Dynasty Awakening: Building My Own Football Empire

The 75th minute at the Etihad didn't feel like a football match. It felt like a war zone where the laws of physics had been replaced by the laws of Pep Guardiola's desperation!

Jeremy Doku, Manchester City's substitute winger, wasn't a human being. He was a fidget spinner made of muscle and speed.

He received the ball on the left. Kaito Tanaka, whose Titanium Hamstrings were currently vibrating with the force of a thousand sprints, stepped up.

Doku feinted left. Kaito stayed. Doku feinted right. Kaito stayed.

Then Doku disappeared.

"Fuck!" Michael Sterling screamed, his A-Grade Voice Projection causing a steward to drop his pie.

Doku had actually teleported (or just ran really fast) to the byline. He cut the ball back.

Julian Alvarez was there. The World Cup winner wound up to shoot.

"BLOCK IT!"

Vladimir Petrovic didn't use his feet. He threw his entire 6'4" frame onto the wet grass like a falling tree.

THUD.

The ball smashed into Vladimir's ribs. The sound was sickening. But the Serbian didn't flinch. He just grunted something that sounded like "Not today, small man" and cleared the ball with a bicycle kick while lying down.

"He's a maniac!" Arthur Milton squeaked from the bench, hiding behind a tactics board. "Boss, he's broken! Look at him!"

"He's not broken, Arthur," Michael said, his eyes glued to the clock. "He's Serbian. That was just a massage for him."

But the relief was short-lived.

82nd Minute.

City had abandoned tactics. They were playing a 2-1-7 formation. Even the ball boys looked like they were positioning themselves for a cross.

De Bruyne had the ball. He looked tired. He looked human.

But then, he saw it. A pixel of space between Diego Nunez and Sergio Ramos.

He whipped the ball in. It was a cross so perfect it belonged in a museum.

Haaland rose. The Robot. The Terminator.

He headed it down.

Jan Visser, the stoned-looking Dutchman, was going the wrong way. He was falling to his left. The ball was going right.

"It's over," Kenji Sato whispered in the VIP box, clutching Sarah's hand so hard he cracked a nail.

But Jan Visser didn't fall. He defied gravity. He stuck out a single, long, purple-gloved hand.

FINGERTIP.

He touched it. Just enough.

The ball hit the inside of the post. It rolled across the line. It hit the other post.

And then, it landed in Diego Nunez's arms.

Diego, who was lying on the goal line, kissed the ball. Then he stood up and punted it into the stands.

"TIME WASTING!" The City fans screamed.

"TACTICAL GENIUS!" The Barnsley fans roared.

The referee booked Diego. Diego winked at the referee.

"He's enjoying this," Michael muttered, wiping sweat from his palms. "The absolute psychopath is enjoying this."

88th Minute.

Michael looked at his System interface. It was flashing like a disco strobe.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[OPPONENT STATUS: DESPERATE]

[CHAOS FACTOR: 200%]

[PEP GUARDIOLA HAIR FOLLICLE STRESS: CRITICAL]

"Arthur," Michael said calmly. "Get the sub ready."

"Who, Boss? We used them all!"

"No," Michael pointed to the end of the bench. "Him."

Kalvin Phillips. The man City sold to Barnsley. The man Pep said was "overweight."

"Bring him on for Victor," Michael ordered. "We are parking the bus. We are parking the bus, the kit van, and Kenji's limousine."

Victor Osimhen trotted off, exhausted but grinning. Kalvin Phillips ran on.

The Etihad booed. Kalvin smiled.

"Show them," Michael whispered.

90th Minute.

The board went up.

6 MINUTES ADDED TIME.

"Six minutes?!" Michael roared at the fourth official. "Where did you find six minutes? Did you invent time travel?!"

The official ignored him. Pep was screaming at his players to push up. Even Ederson, the City goalkeeper, was standing in the center circle.

94th Minute.

It was the Alamo.

City corner. Foden swung it in.

Ederson jumped. Haaland jumped. Dias jumped.

