"No more," he whispered to the empty office. "Never again."

He spent the next hour doing what he should have been doing all along. He went on a one-man charm offensive. He logged into the training ground, where his players were going through a light, AI-led session, their movements lacking the usual spark, their body language a picture of quiet discontent.

He didn't call a team meeting. He went to them, one by one.

He found Grant Hanley, his suspended captain, watching from the sidelines with a frustrated expression. "Gaffer," Hanley said, not even looking at him.

"The lads... they're not happy. They feel like you've been... absent."

"I have been," Ethan admitted, his voice quiet and sincere.

"And that's my fault. I got lazy. It won't happen again. I need you, Grant. I need you to help me get them back on side."

The veteran captain just looked at him for a long, hard moment, then gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Alright, boss. But they need to hear it from you."

Ethan went to every single player. He talked to the senior players about their responsibilities.

He talked to the fringe players about their importance to the squad.

He even went to David Kerrigan, who was sulking in a corner, and apologized for not being there to manage his chaotic energy.

But the most important conversation was with his three young stars. He found them together, a small, isolated island of discontent.

"What happened to the live streams, gaffer?" Jonathan Rowe asked, his usual cheerful energy gone. "The fans in the forums are asking where you've gone."

"I got... busy," Ethan said, the excuse sounding weak even to his own ears.

"We miss having you here," Viktor said, his voice quiet but direct.

"It's... not the same when you're not on the touchline."

Emre Demir, the heart of his team, said nothing.

He just looked at Ethan, his eyes a mixture of disappointment and a silent, profound question: 'Where were you?'

The look was a dagger to Ethan's heart.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it more than he had ever meant anything in his life.

"I messed up. I took you for granted. But I'm back now. And I promise you, I am not going anywhere. We are going to get back to what we do best. Together."

He saw the flicker of belief, of hope, returning to their eyes. The wound wasn't healed, but the healing had begun.

....

TWO MONTHS LATER

The warm, gentle light of a late autumn afternoon streamed into the living room.

Ethan's father sat in his armchair, a cup of tea in one hand and a tablet in the other, a wide, proud smile on his face.

His wife, now fully recovered and bustling around the room with a happy, restless energy, paused to look over his shoulder.

"What are you watching, dear?" she asked.

"The Gaffer's Office," he replied, his voice filled with a quiet, profound pride.

"The latest episode. It's a tactical breakdown of their 4-1 win against Sheffield Wednesday. The one where he got his revenge."

On the screen, a slick, professionally edited video was playing.

It showed Ethan, his virtual avatar, confidently explaining a complex pressing trigger, using graphics and slow-motion replays.

The video was clear, it was intelligent, and it was incredibly popular.

"He's a natural, isn't he?" his mom said, her voice a soft, loving murmur.

"He's more than a natural," his dad said, his eyes flicking to the corner of the screen.

"Look at this."

He pointed to the subscriber count.

It was no longer a humble 1,000.

It was 50,000. And it was climbing every single day.

"Fifty thousand people," his dad breathed, a note of awe in his voice.

"Fifty thousand people, from all over the world, are tuning in to watch our son talk about his imaginary football team."

"And the money?" his mom asked, her voice a practical whisper.

"That's the crazy part," he said, swiping to another screen. It was their new, joint bank account, the one for 'The Gaffer's Dugout' project.

The YouTube revenue for the last two months was displayed in a simple, beautiful, and utterly unbelievable line item.

"He transferred it to us this morning. Eight hundred dollars. From two months of playing his game."

They were silent for a moment, the sheer, beautiful absurdity of it all washing over them.

Their son, the quiet, football-obsessed dreamer, was a success.

"We're so proud of him," his mom said, a happy tear rolling down her cheek.

In the virtual world, the Gaffer was at work.

He stood in the briefing room, his team gathered before him.

The last two months had been a relentless, glorious grind.

The simulation disaster had been a wake-up call.

He had recommitted himself, and his team had responded.

They had fought, they had scrapped, and they had played some of the most beautiful football the division had ever seen.

He brought up the league table. Apex United was a sea of green.

They were on a twelve-match unbeaten run. They sat at the top of the table, ten points clear.

He brought up the player stats.

Viktor Kristensen was the league's top scorer with 18 goals.

Emre Demir was the top of the assists chart with 14.

He brought up the development reports.

Viktor's Current Ability was now a formidable 74. Emre's was a staggering 77.

"We are the best team in this league," Ethan said, his voice ringing with a quiet, unshakeable confidence.

"And it's not even close. But the season is not over. We keep our focus. We keep our hunger. And we do not get complacent."

He looked around the room, at his team of winners, his band of brothers.

"Now, let's go get another three points."

He logged off, the feeling of a job well done a familiar, satisfying warmth.

The life of a gaffer was a good one.

He went to his real-world desk and opened the drawer.

The small, silver USB stick from Liam was still there, a silent, unanswered question in the middle of his perfect, well-ordered life.

He looked at it, a new, calm curiosity replacing the old fear. His life was good. His team was winning. His family was happy.

He was no longer the scared, overwhelmed kid who had been afraid to open Pandora's Box.

He was a manager. A leader. A man in control.

He picked up the USB stick, a slow, determined smile on his face.

"Okay, Liam," he whispered to the empty room. "The season's on track. The family's happy. I think it's finally time to see what all the fuss is about."

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