Michael stopped at the edge of the training pitch.
Or rather, what used to be the training pitch.
Michael blinked slowly. The pristine, freshly cut green grass was completely gone. In its place was a massive, blindingly white expanse of pure, imported sea sand. There were palm trees in large ceramic pots. There were brightly colored sun loungers. There was even a tiki bar serving fresh fruit smoothies.
Arthur Milton, Michael's fiercely loyal assistant, was standing next to a mountain of sand, looking entirely defeated. He was holding his tactical clipboard in one hand and a neon-pink coconut drink in the other.
"Arthur..." Michael said quietly, keeping his voice dangerously calm. "What happened to my pitch?"
"It's Kenji, Boss," Arthur sighed, taking a sip from the coconut. "He said the players were too stressed about playing Atletico Madrid. He said they needed to relax. So... he imported five hundred tons of white sand from Ibiza."
Michael stared at the scene.
