Chapter 10: The Shadow of Giants
The rain had transitioned from a mist to a steady, cold drizzle that turned the lush green of Carrington into a darker, slicker emerald. The under-18s were gathered in a circle, their chests heaving, steam rising from their shoulders in the frigid morning air.
"Right," René Meulensteen barked, his eyes scanning the group. "Bibs on. Eleven versus eleven. Full pitch. I want to see shape, I want to see discipline, and I want to see who folds when the legs get heavy. Mide—yellow bib. You're playing the hole behind Welbeck."
Danny Welbeck looked over at Mide, wiping mud from his cheek. There was no smirk this time, just a sharp, focused nod. The "African Wizard" had earned a 10-minute pass of respect; now he had to earn a permanent spot.
[System: "Main Event Triggered: The Carrington Scrimmage."]
[Objective: Win the match and maintain a pass completion rate above 90%.]
[Potential Reward: 150 SP & Relationship Unlock: 'The Welbeck Link'.]
Mide trotted toward the center circle, adjusting his boots. As he did, a sudden silence fell over the youth players. The chatter stopped. Even the junior coaches turned their heads toward the adjacent path.
A group of men in dark blue training tracksuits were walking toward Pitch 1. They moved with an aura of casual invincibility.
Mide froze. His 35-year-old soul recognized them instantly. There was Rio Ferdinand, laughing at something Wayne Rooney had said. Paul Scholes was walking quietly, ball already at his feet, juggling it with effortless precision.
And then, there he was.
Cristiano Ronaldo. In 2006, Ronaldo was still "thin" compared to the machine he would become, but his presence was electric. He was wearing his shorts pulled up high, his silver earrings glinting even in the gray weather. He glanced over at the youth pitch for a split second—a predatory, fleeting look—before turning back to his teammates.
[System: "Aura Detection: CR7 (SS-Rank). Current Gap: Immeasurable. Baba's Note: Don't stare too long, Oga. You look like a fanboy. If you want to stand next to him on the weekend, you need to destroy these boys in the next forty minutes."]
Mide took a deep breath, the cold air stinging his throat. I'm not a fanboy, Baba. I'm his future partner.
The Kick-Off
The whistle blew. The game was frantic. The English academy style was built on high-pressure and physical dominance. Within the first two minutes, Mide was clattered from behind by Sykes, the defender he had nutmegged earlier.
"Welcome to Manchester, lad!" Sykes hissed, standing over him as Mide tumbled into the mud.
Mide didn't complain. He didn't look at the referee. He used his Iron Grit trait to spring back up, his eyes cold. He realized that in this high-speed environment, he couldn't just wait for the ball. He had to dictate the space.
[System: "Oracle Sight: Active. Flow State: 15%. I am highlighting the 'Ghost Lanes.' Follow the blue lines, Mide."]
The ball came to him in the 15th minute. He was marked tightly by two midfielders. Instead of trying to turn, Mide played a first-time, cushioned header back to his holding midfielder, then immediately spun into the blind spot of the defense.
It was a "Zidane move"—simple, elegant, and effective.
He received the ball back ten yards further up the pitch. Danny Welbeck was making a diagonal run toward the corner flag, pulling the center-backs with him.
Everyone thinks I'll pass to Danny, Mide analyzed. The Keeper is leaning toward the near post.
Mide didn't pass. He used The Cheetah's First Step.
He exploded. The change of pace was so sudden that Sykes, who was tracking him, literally tripped over his own feet. Mide was at the edge of the box. He saw a gap the size of a needle's eye.
"Mide! Square it!" Welbeck screamed.
Mide ignored him. He wrapped his foot around the ball, using his 64 Shooting—now boosted by his focus—to curl a low, grass-cutter toward the far bottom corner.
The ball skipped off the wet turf, gaining speed. The goalkeeper dived, his fingers clawing at the air, but the ball kissed the inside of the post and nestled into the side netting.
1-0.
The Aftermath of the Goal
The youth pitch went quiet again. René Meulensteen didn't cheer. He just scribbled something on his notepad, his expression unreadable.
But on the sidelines, the First Team had paused. They were waiting for their own session to start, and a few of them had caught the goal.
"Not a bad finish, that," a voice called out.
Mide turned. Ryan Giggs was standing by the fence, leaning against the rail, watching the scrimmage with a faint, appreciative smile. Beside him, Ronaldo was nodding slowly, his eyes locked on Mide's #10 bib.
[System: "Attention Level: First Team Legends — 15%. You've made the 'Big Boys' look twice. SP Earned: 50. Warning: The intensity is about to double. The defenders are embarrassed. They are going to try and 'leave a mark' on you in the next half."]
Mide wiped the mud from his red jersey. He looked at Welbeck, who was walking over with a grin.
"Alright, Lagos," Danny said, offering a fist bump. "I see you. But next time, give me the tap-in, yeah?"
"If you're in a better position, Danny, the ball will find you," Mide replied, his voice calm. "But if I see the goal, I take the goal. That's the rule where I'm from."
As the game prepared to restart, Mide felt the Eternal Engine hum in his chest. He wasn't tired. He was just getting started. He looked at the rain, the mud, and the legends watching from the sidelines, and he felt a surge of pure, unfiltered joy.
He wasn't just a boy from Surulere anymore. He was a Red Devil in the making.
[Current Status]
Score: 1-0 (Mide 15')
Stamina: 68%
Pass Accuracy: 94%
SP: 145
Relationship: Danny Welbeck (Budding Partnership)