Dynasty Awakening: Building My Own Football Empire-Chapter 277: Dominance

’Looks like we’re not the only team that wants to hide their trump cards before the final whistle.’ He mused.

Without their usual inverted fullback structure and with Haaland looking unusually calm during the warm-up, Manchester City’s arrogance was all but assured. While this would be good for creating a false sense of security, Michael had no interest in watching such a deceptive show.

He stood up slowly from the bench in the dressing room and began to stretch his arms and back, limbering up his pointing finger.

"Arthur let’s go, it’s time for our mental conditioning."

A whimper came from beside him. It was so high pitched and full of despair that he wasn’t even sure if this was a sound that assistant managers were capable of making.

After a few moments without a proper answer, Michael had no choice but to lift the shorty by the lapels of his club suit and carry him off towards the showers.

’N-No please NO! Not the cold water!’

Arthur screamed inwardly, clutching his bag of jelly babies, however no words came out of his mouth.

By the time Diego Nunez walked back into the room after his pre-match ritual (headbutting a locker), Michael and Arthur had already disappeared to the tiled area beside the toilets and began their training.

In the warm-up on the pitch, the City players moved through their rondos with terrifying speed before they were able to smash shots past Ederson for the final drill. The crowd breathed a sigh of anticipation before heading back to their seats for the anthem.

"Nice work boys."

Pep Guardiola placed a hand on Rodri’s shoulder, encouraging him.

"Just ninety minutes right? That’s all we have to control?"

The bald genius smiled and nodded. "Kevin can take it from here."

In the tunnel, Erling Haaland continued his robotic stare routine and only gave a single nod to the Barnsley captain, Sergio Ramos. His confidence was at an all-time high as he stood waiting for the referee.

The tension was 100-0 at the bottom of the tunnel, out of a possible 10 on the stress scale.

City was in high spirits as they sent their mascots out. However, the pundits on the TV screens were surprised to see that a new tactical shape was forming on the graphics for City instead of the predicted lineup.

"Let’s go 3-2-2-3!"

"Crush the Misfits!"

If Michael was watching the screen he would recognize this formation as the "Diamond of Death" from his previous life’s tactical history books. While it was risky, one could tell by the players selected that it was a force to be reckoned with.

Sergio Ramos instinctively knew that the new shape on the team sheet was strong, merely by the names. His eyes narrowed as De Bruyne began adjusting his socks nearby.

THUD

SMASH

The sound of studs on concrete was like a war drum as the City players marched out, causing the fourth official to blink a few times in disbelief at the intensity.

’What the hell was that?’

It was as if the blue shirts were alive, moving with a singular hive mind, leaving the mascots guessing.

Sergio shook his head, clearing out the useless thoughts.

’I’ll smash them next time.’

"Tunnel."

"Out."

He was forced to lead the team out only two minutes later, scratching his beard in confusion at the lack of Michael Sterling.

96 BPM

97 BPM

98 BPM

99 BPM

100 BPM

Meanwhile in the tiled shower area next to the dressing room, Michael was currently swinging his arms and watching over Arthur whose expression made it look as if he was being tortured by the cartel.

"No slacking off Arthur. Predict the sub!" Michael barked out between pacing, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

"D-Die... I’m gonna die of stress."

Arthur’s voice was meek, reminiscent of someone on their last legs.

’He’s so dramatic...’ Michael thought to himself, a smile creeping onto the corner of his lips.

However, to Arthur this made him look like even more of a demon, armed with a tactical clipboard.

"Eeeek! It’s... it’s Alvarez for Foden!"

In truth, today was the culmination of Arthur’s two-month panic training plan. This was usually the toughest day thanks to the build-up of media pressure and the small tearing of his sanity. As long the boy could persist, it would only be downhill from here.

Michael could only get through half of his 500 required tactical scenarios before he needed to assist Arthur with completing the simulation. Like a personal trainer for the mind, he guided his friend through the rest of the ’What If’ scenarios, providing as much shouting as necessary.

Quite a while later, he was interrupted by a familiar voice behind him.

"Michael why aren’t you on the touchline?" Kenji Sato said, his eyes moving to the collapsed Arthur who was covered in sweat and panting heavily on the floor tiles.

"There’s no need, I already know we’ll win the toss." He said simply.

