The first morning of Manchester United's new era felt like a bizarre fever dream.
Ethan Cross sat in his Old Trafford office, a mountain of scouting reports stacked beside him, while a steady stream of emails pinged into his laptop with titles like:
"TOP TALENT AVAILABLE! (Agency Exclusive)"
"Future Ballon d'Or Winner – Very Reasonable Fee!!"
"Ibrahimovic's Cousin – Strong Kicker, No Experience!"
He groaned and rubbed his temples.
"At this rate," Ethan muttered, "we're gonna sign a guy who once scored a hat-trick… in FIFA."
Ellie, busy sorting through the madness, didn't even look up.
"One agent tried pitching his client as the 'Macedonian Mbappé.' I checked. He's thirty-two. Works part-time as a plumber."
Ethan laughed despite himself. "So… natural fitness?"
"Or natural drain clogger."
They needed real players. Real upgrades. Not internet myths.
Not another summer of promises and panic buys.
They needed to make a statement.
Drawing Up the List
By 10 AM, Ten Hag joined them, fresh off a heated conversation with Mitchell van der Gaag, his trusted assistant coach.
He dropped a thick folder onto the desk.
"No more time wasted," Ten Hag said simply. "We target winners. Fighters. Players with hunger."
Ethan leaned forward eagerly as Ten Hag flipped through the pages.
Each sheet had a name, a face, and a profile:
Declan Rice — "Leadership. Engine. Expensive but essential."
Kim Min-jae — "Monster defender. Brave. Korean military service looming."
Mohammed Kudus — "Dynamic. Can play multiple positions."
Rasmus Højlund — "Raw striker. Huge ceiling."
Ethan whistled low.
"No pressure," he joked. "Just buy half of Europe."
Ten Hag grinned. "Quality costs. But compromise costs more."
There it was again — the ruthlessness Ethan admired.
United had been compromising for years.
Now they were hunting.
First Real Target: Declan Rice
The decision came fast.
Their first priority would be Declan Rice — the heartbeat midfielder West Ham were reluctantly preparing to sell.
Captain material. Premier League proven. A statement signing.
"But…" Ellie warned, pulling up the latest reports. "Arsenal are favorites. City lurking. Chelsea rich. Bayern Munich sniffing around too."
Ethan cracked his knuckles.
"So you're saying it's a small bidding war between four financial death stars and us?"
"Basically," Ellie said brightly.
Ethan stood up and paced.
"We're Manchester United," he said firmly. "We don't beg. We persuade."
He grabbed his phone.
"Time to make a call."
The Agent Dance
An hour later, Ethan found himself on a video call with Rice's agent — a sharp-suited man named Nick, whose grin could sell sand in a desert.
"Mr. Cross! Honored to speak. Declan loves United. Big club. Rich history," Nick purred.
Ethan smiled thinly. "And I'm guessing he also loves £250,000 a week?"
Nick laughed politely. "Let's not talk about numbers yet. Let's talk about vision."
Ten Hag joined the call midway, arms folded, eyes cold.
Nick launched into the usual agent sales pitch:
"Declan wants Champions League football…"
"Declan needs a club that guarantees him trophies…"
"Declan demands a project built around him…"
Ethan interrupted.
"Nick," he said, voice calm but razor-sharp, "Manchester United doesn't guarantee trophies. We make them. And we don't promise Champions League football — we fight for it."
Ten Hag added: "If Declan wants to play it safe, he should join Arsenal. If he wants to make history, he joins us."
There was a long pause.
Nick's salesman mask cracked slightly.
"I'll… discuss it with him," he said.
Translation: He's intrigued.
Fake Agents, Real Problems
As soon as they ended the Rice call, three other agent emails popped up almost instantly.
One offered a "Brazilian wonderkid" — who turned out to be an eighteen-year-old whose only professional appearance was in the Brazilian fourth division… and he had a dad who swore he was better than Neymar.
Another pitched a center-back described as "strong as a bull," but a quick Google search showed he had recently been banned from Italian football for punching a referee.
A third agent proudly sent a highlight reel of his client doing twenty stepovers in a row… while the ball stayed in exactly the same spot.
Ethan stared at the screen, deadpan.
"We're being pranked, right?"
Ellie grinned. "It's like X-Factor auditions but for bad footballers."
Ten Hag, unamused, simply closed his laptop.
"We focus on Rice."
Ethan agreed. But deep down, he knew this was just the beginning.
The vultures smelled blood — and Manchester United were the biggest carcass in football.
They had to be smarter. Faster. Tougher.
First Player Sold
That afternoon, good news arrived at last:
Nottingham Forest agreed to buy Dean Henderson.
£15 million fee.
Immediate move.
One more wage packet off the books.
It wasn't headline news, but it was a start.
Ellie cheered. "One down, about eleven to go."
Ten Hag simply nodded. "Every piece matters."
Ethan smiled grimly.
Carrington felt lighter already.
A Bigger Dream
That night, Ethan sat alone again, staring out over the floodlit Old Trafford pitch.
The Rice talks were moving… slowly.
He knew he needed a backup plan.
And that's when he allowed himself one wild, reckless thought:
Could we go even bigger?
Not just Rice.
Not just good.
Someone who could electrify the world.
A dream signing.
He scribbled a name on a fresh piece of paper — just three letters.
Something crazy.
Something bold.
K. M. B.
He shook his head, laughing softly to himself.
"Focus, Ethan. You're not building a FIFA Ultimate Team."
But he didn't throw the paper away.
Because deep down, he believed something ridiculous:
Manchester United could dream again.
And dreaming was how revolutions started.