"Loan him out?"
When Michael Edwards voiced the idea, Gerrard had to admit it was the only move left on the board.
The flight to Liverpool had been a long one, filled with quiet, heavy conversation. Renzo Uzumaki's primary demand had been clear: he needed first-team football. He needed to be on a professional pitch, not rotting in a reserve squad. With Rodgers blocking the path at Anfield, that dream was dead on arrival.
For a sixteen-year-old, a loan move was standard procedure for a big club's development plan. Yet, Gerrard felt a pang of guilt. He had made a promise to the boy, a promise of a Liverpool shirt and a debut under the lights, and he had failed to deliver it immediately.
"Captain, you've done enough," Ren said, his voice steady, cutting through Gerrard's brooding. "I'm a Liverpool player now. That's the foundation. That's what matters."
He looked out the window as the clouds drifted by. "A gem shines wherever it's placed. If I can't play here today, I'll play elsewhere and make them regret not keeping me. Returning to Anfield is only a matter of time."
Ren's decisiveness didn't just comfort Gerrard; it fascinated him. This wasn't the talk of a teenager. It was the cold logic of a veteran.
Once they landed and met with Edwards in his office, the Sporting Director wasted no time. He appreciated Ren's efficiency.
"We're in the winter window, and several clubs are desperate for mid-season reinforcements," Edwards said, sliding a folder across the mahogany desk. "This is Plan A: SC Heerenveen. A solid mid-table side in the Eredivisie. It's the perfect buffer. The technical level is high, similar to the Premier League in patches, but it gives you room to breathe and grow."
Ren barely glanced at the pages. "Next?"
Edwards blinked, then pulled out a second file. "Plan B: Derby County. They're in the Championship. It's a dogfight down there—physical, relentless, and a great place for young players to find their grit. Many top Premier League stars started exactly where they are."
Ren closed the document after five seconds. "Is there anything else?"
Edwards' expression shifted. He leaned back, his chair creaking in the silent office. He was starting to think the boy was being arrogant. Establishing oneself in the Eredivisie or the Championship at sixteen was a monumental task. If Ren didn't have the stomach for those challenges, how could he ever survive the pressure cooker of a top-five European league?
"The only other domestic option is Plan C," Edwards said, pointing to a thin folder on the edge of the table. "Sheffield United. League One. You'd walk into that starting eleven, no question. But—and I'll be blunt—it's the third tier. Even if you play like a god, nobody at Liverpool will be convinced. The value of League One is simply too low for a player of your supposed caliber."
Ren didn't even look at the file. Instead, he smiled—a small, knowing grin—and shook his head.
Edwards was officially baffled. Not even League One? What does he want, League Two?
Then, Ren pointed to a stray document tucked away on a shelf behind Edwards' desk. "What about that one? Which team is that?"
Edwards glanced back and waved it off dismissively. "That? You don't want that. It's not suitable."
"Tell me anyway."
"Fiorentina," Edwards sighed. "Serie A. They finished fourth last season and they're currently sitting sixth. They're a high-level, high-pressure side with Europa League knockouts on the horizon. Their creative engine, Borja Valero, is out with a massive injury. They're desperate for a starting-caliber midfielder, but they're broke. They won't even pay a loan fee."
Edwards shook his head. "I know the Italian economy is struggling, but the nerve of them to ask for a free gift... it's insulting."
Ren's eyes sharpened. "Mr. Edwards, if it's possible, I want to go to Fiorentina."
The room went dead silent. Gerrard was the first to find his voice. "Ren, think about this. Fiorentina is the worst possible choice on that list."
Gerrard believed in the kid's talent, but this was Serie A—one of the legendary "Big Five." The competition for spots would be cutthroat. Beyond that, Ren had been raised in the English academy system; the tactical, slow-burn defensive style of Italian football was a world away from the frantic pace of England.
"The loan is only for six months," Edwards added, leaning forward urgently. "Just until the end of the season. You'd have zero time to adapt. You'd barely learn the language before the season ends. A loan is supposed to be a platform to prove your worth, Ren. This is a minefield."
Ren listened to the two giants of the game, their faces etched with worry, and then he stood up.
"I'm not looking for a safety net," Ren said, his voice echoing in the office. "I want the challenge. I want the league that everyone says is too hard for a sixteen-year-old."
He looked at Gerrard and smiled warmly. "If it wasn't for our chance meeting at Spurs, I wouldn't be here. I'm grateful for that. And I want to prove to the world that when a Liverpool legend picks a player, his eye for talent is as legendary as his career."
In his previous life, Ren had watched his years slip away, wasted in lower leagues and stalled by hesitation. He had retired with an obsession—a hunger for the top flight that had never been fed. Now, he had a system, a legendary player model, and a second chance.
If he didn't bet on himself now, when would he?
More importantly, his System mission was clear: make a senior appearance in a top-five league. Waiting for Heerenveen or Derby was a luxury he didn't want to afford. Fiorentina wasn't just an option; it was the fastest path to the top.
Edwards stared at the boy. He had dealt with hundreds of "geniuses" in his time, many of them older and far more decorated than Renzo Uzumaki. But he had never seen this kind of aura—this absolute, unshakable confidence.
It was a temperament that couldn't be taught.
Edwards let out a long, slow breath. Perhaps this "worst" option, in the hands of this specific kid, was exactly the spark needed to set the football world on fire.