Chapter 13: The Wall of Granite
The Carrington "A-Pitch" was a cathedral of professional football, but today it felt more like a gladiator's pit. The Reserves were lined up in their training bibs, a collective of nervous energy and shivering limbs. Across from them, the Manchester United First Team stood in a loose, arrogant semi-circle.
These weren't just players; they were icons. Rio Ferdinand was adjusting his captain's armband, looking bored. Nemanja Vidić was staring at the Reserves' strikers like they were pieces of meat he intended to slow-cook. And Cristiano Ronaldo was standing on the halfway line, spinning a ball on his finger, his eyes locked onto Mide.
[System: "Battle Commenced: The Showcase Scrimmage."]
[Enemy Alert: Nemanja Vidić (Rank: World Class). Passive Trait: 'The Serbian Wall' — Increases physical impact damage by 40%. Advice: If he comes near you, pray to your ancestors, Mide."]
I didn't come here to pray, Baba, Mide thought, his heart thumping a steady rhythm against his ribs. I came to play.
The First Twenty Minutes: Welcome to the League
The whistle blew, and the intensity hit Mide like a freight train. Within thirty seconds, he received his first pass. Before he could even look up, a shadow loomed over him.
CRUNCH.
Vidić didn't just tackle him; he drove through him. Mide's Center of Gravity perk flared to life, keeping him from flying three meters into the air, but the sheer force of the Serbian's shoulder sent Mide sprawling into the mud.
"Get up, boy," Vidić growled, not even looking back as he walked away with the ball. "This is not a playground."
[System: "Health Check: 88%. Ribs: Bruised. Ego: Fractured. Baba's Note: I told you! That was 61 Physical vs 90 Physical. You're lucky your lungs are still inside your chest. Use your brain, Oga! Stop trying to out-muscle a tank!"]
For the next fifteen minutes, the Reserves were suffocated. The First Team played 'Keep-Away' at a speed that made Mide's head spin. Every time Mide tried to find space, Rio Ferdinand seemed to be already there, his reading of the game so advanced it felt like he was cheating.
Mide was chasing shadows. He was panting, his boots heavy with clay, his face splattered with muck. He looked toward the sidelines. Sir Alex was whispering to Carlos Queiroz, shaking his head.
I'm playing their game, Mide realized, wiping blood from his lip. I'm trying to be a 'Reserves' player. I need to be MA10.
The Turning Tide
In the 25th minute, the Reserves won a scrappy ball in midfield. Mide didn't wait. He didn't ask for the ball. He used The Cheetah's First Step and sprinted away from the play, dragging Vidić toward the touchline.
"What are you doing, Nigeria?" Ronaldo shouted from across the pitch, a smirk on his face.
Suddenly, Mide stopped. He checked back, his Oracle Sight highlighting a tiny pocket of space between Michael Carrick and Paul Scholes. He demanded the ball.
As it reached him, Vidić charged in again, looking to end the "experiment."
Mide triggered Phantom Step.
As Vidić lunged, Mide performed a micro-movement—a dip of the shoulder so subtle it was almost invisible. To Vidić's peripheral vision, Mide seemed to vanish for a split second. The Serbian powerhouse swung at air, stumbling forward.
Mide was gone. He was in the "Hole."
He saw Rio Ferdinand stepping up to close the gap. Rio was fast, but Mide had Future Knowledge. He knew Rio's only weakness in 2006 was his occasional over-confidence in his recovery speed.
Mide faked a long ball to Welbeck. Rio shifted his weight. In that heartbeat, Mide slipped a reverse-nutmeg pass right through Rio's legs.
"WHAT?!" Rio yelled, spinning around in disbelief.
The ball found the winger, who crossed it low for Shawcross—who had wandered up for a corner—to thumping it into the net.
Reserves 1 - 1 First Team.
The silence that followed was heavy. Paul Scholes picked up the ball and looked at Mide with a newfound, squinting interest. Sir Alex Ferguson actually took his hands out of his pockets.
