Bell glanced over. "He's settling in."
"I meant my daughter," Kenny grumbled, though there was a smile on his face. "She's supposed to be studying, but look at her now.
Bell chuckled. "He's a good lad, Ken. You could do worse."
Back at the fence, Maya caught herself staring at Kwame's profile, the determined set of his jaw, the way his eyes tracked the ball even when he wasn't playing.
She felt that heat in her cheeks again.
Stop it, she thought, burying her face in her scarf. He's a footballer. He's focusing on his career. Don't be a cliché.
But when Kwame turned and smiled at her, asking if she wanted to grab a coffee before he went for his physio check, she didn't say no.