August 6, 2017.England.Carrington Training Base.
"Ugh..."
A groan escaped Jeremy Ling as he rubbed his gritty, sleep-filled eyes.
He flopped back against the thin pillow, the familiar smell of damp towels and Deep Heat rub filling his nose.
"Damn... leading 2-0 only to get thrashed by Sporting. And Sesko missed another sitter. Truly worthy of Amorim..." he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
He was still fuming about the Champions League match he'd watched last night.
United were still a mess, even in 2027.
It felt like nothing would ever...
"Wait."
Jeremy's eyes snapped open.
Not drowsy anymore.
Wide open.
He looked around, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs.
This wasn't his flat.
This was the cramped, tiny dorm room from the academy.
The peeling posters of Rooney and Ronaldo—the first Ronaldo—were still tacked to the wall.
The air had that same stale, sweaty-teenager smell.
"No..."
He scrambled out of the single bed and stumbled to the small mirror.
The face staring back wasn'g the bitter, 27-year-old man he was last night.
This was... him.
At seventeen.
Younger, thinner, no trace of the cynicism that had settled in his features.
"Did I... Did I stay up too late? Am I still dreaming?"
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
The screen lit up: August 6, 2017. 7:03 AM.
"Ten years..." he whispered, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "I'm back ten years."
It wasn't a dream.
This was real.
He was back.
He instinctively looked down at his legs.
He wasn't just back. He was whole.
He ran a trembling hand over his left knee, feeling the smooth skin, the solid joint beneath.
There was no scar.
No deep, constant ache.
No memory of the "accident."
'Two days later, during training.'
'He remembered the sound.'
'A wet, tearing pop.'
'He remembered his teammate's face—not apologetic, just... blank.
'"Accidentally" stepped on. An 'accident' that snapped his collateral ligament.'
A bitter laugh threatened to bubble up in his throat.
All because of that semifinal.
All because of him.
Li Tie.
He could still hear the head coach's oily voice in the hotel room.
"Just go easy, Ling. Let them have the win. It's for the 'greater good'."
His 'greater good'.
Their payday.
Jeremy had been stubborn.
He'd refused.
He played his heart out, even as his own teammates seemed to be running in quicksand.
And then, in the 89th minute, he'd done it.
Sprinted down the wing, cut past three... no, five defenders, and unleashed a rocket from outside the box.
A world-class equalizer.
They still lost the match.
But he'd cost them.
He'd cost the agents and the officials a fortune.
Two days later, his knee was gone.
The authorities covered it up.
'Manchester United Youngster Suffers Ligament Tear Due to Overtraining!'
The media printed it without a single question.
They used threats and payoffs to silence him, to protect their own skins.
His former roommates, Rashford and McTominay, were already breaking into the first team.
He... he hadn't even gotten a contract renewal.
His career was over before it began.
He'd spent the last ten years in a haze of despair, watching his "friends" become superstars while he coached kids for pocket money, his potential bleeding out into nothing.
They treat football like a tool.
A way to get rich.
Your futures are set... What about mine?
Heh... No one cares.
But now... Now he was back.
A fierce, protective anger surged through him.
He would never make the same choice again.
That cesspool? The national team? They could burn for all he cared.
Even if it meant burning bridges, he would never go back.
As for changing nationality...
His gut tightened.
No.
That was impossible.
The football association was a pit of vipers, but that had nothing to do with China.
He remembered the fans, the students studying in Manchester who would come to academy games just to see him, bringing him food from home.
He couldn't betray them.
If Chinese football was a mess, you didn't just... leave.
You didn't run away for "greater glory" and call it "dedication."
That felt like treason.
No World Cup? Fine.
He would prove, right here at the club, that a Chinese player could conquer the world.
He'd make his stand here.
Just as he was clenching his fists, a cold, mechanical voice echoed inside his head.
[Green Field System officially activated!]
[Scanning host information...]
[Screening for compatible templates...]
Jeremy jolted, nearly falling off the bed.
"What the hell...?"
He looked around the empty room, his heart pounding again.
He was alone.
A system?
He wasn't the same impulsive kid.
During his long, depressing recovery, he'd done nothing but read.
He'd devoured countless football novels, escaping into fantasies where he was the hero.
Had he... become one?
As if responding to his thought, a translucent blue panel materialized in the air in front of him.
[Name: Jeremy Ling]
[Age: 17]
[Attributes: ???]
[Template: None]
[Modules: None]
[Template screening completed...]
[Giggs "Welsh Wizard" Template!]
[CR7 "Golden Edge" Template!]
[Henry "Highbury Express" Template!]
[Rivaldo "Blade" Template!]
[Ronaldinho "The Samba Dancer" Template!]
[Ronaldo "The Phenomenon" Template!][...]
Familiar, legendary faces flashed across the screen.
Jeremy's mind raced, the earlier shock giving way to a cold, sharp analysis.
This was his second chance.
He couldn't mess it up.
Which template was strongest?
'No, that's the wrong question.' Which was the most suitable?
He looked in the mirror again.
185cm, about 78kg.
He was well-built for a 17-year-old.
Henry... The King. Ronaldinho... The Dancer. CR7...
[Drawing in progress...]
"Wait, I don't get to choose?!"
[Congratulations! Obtained: Ronaldo "The Phenomenon" Template!]
Jeremy stared, breathless.
His unlucky streak... was it finally over?
The Ronaldo template? R9?
The man who was FIFA World Player at 19. Ballon d'Or at 20.
Two World Cups.
Three FIFA World Player awards.
The man who was a force of nature, an avalanche of speed, power, and impossible skill.
"But... I'm a left winger," Jeremy said out loud, his voice cracking.
Then he remembered.
In his early days, before the injuries, before he became a pure, unstoppable number 9, R9 had played wider.
He had the speed, the agility, the terrifying technical skill.
He could dribble, score, and pass. He was... perfect.
A thought clarified in his mind.
A template is just a tool. It's a foundation, not a prison.
If he let it rule him, he'd just be a copy.
A puppet.
He could use this.
He could take R9's gifts and forge them into something new, something perfect for the modern game.
He had to be smart. Every step had to be perfect.
Just as Jeremy stood, ready to bolt downstairs for training, an ocean of new information flooded his mind.
Countless fragmented memories—not his own.
'The feel of a perfect step-over. The explosive first step that left defenders for dead. The instinct of where the goal was, always.'
It was too much.
His vision blurred, and the world tilted.
Jeremy Ling collapsed back onto the bed, falling into a deep, heavy sleep.
...
The next day.
Jeremy leaped out of bed, a frantic gasp escaping him.
He scanned the room—still 2017, still Carrington.
He focused his mind, "System."
The panel appeared.
[Ronaldo "The Phenomenon" Template!]
He took a shaky breath and clicked on his attributes.
[Dribbling: 79 (97)]
[Passing: 68 (86)]
[Shooting: 69 (95)]
[Speed: 74 (94)]
[Physicality: 67 (92)]
[Defending: 35 (51)]
[Explanation: The values in parentheses represent the upper limit the host can achieve through training...]
Jeremy ignored the rest of the text.
His eyes were fixed on the numbers.
79 dribbling. 74 speed.
At seventeen.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Li Tie," he whispered to the empty room. "You just made the biggest mistake of your life."
----
Note : Li tie is former everton player who coach chinese national football team who's jailed for 20 years because fixing matches, accepting bribes, and offering bribes to get the top coaching job.
Another note : starting this fic cause i enjoy watching manunited again and want to revive the glory of the old days 😂