Chapter 7: The Bridge of Clouds
The hum of the Boeing 747's engines was a low, vibrating growl that seemed to settle into Mide's very bones. It was a sound he hadn't heard in decades—the sound of a life being uprooted. As the plane leveled out at thirty thousand feet, leaving the golden-brown coast of West Africa behind for the endless blue of the Atlantic, Mide leaned his head against the cold plastic of the window.
Beside him, Mr. Bernard had already reclined his seat, a sleeping mask pulled over his eyes. The scout was used to this; to him, Mide was a high-value cargo, a lottery ticket in football boots. But to Mide, this was a journey through time as much as space.
[System: "Warning: Cabin altitude is affecting your blood oxygen levels. Minor 'Drowsiness' debuff applied. Would you like me to stimulate your nervous system, or are you going to use this time to actually think for once?"]
I'm thinking, Baba, Mide replied internally, his eyes fixed on the fluffy white carpet of clouds below. The 'Eagle's Nest' protocol... how many can we actually track?
[System: "Scanning Database... 2006 to 2026... Current Status: Victor Osimhen is seven years old. He is likely somewhere in Oregun right now, perhaps kicking a bundled-up nylon bag. Kelechi Iheanacho is nine. Wilfred Ndidi is nine. I have placed 'Ghost Markers' on their souls. If their destiny veers into a 'Career Ending' event, you will receive a notification. But remember the price, Mide. You must become the sun they orbit. If you fail in Manchester, the 'Nest' collapses."]
Mide felt the weight of it. It wasn't just about his sisters' education anymore. He was carrying the future of Nigerian football in his mental inventory.
He reached into his pocket and finally pulled out the crumpled piece of paper his sister Bolu had snuck into his tracksuit. He unfolded it carefully.
Brother Mide,
I know you are acting brave, but I saw you looking at your old boots last night. Don't worry about us. Papa is grumpy because he will miss his favorite person to argue with. I will take care of Mama. Just promise me one thing: When you get to that big stadium, remember the boy who used to play barefoot in the rain. That boy is the one they can never beat.
Love, Bolu.
Mide swallowed hard, folding the note back up. A 35-year-old's soul in a 17-year-old's body didn't make him immune to the sting of a sister's love.
The Mid-Flight Reflection
Six hours into the flight, the cabin lights dimmed. Most passengers were asleep, but Mide was staring at the small screen in the back of the seat in front of him, watching the little airplane icon slowly crawl toward London.
Baba, show me the 2007 Manchester United roster, Mide commanded.
[System: "Processing... Current First Team: Van der Sar, Ferdinand, Vidic, Evra, Neville, Scholes, Carrick, Giggs, Ronaldo, Rooney, Saha. Manager: Sir Alex Ferguson."]
Mide's heart sped up. Ronaldo. In 2006/2007, Cristiano was just beginning his transformation from a flashy, inconsistent winger into a goal-scoring machine. This was the season he would hit 17 league goals.
If I join now, Mide mused, I'm not just his teammate. I'm his competition. And his partner.
[System: "Exactly. Cristiano is currently the 'Alpha' of the training ground. He trains longer than anyone. He eats better than anyone. If you show up with your 'Lagos Chill' attitude, he will eat you alive. You need to unlock a training multiplier. Current SP: 145. Would you like to browse the 'Carrington Prep' shop?"]
Show me.
[System Shop: Manchester Trials Special]
1. 'Acclimatization' (Passive): Reduces the 'Cold Weather' debuff by 50%. (Cost: 40 SP)
2. 'The First Impression' (Active): Your first touch in a professional training session is guaranteed to be 99% accurate. (Cost: 60 SP)
3. 'Language Bridge' (Passive): Instantly understand 'Mancunian' slang and Scottish accents (Essential for understanding Sir Alex). (Cost: 30 SP)
Mide hesitated. He needed the 'Language' perk—Sir Alex's accent was legendary for being impenetrable—but he also knew the English winter would kill his Lagos-bred muscles.
I'll take 'Acclimatization' and 'Language Bridge', Mide decided. I'll rely on my own skill for the first touch.
[System: "Purchasing... SP remaining: 75. You are now protected from the frost and the Scottish mumble. Good luck, Oga. You're going to need it."]
Touchdown: The Gray Horizon
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to London Heathrow. The local time is 6:15 AM, and the temperature is a crisp 4 degrees Celsius."
Mide stepped off the plane and was immediately hit by it. Even with the 'Acclimatization' perk, the air felt like a sheet of cold glass against his skin. It wasn't the heavy, wet heat of Lagos; it was a thin, biting chill that smelled of jet fuel and damp earth.
He followed Bernard through the gleaming, sterile halls of Heathrow Terminal 5. Everything was too clean, too organized. People moved with a quiet, hurried purpose.
"Stay close, Mide," Bernard said, pulling his coat collar up. "The driver should be waiting at the arrivals gate."
As they pushed through the sliding glass doors into the arrivals hall, Mide saw a sea of signs. His eyes scanned them until they stopped on a man in a black suit holding a simple white board with red lettering:
ROYAL ANTWERP / MAN UTD - MR. ADEYEMI
The man holding the sign was tall, stone-faced, and looked like he hadn't smiled since the 1990s.
"That's us," Bernard said, leading the way.
Mide walked toward the driver, his footsteps echoing on the polished floor. Each step was taking him further away from the boy who played in the dust of Surulere and closer to the legend of MA10.
The driver took Mide's battered suitcase, eyeing it with a hint of disdain before placing it in the trunk of a sleek, black Mercedes.
"Welcome to England, son," the driver said in a thick, gravelly northern accent.
[System: "Translation Engaged: 'Welcome to England, son. Try not to freeze to death before we reach the M6 motorway.'"]
Mide sat in the back of the car, the leather smelling of expensive polish. As they pulled away from the airport, the sun began to rise—a pale, weak disk of light struggling through the gray English mist.
He looked out at the rolling green hills and the brick houses flashing by. He thought of his mother's jollof rice, his sisters' dreams, and the 'Golden Seeds' back home.
"Mr. Bernard?" Mide asked, his voice steady.
"Yes, Mide?"
"How far is Carrington?"
"A few hours' drive north," Bernard replied. "You should sleep. You'll be training with the Under-18s by tomorrow morning."
Mide leaned back and closed his eyes. He didn't sleep. He just watched the blue screen in his mind, calculating the SP he would need to earn to stay in this world.
I'm not here to train, Mide thought. I'm here to take over.
[Current Status]
Location: En route to Manchester (M6 Motorway)
SP: 75
Active Buffs: Acclimatization (50%), Language Bridge (100%)
Next Objective: Arrive at the Carrington Training Ground.