The Stretford End was a wall of red, a vibrating mass of noise that had swallowed better managers than Julian Vane.
Old Trafford in 2003 was not just a stadium; it was an altar to the dominance of Sir Alex Ferguson.
As Julian walked toward the dugout, he could feel the weight of the "Old Guard" bearing down on him.
Ferguson was already there, chewing his gum with a rhythmic, aggressive pace. He didn't look at Julian.
He was staring at the pitch, his aura radiating a confidence built on decades of silverware.
To him, Julian was a bug—an arrogant kid who had played one too many video games and thought he could lecture the giants of the game.
[ THE EMINENCE PROTOCOL: LAYER 1 ACTIVE ]
[ MATCH: MANCHESTER UNITED VS. ASTON VILLA ]
[ OPPONENT IQ: SIR ALEX FERGUSON - 'INSTINCTUAL GENIUS' ]
[ WARNING: HOST MENTAL STAMINA AT 62% ]
Julian ignored the warning. He had spent the last three days on the training pitch at Bodymoor Heath, drilling a concept into his fullbacks that was entirely alien to the 2003 Premier League.
In this era, a fullback's job was simple: stay wide, overlap, and cross.
But today, Julian had instructed JLloyd Samuel and Mark Delaney to do the opposite. When Villa had the ball, they weren't going wide.
They were tucking inside, occupying the half-spaces normally reserved for central midfielders.
"They think we're playing 3-2-2-3," Julian whispered to Graham Turner as the whistle blew. "But we're actually playing a 2-3-5 in possession. Ferguson's wingers won't know who to mark."
The match began with United playing their trademark vertical football. Ryan Giggs and David Bellion (starting for the injured Ronaldo, ironically) tried to hug the touchlines, looking to stretch the Villa defense.
But every time Giggs looked to cut inside, he found JLloyd Samuel already there—not as a defender, but as an extra midfielder.
United's central duo, Roy Keane and Paul Scholes, were suddenly outnumbered. They were used to a 2v2 battle in the middle. Now, they were facing five Villa players in a tight central block.
Julian's high intelligence was focused on the "Tactical Confusion" meter the Protocol had generated for the United bench. At the 15-minute mark, it spiked.
Ferguson stood up, his face reddening. He was shouting at Giggs to move inside, but if Giggs moved inside, the Villa wingers—including the newly debuted Cristiano Ronaldo—had the entire flank to themselves.
"He's never seen this," Julian muttered.
In the 28th minute, the "Inverted" system paid its first dividend. Mark Delaney, playing as an inverted right-back, received the ball in the center circle.
The United midfield, focused on Gareth Barry and Pirlo (who was still only a potential signing, with Barry currently filling the 'Conductor' role), ignored Delaney.
Delaney slid a perfect, diagonal ball into the path of Ronaldo.
The boy didn't wait. He faced up to Gary Neville, performed a double-stepover that left the veteran defender lunging at shadows, and whipped a cross into the box.
Juan Pablo Ángel rose above Rio Ferdinand and powered a header into the top corner.
0-1.
The silence that fell over Old Trafford was heavy. Julian didn't cheer. He stood as still as a statue, his mind already calculating Ferguson's response.
[ ALERT: FERGUSON IS PREPARING A 'BLOOD AND THUNDER' ADJUSTMENT ]
[ PROBABILITY OF INCREASED PHYSICALITY: 94% ]
The Protocol was right. For the next thirty minutes, the game turned into a bloodbath. Roy Keane, incensed by the tactical trickery, began to hunt for ankles.
The physical intensity of the United press ramped up to a level Julian's young squad wasn't prepared for.
At the 60th minute, a mistake happened.
Mark Delaney, exhausted by the mental strain of his new "Inverted" role, misjudged a bounce.
Paul Scholes pounced on it, fed Ruud van Nistelrooy, and the Dutchman did what he did best. A clinical finish from six yards.
1-1.
The stadium erupted. The momentum had shifted.
This was the "Hard Work" part of management that the System couldn't solve for him.
His players were tiring, and the psychological weight of playing at Old Trafford was causing their technical stats to plummet.
[ PROTOCOL ERROR: DATA OVERLOAD ]
[ HOST BRAIN TEMPERATURE RISING ]
Julian felt a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes. He had been running simulations for 48 hours straight without sleep.
The Protocol was feeding him too much information—heart rates, wind speeds, grass friction, the decibel level of Keane's shouting.
"Julian? You okay?" Turner grabbed his arm. "You've gone pale."
Julian shook him off. He forced himself to focus on the one variable that mattered: Space.
"Delaney out. Mellberg in," Julian croaked. "Switch to a standard back four. We can't hold the 'Inverted' shape anymore. They've adjusted."
He was retreating. He was giving up his tactical innovation to survive. It was a "Humble Loss" of his ego.
The final thirty minutes were a siege. United hit the post twice. Van Nistelrooy had a goal disallowed for a marginal offside that the Protocol had flagged a second before the linesman raised his flag. Julian was pacing the technical area, his mind screaming at the clock.
90th minute.
91st.
92nd.
TWEEEEEET—!
The match ended in a 1-1 draw.
Julian slumped into his seat, his head in his hands. He hadn't won. He had survived.
Ferguson walked over to him after the whistle. The Scotsman's face was still red, but the fury had been replaced by a grim, professional respect.
"That was a clever bit of nonsense with your fullbacks, son," Ferguson said, his voice a low growl. "Don't ever try it again. If you do, I'll have Keane break them in half before the ten-minute mark."
"It wasn't nonsense, Alex," Julian said, looking up with bloodshot eyes. "It's the future. You're just lucky my players don't have the lungs for it yet."
Ferguson let out a short, dry laugh. "The future? We'll see about that. You got a point today, kid. Most leave here with nothing. But remember—football isn't played on a chalkboard. It's played in the gut."
Ferguson walked away.
[ MISSION STATUS: PARTIAL SUCCESS ]
[ REWARD: 200 PRESTIGE CREDITS ]
[ SYSTEM MESSAGE: Your body is failing. If you do not rest, Layer 2 will remain locked indefinitely. ]
Julian sat on the bus back to Birmingham in total silence. The media would call this a "Tactical Masterclass" for holding United to a draw, but Julian knew the truth.
He had reached the limit of what his current squad—and his own brain—could handle.
He had the blueprints for the future, but he was building them with primitive tools.
He opened his phone. A text was waiting from Jorge Mendes.
"Pirlo is on the plane. Galliani cracked. He wants the official announcement tomorrow. You better have the money ready, Julian.
You've just made a lot of enemies in Italy."
Julian closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold window of the bus. He had Pirlo. He had Ronaldo. He had a point at Old Trafford.
But as the bus rattled through the night, he realized that being the "Apex Tactician" wasn't just about out-thinking people. It was about surviving the toll that thinking took on his soul.
He didn't want a draw next time. He wanted the endgame.