The man from Aetheria Dynamics stood in the deepening twilight of the CostMart parking lot, a ghost in a cheap suit, offering a key to a conspiracy Ethan was quickly realizing he wanted no part of.

Liam Taylor would like to have a word with you.

Ethan just stared at him for a long, silent moment.

The whole day had been a perfect, simple, happy slice of real life.

A new bank card, a fun shift with Maya, a proud conversation with his dad. And now this.

A secret agent from a shadow corporation trying to drag him back into a world of betrayals and cryptic messages.

He did the only thing a sensible, well-adjusted, and completely overwhelmed nineteen-year-old could do.

He started to laugh.

It was a genuine, hearty laugh of pure, unadulterated absurdity.

"You're kidding me, right?" he said, shaking his head as he unlocked his bike.

"Aetheria Dynamics? You guys are going to send a man in a suit to a supermarket parking lot to deliver a mysterious summons? What's next? Is he going to pass me a secret code hidden in a loaf of bread?"

The man's professional, emotionless facade finally cracked. He looked genuinely confused.

"I... I don't understand."

"Look, Mr... whoever you are," Ethan said, swinging his leg over his bike.

"Tell Liam... or his boss... or the shadowy cabal of football-obsessed illuminati, that I'm busy. I have a job, a family, and a team at the top of the league to manage. I don't have time for spy games. If he wants to talk, he has my number."

He pushed off, leaving the man in the suit standing alone in the parking lot, a picture of bewildered irrelevance.

The bike ride home was a joyous, defiant act of rebellion. Ethan laughed the whole way.

The game, the conspiracies, the secret wagers... it was all starting to feel like someone else's drama. He just wanted to chill, make some money for his family, and play his favorite game.

Maybe, one day, if he ever made enough, he'd develop his own game. One with less mystery and more puppies on the pitch.

He got home, had a happy, normal dinner with his happy, normal family, and went to bed, the memory of the man in the suit already fading into a funny anecdote he would tell Leo tomorrow.

The next few weeks were a golden age for Ethan Couch.

His life fell into a perfect, wonderful rhythm. His mom's recovery was complete.

Sarah was thriving in her new job, her laughter a constant, welcome sound in the house.

The Gaffer's Dugout was in the early planning stages, with his dad excitedly researching the price of high-end gaming PCs.

And his shifts at CostMart were actually fun, a welcome break from the high-stakes world of the game, filled with easy, flirtatious banter with Maya.

And in the virtual world, Apex United was a juggernaut.

They were a machine, rolling through the league with a swagger and a style that was breathtaking to watch.

The humiliating loss to Burton had been the wake-up call they needed.

They won their next four league games in a row, scoring fifteen goals and conceding only two.

Their live streams on 'The Gaffer's Office' were a roaring success, his subscriber count climbing steadily past the 5,000 mark.

It was all... easy. Too easy.

One Tuesday afternoon, he logged into the pod. He had a full week of five matches ahead of him.

Two cup games and three league fixtures. It was a daunting, exhausting schedule.

He appeared in his office, the familiar buzz of the virtual world surrounding him. He looked at his schedule, then at the training reports, then at the opposition analysis.

And he just felt... tired.

He loved this game. He loved his team.

But the relentless, day-in, day-out grind of training, tactics, and high-stakes matches was starting to feel like... well, like a job.

He remembered a feature he had seen in the game's menu but had never dared to use. A feature for the busy, the tired, or the lazy.

The 'Simulate Match' button.

The game gave him five 'Simulation Credits' per week, a chance to let the AI assistant manager take the reins and just get the result.

He had always been a hands-on manager. Every victory, every defeat, had been his. But today... he just didn't have it in him.

His team was in top form.

The opponents were all mid-table or lower.

What was the worst that could happen?

"Ah, what the hell," he said to the empty office.

"Let's live a little."

He navigated to the schedule, selected the entire week of five matches, and with a strange, guilty thrill, he hit the [SIMULATE ALL!] button.

The screen went dark for a second, and then a rapid-fire, high-speed montage of results began to flash before his eyes.

[EFL Trophy - 3rd Round vs. Port Vale - SIMULATING...]

[RESULT: APEX UNITED 3 - 1 Port Vale. GOALS: Kristensen (2), Kerrigan (1)]

"Revenge!" Ethan cheered.

[League One vs. Shrewsbury - SIMULATING...]

[RESULT: Shrewsbury 0 - 2 APEX UNITED. GOALS: Demir (1), Rowe (1)]

"Too easy!"

[Carabao Cup - 2nd Round vs. Nova Athletic - SIMULATING...]

[RESULT: APEX UNITED 1 - 1 Nova Athletic. Apex United win 5-4 on penalties.]

"YES! Sorry, Maya!" he yelled, pumping his fist.

[League One vs. Cambridge United - SIMULATING...]

[RESULT: Cambridge United 2 - 2 APEX UNITED. GOALS: Kristensen (1), Hanley (1)]

"A draw? Hmm. Okay, can't win 'em all."

[League One vs. Bristol Rovers - SIMULATING...]

[RESULT: Bristol Rovers 1 - 0 APEX UNITED]

He stared at the final result.

A loss. A 1-0 loss to a team in the relegation zone.

The screen then shifted to the main hub, showing the updated league table. He held his breath.

After a week of simulated madness, where were they?

He looked. And a huge, relieved grin spread across his face.

They were still top. But their comfortable lead had been cut down to just two points.

The chasing pack was closing in.

He looked at the season stats.

They had now played 15 games. There were 31 left to play. It was a long, long road ahead.

He was about to check his players' development when a new, urgent-looking notification flashed on his screen. It was a system alert.

[SIMULATION WEEK COMPLETE. WARNING.]

Ethan frowned.

Warning?

He tapped on it.

[While simulating matches, player development from match experience is reduced by 90%.]

His blood ran cold. He frantically navigated to the squad screen and checked Emre Demir's profile.

His Current Ability was still 75. No change. Viktor's was still 71. No change.

Five games. Zero development.

The message continued.

[Furthermore, key player relationships and morale can be negatively impacted by a perceived managerial absence.]

He checked his squad's morale screen.

The sea of happy, green 'Ecstatic' and 'Joyful' icons had been replaced by a worrying number of yellow 'Content' and even a few orange 'Unhappy' faces.

The final line of the warning was a cold, hard slap in the face.

[You are the Gaffer. Your presence matters. Simulation is a tool, not a replacement. Use it at your own risk.]

He stared at the screen, a feeling of profound, sickening guilt washing over him. He had taken a shortcut. He had been lazy.

And his team, his brilliant, developing, human team, had paid the price.

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