⚽ Football Reborn: The Manager from the Future
Chapter 19 – Bellingham's Trail: Shadows in Sutton Coldfield(~800 words)
The road into Sutton Coldfield twisted through woodlands and fading suburbs — the kind of quiet outskirts where nobody noticed a van sitting too long or a boy disappearing into the fog.
Ethan's rental car pulled up in front of an abandoned textile warehouse, its windows blacked out, graffiti dancing across the brickwork. The AI had narrowed Jude's last ping to within 300 meters of here.
He stepped out, pulling on a rainproof jacket and tapping his wrist device.
🧠 AI ACTIVE
Scanning thermal signatures...
One subject detected: 12-year-old male
Pulse elevated. Isolated. Location: Sub-basement, east wing
Ethan's jaw tightened.
They hadn't taken Jude out of the country.
Not yet.
He moved fast.
Vaulted a side fence. Slipped in through a rusted emergency exit. Inside, darkness swallowed the hallways. Water dripped from corroded beams.
The warehouse felt like it had forgotten it was ever part of a living city.
AI whispered updates into his ear.
"Single camera feed spliced in northeast corner. Live monitoring probable. Proceed cautiously."
Ethan ducked under exposed pipes and cracked drywall until he reached the sub-level stairwell. Faint light flickered below — not from electricity, but from something older.
Oil lanterns?
This wasn't a Syndicate extraction.
It was a test.
He found Jude in a locked room — pale but alive, curled in a sleeping bag with a cracked bottle of water at his side. His eyes opened as Ethan stepped in.
"Coach?"
"Easy," Ethan said, kneeling. "You're safe now."
The boy looked dazed but not drugged. His hands shook.
"They told me… if I signed with you, I'd be ruining my life. Said I'd end up in some lab. Or a pawn. Or worse."
"They lied," Ethan said flatly. "They're afraid of what you'll become."
"I thought you weren't coming."
"I always come," Ethan replied.
He reached into his coat and slid out a small datapad.
On it: footage of Jude scoring the winning goal in a simulated World Cup final — years from now.
"I came," Ethan said, "because I believe that future belongs to you."
Back in Darlington, security protocols tightened. The AI mapped every vulnerability, from external drone paths to unauthorized personnel access.
Jude was quietly readmitted to the academy.
No press. No fanfare.
Just a whisper among the elite recruits:
"They tried to steal him."
"Who are they?"
"The ones who don't want the world to change."
Messi barely blinked. He was already deep into studying positioning with Ronaldo.
Neymar muttered something in Portuguese that translated roughly to, "Let them try."
But Ethan knew better.
The Syndicate wasn't trying to win.
They were trying to break his rhythm.
Greg dropped the latest intel from their mole inside the Premier League youth system.
"Word is they're accelerating development contracts for rival clubs. Fast-tracking wonderkids to trap you in a race."
"Who?"
"Real Madrid just scooped a kid named Musiala. Arsenal's locked in Saka early. Chelsea just signed a 13-year-old with £1 million in incentives. And get this—United's trying to clone your model."
"They can't," Ethan said. "They don't have the AI."
"No," Greg replied, "but they're hunting for it."
Later that evening, Ethan sat in the academy war room, the lights dimmed. AI projections floated around him — development graphs, hormone growth trajectories, training analytics.
He zoomed in on his core team:
Lionel Messi (10) – creativity index peaking early
Cristiano Ronaldo (10) – strength curve doubling with weight training
Neymar (9) – tactical discipline still erratic, but technical ceiling unmatched
Jamie Vardy (13) – raw acceleration absurd for age group
Jude Bellingham (12) – spatial awareness off the charts
But there was one empty node still pulsing red.
🔴 Player Unsecured: Kylian Mbappé
Location: Paris, France
Age: 11
Risk Level: EXTREME (Parental interference + Syndicate interest confirmed)
Ethan exhaled slowly.
"If they get Mbappé first… they'll tip the scale."
Outside, rain washed over the Darlington training complex.
Inside, legends were being forged in silence.
But not for long.
Because France was next.
And Mbappé?
He might be the fastest of them all — in more ways than one.