The ball pinged around the box like a pinball machine.

It fell to Rodri. 10 yards out. Unmarked.

"NO!" Arthur fainted. For real this time.

Rodri smashed it.

It was a goal. It had to be.

But out of the chaos, a purple blur launched itself at the ball.

Not Jan Visser. Not Diego.

It was Michael Sterling.

Well, spiritually.

Physically, it was Kaito Tanaka. The winger who had been defending for 20 minutes.

He threw his face in front of the shot.

CRACK.

The ball hit Kaito's forehead. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.

But the ball... the ball deflected. It spun up into the air.

And landed softly in Jan Visser's arms.

The stadium went silent. Kaito didn't move.

"Kaito!" Michael sprinted down the touchline, ignoring the technical area rules.

But then, a thumb went up.

Kaito rolled over. He was bleeding from the nose. But he was smiling.

"Did I save it, Boss?"

Michael felt tears prick his eyes. "You saved it, you beautiful, crazy Samurai."

96th Minute.

Jan Visser drop-kicked the ball. He didn't aim for a teammate. He aimed for the moon.

The ball soared high into the Manchester night.

The referee put the whistle to his lips.

PEEEP.

PEEEP.

PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

The sound was the sweetest thing Michael Sterling had ever heard.

He didn't run. He didn't jump.

He just collapsed to his knees in the wet grass, the rain soaking his expensive suit, the purple tie hanging loose.

"We did it," he whispered to the wet turf. "We actually fucking did it."

The scenes were carnage.

Diego Nunez tackled Haaland. Not to hurt him, but to hug him. Haaland looked confused and terrified.

Arthur Milton woke up, saw the score (MAN CITY 1 - 2 BARNSLEY), and immediately started dancing with a steward.

Kenji Sato was crying in the VIP box, pouring champagne over Jean-Pierre's expensive suit.

And Pep Guardiola?

The great Pep Guardiola walked over to Michael. He extended a hand.

Michael looked up.

"You are a pain in my ass, Michael," Pep said, but there was a smile. A respectful, tired smile. "But you have a hell of a team."

"Thanks, Pep," Michael grinned, taking the hand. "Next time, bring more robots."

THE AFTERMATH

The dressing room was a swamp of champagne, pizza, and jelly babies.

"CHAMPIONS LEAGUE! CHAMPIONS LEAGUE!" The players chanted, throwing Kaito Tanaka into the air (carefully, protecting the hamstrings).

Michael stood in the corner, watching them. His Misfits. His family.

Arthur stumbled over, holding a bottle of non-alcoholic fizz.

"Boss," Arthur slurred (from sugar rush). "Real Madrid called again."

"Oh yeah?" Michael asked, loosening his tie.

"Yeah. They doubled the offer."

The room went quiet. Even Diego stopped trying to eat the pizza box.

They all looked at Michael.

Michael looked at Kaito, with his bandaged nose. He looked at Vladimir, icing his ribs. He looked at Diego, who was currently wearing a traffic cone as a hat.

He pulled out his phone. He looked at the System notification that had just popped up.

[MISSION COMPLETE: THE DYNASTY BEGINS]

[REWARD: PLATINUM LOTTERY TICKET]

[REWARD: S-GRADE SKILL: DYNASTY BUILDER]

[REWARD: 10,000 INFLUENCE POINTS]

[NEW SEASON OBJECTIVE: CONQUER EUROPE]

Michael smiled. It was the smile of a man who had everything he wanted.

"Arthur," Michael said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Tell Real Madrid to buy a telescope."

"A telescope, Boss?"

"Yes," Michael grinned, putting his arm around his assistant. "So they can watch us from Spain when we lift the Champions League trophy."

The room erupted. Champagne sprayed.

"MISFITS ON THREE!" Sergio Ramos screamed.

"ONE! TWO! THREE! MISFITS!"

Michael walked out of the dressing room, into the quiet tunnel. He looked at the empty pitch of the Etihad.

He brought up the System interface one last time.

[SYSTEM LEVEL 6 UNLOCKED]