The video call with Liam ended, leaving Ethan and Leo sitting in a stunned, energized silence in the park.

The revelation that player potentials were dynamic, tied to the chaotic, unpredictable real world, was a paradigm shift.

It made the game infinitely more complex and a thousand times more exciting.

"A lottery ticket that's about to be drawn," Leo repeated, his eyes wide with the sheer thrill of it all. "We have an inside man. This changes everything."

Ethan looked from his phone, with Liam's smiling face still on the screen, to the sky, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The corporate statements, the 'Safe Mode' updates, the scary, unsubstantiated news articles... it was all just noise.

"You know what?" Ethan said, a newfound clarity in his voice.

"Forget it."

"Forget what?" Leo asked, confused.

"All of it," Ethan declared, getting to his feet and grabbing his bike. "The Aetheria Dynamics press releases, the firmware updates, the conspiracy theories. It's all fake, or it's an insurance policy, or it's a leash. Whatever it is, I don't care anymore. I'm not a lab rat. I'm a football manager. And Liam just gave me my next transfer target. I'm going home to sign him."

Leo broke into a massive grin.

"That's the spirit! Go get your lottery ticket. I'm going to go run my brick wall of a defense through some drills until their legs fall off."

Ethan practically vibrated with purpose on his way home.

He burst through his front door, gave a surprised Gaffer a quick scratch behind the ears, and made a beeline for the pod.

He appeared in his office and went straight to the transfer hub.

The name was already seared into his brain.

James McCarthy. Shamrock Rovers. £50,000.

He initiated the transfer, and the world shifted to the now-familiar negotiation room.

The manager of Shamrock Rovers was a friendly-looking man in his fifties with a kind, welcoming smile.

He seemed less like a tough negotiator and more like a proud school headmaster.

"Mr. Couch," the manager began, his Irish accent warm. "A pleasure. We've been following your progress at Apex United. A very impressive start."

Ethan was taken aback. "You have?"

"Of course," the manager chuckled. "The lower leagues are a small world, even in here. We heard about your giant-killing in the cup. Now, you're interested in our young Jamesy?"

There was no hardball, no psychological game. Ethan decided to be direct. "I am. I have a source who tells me he's a special talent who's about to get his big break."

The manager's smile widened. "Your source is a smart man. James is a top lad. Heart of a lion. He's been dominating our first team in training. He's starting in the cup next week. The secret won't be out for long." He looked at the valuation on the holographic interface. "Fifty thousand... it's a steal, frankly. But we're a club that believes in giving kids a chance. We won't stand in his way."

The negotiation was the simplest one yet.

They quickly agreed on a £75,000 fee and a modest 20% sell-on clause.

It was a deal built on mutual respect and a shared belief in a young player's future.

The deal was done in less than five minutes.

James McCarthy, the lottery ticket, was now an Apex United player.

Ethan logged off, a feeling of quiet, efficient satisfaction washing over him.

He had acted on intelligence and secured a future star for a bargain price.

He was building his dynasty, one smart move at a time.

The next morning, he woke feeling refreshed and clear-headed. He went to his mother's room to find her not in bed, but sitting in a chair by the window, watching the birds in the garden.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she said, her voice stronger and clearer than it had been since the accident.

"You're out of bed!" Ethan exclaimed, a huge grin spreading across his face.

"The doctor said I could, for a little while each day," she replied. "I was getting tired of counting the cracks in the ceiling. Your father made me breakfast. It was... surprisingly not burnt."

Ethan laughed, pulling up a chair beside her. "How are you feeling? Really?"

"Better," she said, her smile genuine. "Still a bit foggy, but better. I feel... like myself again." She looked at him, her eyes soft. "Thank you, Ethan. For everything. For being so strong, for helping out. For growing up so fast."

"I'm just glad you're okay, Mom," he said, his throat suddenly tight.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, just watching the garden. It was a simple, perfect moment. His real team was healing.

Later that day, he was at CostMart, deep in the dairy section. His shift had become a strange, calming ritual.

He had developed an almost zen-like focus on the task at hand. He knew the exact optimal placement for every brand of cheese. He could face-up a shelf of yogurts in record time.

"Couch!" Mr. Henderson's gruff voice barked from the end of the aisle. "Aisle three. Pickle apocalypse. Get the mop."

Ethan sighed.

A smashed jar of pickles was the bane of his existence.

He grabbed the cleaning supplies and headed over, preparing for the vinegary stench.

As he was cleaning up the mess, he could hear the small television that was mounted in the staff breakroom, which was just around the corner. It was tuned to a 24-hour sports news channel.

"...and we're hearing reports of a major upset brewing in the Irish FAI Cup," the commentator's voice drifted out. "League leaders Shamrock Rovers are currently trailing 1-0 at halftime to a semi-professional side. We're told the Rovers manager is making a bold change, bringing on a 17-year-old debutant for the second half, a defender by the name of James McCarthy..."

Ethan froze, the mop handle clutched in his hand. His heart started to pound.

This was it. The real-world debut.

Liam's prophecy was coming true, right now, while he was cleaning up pickle juice.

He finished his task in a frantic blur, his mind a million miles away in a stadium in Dublin.

He spent the rest of his shift on autopilot, his ears straining to catch any updates from the breakroom TV. He heard nothing.

At ten o'clock, his shift ended. He practically sprinted out of the store, pulling out his phone as he unlocked his bike.

He navigated to the sports news app, his thumb trembling. He found the match report.

FAI CUP SHOCK: Shamrock Rovers Crash Out as 17-Year-Old Debutant McCarthy Sees Red in Dramatic Defeat.

Ethan's heart sank. Sees Red? A red card on his debut?

That was a disaster. He frantically scrolled through the article.

"...the turning point came in the 78th minute when the 17-year-old debutant, James McCarthy, who had been a commanding presence since his halftime introduction, was controversially sent off. McCarthy made a perfectly timed, goal-saving slide tackle inside his own penalty area, clearly winning the ball. However, the referee inexplicably pointed to the spot and showed the young defender a straight red card. The resulting penalty was converted, sealing a famous victory for the underdogs and a heartbreaking debut for the promising youngster."

Ethan stared at the words.

A perfectly timed tackle. A terrible refereeing decision. It wasn't a failure. It was an injustice.

He was about to text Liam when a new notification popped up on his screen. I

t was from the FCG app.

[PLAYER POTENTIAL UPDATE]

He tapped it, his breath caught in his throat.

[Due to a 'Man of the Match' performance despite a controversial sending off in a high-pressure, real-world debut, the following player's profile has been reassessed.]

[Player: James McCarthy]

[Previous Potential Ability: 75 (C-Rank)]

[New Potential Ability: 90 (S-Rank)]

Ethan let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy, right there in the CostMart parking lot.

The lottery ticket hadn't just been drawn. It was a jackpot winner.

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