[System: "OHO! You just nutmegged a British Record signing! 200 SP earned for 'Legendary Humiliation.' Rio's face is currently the color of a ripe tomato. Ronaldo isn't smiling anymore. He's calling for the ball. You've woken the lions, Mide. Now... survive the retaliation."]
The Final Horn
The rest of the match was a war. Ronaldo began playing as if it were a Champions League final, scoring a hat-trick to put the First Team 4-1 up, but he couldn't stop looking at Mide. Every time Mide got the ball, he didn't lose it. He used Predictive Impact to ride tackles from Scholes and Giggs, spinning away with a grace that shouldn't belong to a seventeen-year-old.
When the whistle finally blew, Mide was spent. He fell to his knees, his chest heaving, the cold rain washing the mud from his face.
A shadow fell over him. A pair of expensive, mud-stained boots stopped in front of his eyes.
"You have courage," a voice said.
Mide looked up. It was Sir Alex Ferguson. The Boss was looking down at him, his face stern but his eyes sparkling with that famous Scottish fire.
"You're raw," Sir Alex said, his voice a low burr. "You're too thin. You play like a street dog. But... you saw that pass through Rio's legs before he even knew he had legs."
Sir Alex turned to René Meulensteen. "Get him a nutritionist. And tell the laundry to get him a First Team locker. I want him training with the seniors from Monday."
[System: "MAIN QUEST COMPLETE: THE SHOWCASE. Reward: 500 SP. New Status: Manchester United First Team Squad Member (Provisional). Current SP: 855. You did it, Oga. You're a Red Devil."]
The Call Home
That evening, the adrenaline had faded into a deep, aching fatigue. Mide sat in the corner of the dormitory common room, clutching a calling card he'd bought from a local newsagent. He dialed the long, familiar sequence of numbers for Nigeria.
Ring... Ring...
"Hello? Who is this? We are not buying anything!" His mother's voice was sharp, distorted by the international line.
"Mama," Mide said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's me. It's Mide."
"OLUMIDE! Ah! Samuel! Samuel, come! It's our boy!"
He heard the frantic shuffling of feet, the sound of a chair being knocked over.
"Mide? Are you okay?" his father's voice boomed over the speaker. "Did they send you back? Are you at the airport?"
"No, Papa," Mide laughed, a tear finally escaping and rolling down his cheek. "They didn't send me back. I... I just finished training with the first team. Sir Alex Ferguson... he told me I'm staying. I'm going to be a Manchester United player, Papa."
Silence. For five long seconds, the only sound was the crackle of the Atlantic cable.
"The First Team?" his father whispered. "The one with the Ronaldo boy?"
"Yes, Papa. I played against him today. I even gave him a bit of trouble."
His mother started singing a Yoruba song of praise in the background, her voice rising in joy. Mide could hear his sisters, Bolu and Simi, screaming in excitement, probably jumping on the sofas.
"Listen, Papa," Mide said, his tone turning serious. "The money... the first check is coming soon. I want you to go to the bank I told you about. Buy the books for Simi. Tell Bolu to start looking at the university applications. I told you I would clear the way. The way is open now."
"We are proud of you, my son," his father said, his voice breaking for the first time. "Just... don't forget the God that brought you there. And don't let them break your legs."
"They can't break me, Papa," Mide said, looking at the glowing System screen in front of him. "I have a Kingdom to build."
As he hung up the phone, Mide felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Danny Welbeck standing there, holding two protein shakes.
"First Team, eh?" Danny said, handing him a bottle. "Don't forget us little people when you're winning the Ballon d'Or, Nigeria."
Mide smiled, taking the shake. "I won't forget, Danny. We're all going to the top. I've already seen the map."
[Current Status]
Name: Mide Adeyemi (MA10)
SP: 855
Rank: First Team (Provisional)
Relationship: Sir Alex Ferguson (Noticed), Cristiano Ronaldo (Rival/Interested).
Next Objective: The Premier League Debut (vs. Reading FC).