Kenji rolled his eyes in response, adjusting his expensive tie. "Maybe you should check out the formation then?"

"Hmm?" Michael seemed a little surprised at Kenji’s words, yet he still went to the side of the door and peeked in at the TV monitor mounted on the wall.

It was currently five minutes to kickoff and the graphic showed a 3-diamond-3.

"Huh? They aren’t playing with wingers?" He asked.

"They changed the system in the warm-up and we’ve yet to see a single cross from them." Kenji explained, looking worried.

"Did the fourth official tell you to come get me?"

Kenji shook his head in response. "No, I just thought you might want to manage the game."

Michael was thoughtful for a while, but he eventually nodded. "Thanks but I’ll just watch from here for a second."

With that, Michael took up position in the shadow of the doorway and once again began his mental simulations. He still wanted to get his 500 scenarios in before they blew the whistle.

"Is that who I think it is?" Michael’s eyes narrowed, seeing the player make his way to the center circle on the screen.

The teen had a confident face and a haircut that cost more than Arthur’s car, giving him a slight superstar vibe. His eyes were sharp, matching with his sleek kit fit and overall aesthetic.

"Rico Lewis in midfield... I don’t remember Pep using him there in a title decider." Michael mumbled, his intrigue slowly rising.

The first practice pass flew forward from his boots, making a beautiful sound as it landed squarely in Rodri’s path.

Michael’s eyes widened in response.

"Now it’s become interesting." He said with a smile.

He waited for the next camera angle and imagined himself in the technical area.

WHOOSH

Michael stepped forward and let his arm rip through the air, creating an almighty pointing gesture.

"Press!"

"Arthur, stand up."

Arthur groaned, peeling himself off the cold tiles. "Boss, are we going out there?"

"Yes. The simulation is over. The real chaos begins now."

Michael adjusted his suit jacket. The Media Darling skill made the fabric shimmer slightly under the fluorescent lights. He looked at Kenji.

"Kenji, go to the box. Drink your champagne. And try not to sell Kaito if he scores."

"I make no promises," Kenji smirked, checking his watch. "Good luck, you crazy bastard."

Michael walked out of the shower room, the sound of the stadium roaring filtering down the corridor.

"Blue Moon" was playing over the speakers. It was loud. It was intimidating.

But Michael had the A-Grade Voice Projection Elixir.

He cleared his throat.

"LET’S GO!"

The shout echoed off the concrete walls, startling a security guard who dropped his walkie-talkie.

Arthur jumped, nearly swallowing a red jelly baby whole.

"Boss! My ears!"

"Good," Michael grinned. "If your ears hurt, imagine what Pep’s ears will feel like."

They walked out of the tunnel and into the light. The Etihad was a sea of blue, but in the corner, a patch of purple screamed defiance.

The Misfits were ready.

Michael looked at the opposing bench. Pep Guardiola was sitting down, drinking water. He looked calm. Calculated.

Michael stood on the edge of his technical area.

He looked at the formation. The diamond. The trap.

"He wants to suffocate us through the middle," Michael whispered to himself. "He thinks we rely on the wings."

He looked at Kaito Tanaka. The Samurai was on the bench, his legs twitching with energy.

He looked at Diego Nunez. The False Bull was standing next to Haaland, sniffing the air.

"Diego!" Michael’s voice boomed across the pitch, cutting through the crowd noise like a knife.

Diego turned, eyes wide.

Michael made a signal. A weird signal. He flapped his arms like a chicken.

Pep Guardiola frowned. He looked at his assistant. "What is that? Is that a chicken?"

The assistant shrugged. "I think so, Pep."

Diego nodded. He understood.

Chaos Mode: Activated.

The referee blew the whistle.

KICKOFF.

City passed the ball back. Rodri to Dias. Dias to Stones. Stones to Lewis.

But then, Diego Nunez started running. Not at the ball. But at the corner flag.

He ran away from the play.

The City defenders paused. "Where is he going?"

"Why is he running away?"

While they watched the bald man sprint to nowhere, Mateo Vega stole the ball from a confused Rico Lewis.

"Now!" Michael screamed.

Mateo looked up. Victor Osimhen was running into the space Diego had vacated.

The Diamond was broken. The distraction had worked.

Michael smirked.

"Welcome to the asylum, Pep."