The whoop of joy Ethan let out in the CostMart parking lot earned him a strange look from a woman loading groceries into her car, but he didn't care.

He felt like he had just cracked the stock market. He hadn't just signed a player; he had invested in a future superstar right before the rest of the world even knew his name.

The bike ride home was a blur of triumphant energy.

He immediately texted Leo and Liam with a screenshot of the FCG notification.

Ethan: BOOM. S-Rank. Liam, you are a scouting genius. Leo, you're buying the kebabs next time.

Leo's reply was a string of shocked-face emojis. Liam's was simple and to the point:

Told you so. Now go win the league.

The next day, Ethan logged into the game for a team meeting.

The atmosphere on the virtual training ground was electric.

The players were still buzzing from their dominant 2-0 win over Shrewsbury.

"Alright, lads, gather 'round," Ethan called out, a wide grin on his face.

"I want to introduce you to the newest member of the Apex United family."

A young, solidly-built teenager with a determined look on his face stepped forward, looking a little nervous but not intimidated. It was James McCarthy.

"This is James," Ethan announced. "He's a center-back, and he's here to add some steel to our backline. Make him feel welcome."

There were a few welcoming nods and "alright, lad"s from the senior players. David Kerrigan, ever the agent of chaos, sauntered over.

"A defender, eh?" Kerrigan said, circling McCarthy like a curious shark. "You any good? Or are you just here to watch the artists like me and Emre work our magic?"

McCarthy, without missing a beat, looked Kerrigan dead in the eye. "I'm good enough to clean up the messes you make when you lose the ball."

The squad erupted in laughter. Even Kerrigan cracked a smile.

"Oh, I like this one, gaffer. He's got some fight in him."

"Speaking of fight," Grant Hanley said, stepping forward and clapping McCarthy on the shoulder, his huge hand engulfing the teenager's. "I heard about your debut. Tough break, son. A red card for a perfect tackle?"

McCarthy just shrugged, a hint of the injustice still in his eyes. "The ref was a clown. Nothing I could do."

"Well," Hanley said with a rare, wide grin. "Any lad who gets sent off for tackling too well is alright in my book. Welcome to the club. Stick with me, and I'll teach you how to shout at them properly so you only get a yellow."

The easy acceptance of their new teammate was a joy to watch.

The camaraderie, the 'Steely Resolve' they had earned against Cardiff, was becoming the bedrock of the team.

"Alright, settle down," Ethan said, his tone shifting to business. "Let's talk about our next match. We've had a perfect start. Four games, four wins. We're top of the league."

He brought up the league table on the main screen.

Apex United was in first place with 12 points.

Right below them, also with a perfect 12 points but with a slightly worse goal difference, was a team called Plymouth Argyle.

"This Saturday, we go to their place," Ethan said, the room falling silent. "It's first versus second. It's the biggest game of our season so far. They're undefeated, just like us. They're scoring goals for fun. This is a statement game. This is the match that tells the rest of the league whether our start was a fluke or if we are the real deal."

He saw the playful energy in the room replaced by a sharp, collective focus.

This was what they lived for.

The next three days were a whirlwind of intense preparation.

In the real world, Ethan's life was a happy routine.

His mom was now walking around the house, Gaffer trotting at her heels like a fluffy shadow. His shifts at CostMart were a comfortable, predictable part of his day.

But in the virtual world, it was all business.

He and James Pearce spent hours analyzing Plymouth's tactics.

They were an aggressive, attacking side, which meant there would be space to exploit on the counter. The training sessions were sharp, competitive, and focused.

Finally, Saturday arrived. Matchday.

He logged in and appeared in the away dressing room at Plymouth's stadium, Home Park.

The virtual stadium was famous for its passionate, loud home support, and even in the dressing room, a low, intimidating hum could be felt through the walls.

His players were quiet, focused. The usual pre-match jokes were absent, replaced by a serious, professional intensity. This game mattered.

Ethan stood before them, his heart pounding with a familiar, thrilling rhythm.

"Look around," he began, his voice low but carrying in the tense silence. "This is it. First versus second. Everything we've worked for comes down to the next ninety minutes. All the headlines, all the praise for our 'perfect start'—it means nothing if we don't show up today."

He looked at his team, a mix of seasoned veterans and teenage prodigies, all united by a single purpose.

"They are going to come at us with everything they have. Their crowd will be loud. They will be aggressive. They will test our nerve. And we will not break."

He locked eyes with his captain. "We will be disciplined." He looked at his midfielders. "We will be intelligent." He looked at his front three. "And we will be ruthless."

"We've spent all week talking about them," he concluded, his voice rising. "Now, let's make them spend the next six months talking about us. Let's go out there and prove to everyone, and to ourselves, that we belong at the top of that table. Let's go win."

A low, determined murmur went through the room. They were ready.

They lined up in the tunnel, the roar of the home crowd a physical force.

Ethan stood at the back of the line, taking a final, deep breath.

He was about to follow his team out when a notification flashed in his vision, a different color from the usual insights. It was a cool, clinical blue.

[UNUSUAL TACTICAL PROFILE DETECTED]

Ethan frowned.

What did that mean?

He focused on the message.

[Opposing Manager, 'Steven Schumacher', has activated the 'Safe Mode' feature for this match.]

[Safe Mode Description: When active, the AI co-manager provides real-time, data-driven tactical suggestions to the human manager, optimizing for the statistically safest and most efficient path to victory. Emotional or high-risk decision-making is minimized.]

Ethan's blood ran cold. He remembered Liam's explanation.

It's for the casuals. It monitors your heart rate. But this description was different.

It was a tactical enhancement.

He wasn't playing against a man anymore.

He was playing against a man who had a supercomputer whispering in his ear.

The whistle blew, signaling for the teams to enter the pitch.

Ethan stepped out into the roar of the hostile crowd, a wave of uncertainty washing over him.

All his preparation, all his analysis of his human opponent's tendencies, was suddenly in question.

The whistle blew to start the match, and for the first time, Ethan was walking into a game completely blind.

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