⚽️ Football Reborn: The Manager from the Future
Chapter 2 – 1997 Isn't Ready
Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the sleek tablet glowing in his hands. A football database centuries ahead of this time pulsed with opportunity. The year was 1997—a time when football still ran on intuition, faxes, and VHS tapes.
He tapped through the interface, marveling at the detail. The AI system wasn't just a scouting tool—it was a time-warped coaching bible. It showed tactical heatmaps, player development arcs, injury risks, and psychological profiles. Messi, Ronaldo, Neymar, even Luka Modrić—their entire careers were here in perfect clarity.
The tablet spoke again in its calm voice.
"You may choose your first target region for scouting. Recommended: Rosario, Argentina. Subject: Lionel Andrés Messi, Age 10."
Ethan's pulse jumped. Ten years old. Still a boy.
He could go to Rosario, offer his struggling father a deal before Barça ever sniffed around. The problem was… he was broke. He had no job, no reputation.
First, he needed a club.
He checked the date: September 2, 1997.
He remembered vaguely—a second-division English side had just sacked their manager. An opening he could use. Ethan rushed to the wardrobe. Old suits, wide lapels, everything smelled like the '90s. He grinned. "Alright, nostalgia. Let's make this work."
Later that day, Ethan stood in front of the crumbling gates of Darlington FC, a forgotten second-tier club with more rust than trophies. He faked confidence, CV in hand. The receptionist barely looked up.
"Name?"
"Ethan Ray. I'd like to speak to the chairman. I heard you're in need of a manager."
She raised an eyebrow. "So do fifty other blokes."
"I have a system," he said, tapping the tablet hidden in his briefcase. "One that'll win you promotion."
She laughed. But something in his eyes gave her pause. She buzzed him through.
Chairman George Mallory was a red-faced man with whisky breath and a worn-out tie.
"You ever played at a decent level?" he asked.
"No," Ethan admitted. "But I've studied the game."
"Don't care about theory. Can you win games?"
Ethan nodded. "Give me six months. I'll take you top six. No budget needed."
George grunted. "You're either mad or a genius."
"I'll take either," Ethan replied.
The chairman leaned back, staring at him.
"Alright. You've got three games. Impress me, and we talk again."
Ethan left the room with a contract and access to the club. The players were his now. Well—sort of. He had to earn their trust. And that started tomorrow.
As he walked out into the fading light, the AI spoke again.
"Club selected. Data integration commencing. Welcome to your new dynasty, Manager Ethan Ray."
Ethan smirked. "Let's begin."