Ethan stood alone in his virtual office, the tactics board glowing in front of him.
He had his starting eleven for the Bradford City match locked in.
A classic, balanced 4-2-3-1 formation.
Hanley and a younger, faster center-back at the heart of the defense. Two hard-working midfielders to shield them. And up front, a creative trio playing behind a lone, strong striker.
And in the most important position, the central attacking midfielder, the number 10, the heartbeat of the team? Emre Demir. It was a risk to throw a 17-year-old into the fire from the very first minute, but it was a risk he had to take.
You don’t keep a player with SSS-Rank potential on the bench.
He looked at the lineup, a feeling of profound satisfaction washing over him.
This was his team. His vision.
"Alright, Apex United," he whispered to the empty room, a determined glint in his eye.
"Let’s show them what we’re made of. End session."
The words hung in the air for a moment, and then the world dissolved. The sleek office, the magnificent stadium, the glowing screen—it all vanished.
The sensation was like falling backward into a soft, warm pool of water. The hum of the neural-dive pod faded, and the familiar, mundane sounds of his own house began to filter back into his consciousness.
The gentle whir of his computer fan. The distant rumble of a passing bus. The faint, muffled sound of a television from the living room.
He opened his eyes. He was back in his bedroom, lying in the strange, white, alien-like bed. He felt incredible. Not groggy or tired, like waking from a long nap, but energized, sharp, and buzzing with a residual electric thrill. His mind was crystal clear, still racing with tactical possibilities and the faces of his players.
It felt less like he had been playing a game and more like he had just returned from the most productive day of work in his life.
He sat up, swinging his legs out of the pod. A quick glance at the clock on his desk made him do a double-take. It was almost seven in the evening.
He had been "in-game" for nearly five hours, but it had felt like a lifetime and a single, exhilarating minute all at once.
A wide, goofy grin spread across his face.
"That was amazing," he breathed, the words feeling utterly inadequate.
He practically bounced out of his room and headed for the living room, drawn by the sound of the TV and the smell of dinner.
His mother was in the kitchen, while his father and Sarah were on the sofa, watching the evening news.
"Look who’s finally emerged from his high-tech cocoon," his dad said with a smile, looking up from the screen.
"It was... more than a game, Dad. It was real," Ethan said, his eyes shining.
"I have a team. Norwich City’s squad. And I got this wonderkid, an SSS-Rank potential player named Emre Demir. We have our first match tomorrow!"
His mother came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
"That’s nice, dear. Are you hungry? You missed lunch completely."
Sarah muted the TV, her expression a familiar mix of concern and sisterly skepticism.
"You were in there for five hours, Ethan. Are you sure that’s healthy?"
"I feel great, Sarah! Better than great," he insisted, grabbing a plate his mom had prepared for him.
"You don’t get it. It’s not just pressing buttons. I was there. I was on the training pitch. I talked to the players. I could smell the grass."
"You smelled virtual grass," she corrected gently.
"Just... be careful. Don’t lose track of the real world."
"I won’t," he promised, though in his heart, that new world felt just as real as this one. Follow current novels on Nov3lFɪre.ɴet
He sat down with his family, eating hungrily while half-watching a news report about a new tech merger. But his mind was elsewhere. It was on a 4-2-3-1 formation, on a high-intensity press, on a 17-year-old Turkish prodigy who could bend the game to his will.
After dinner, he felt too restless to stay inside. He needed to talk to someone who would understand the sheer, unadulterated coolness of it all.
He grabbed his phone.
A reply came back almost instantly.
Leo:On my way. You owe me a soda. I saw your name on Guru’s stream. You’re a legend!
Ethan grinned. Leo was his best friend since primary school, a fellow football fanatic who understood the beautiful game on the same wavelength.
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on their usual bench in the local park, under the dim glow of a streetlamp. Leo, a lanky kid with a perpetually amused expression, took a long sip of his drink.
"Okay, spill," Leo said, his eyes wide with excitement.
"Don’t leave out a single detail. They actually sent you the whole setup? The alien bed thing?"
"The very same," Ethan confirmed.
"And Leo... it’s insane. It’s everything they promised and more. The moment you lie down, it’s like you’re transported. I designed my own club, Apex United. Blue and white kits, with a killer all-black third kit."
"Nice," Leo nodded appreciatively.
"Then they gave me my squad. I got Norwich City’s roster!"
"Dude, in League One? You’re going to walk the league with that squad. Sara, Pukki... wait, is Pukki still there?"
"The roster is from the 2025 database, so some players are different, but the core is there. But that’s not even the best part," Ethan said, leaning in, his voice dropping conspiratorially.
"The wonderkid allocation. Leo, they gave me Emre Demir."
Leo’s jaw dropped. He choked on his soda, coughing for a few seconds before staring at Ethan in disbelief.
"The very same," Ethan said, beaming with pride.
"Potential ability: 96. SSS-Rank. I saw him play in training today. He did this... this ridiculous slide tackle and then a no-look volleyed pass that was pure genius. The other players just stopped and stared."
"You’re kidding me," Leo whispered, completely awestruck.
"That’s not a game, man. That’s a golden ticket. You have a future Ballon d’Or winner on your team on day one."
"I know!" Ethan felt a wave of validation. Leo got it. He truly understood the magnitude of what had just happened.
"I’ve already scheduled my first friendly. It’s tomorrow, against Bradford."
"You’re already managing..." Leo shook his head, a huge grin spreading across his face.
"This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to anyone I know. So, what’s he like? Demir? In the game?"
"He’s quiet," Ethan said, thinking back.
"A little shy, but you can see the confidence underneath. He has this fire in his eyes. It’s my job to build the whole team around him."
They sat there for a while longer, Ethan recounting every detail, from the feel of the virtual grass to the determined look on his captain’s face. Leo listened intently, completely captivated.
As they were about to head home, Leo pulled out his phone to check the real-world football news headlines.
"Oh, dude, speaking of which, check this out," Leo said, turning his screen towards Ethan.
The headline was from a major sports news network, posted just an hour ago.
[TRANSFER SAGA SHOCKER: FENERBAHÇE PULL EMRE DEMIR FROM SQUAD AMIDST INTENSE SPECULATION. SOURCES SAY A MOVE IS IMMINENT.]
Ethan stared at the screen, his blood running cold. Below the headline was a picture of the real Emre Demir—the same intense eyes, the same dark hair—looking frustrated during a training session.
"Crazy, right? Imagine if he moves to a big club. You’ll be managing the virtual version of a Real Madrid player. How wild is that?"
But Ethan wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to the article, his mind racing. He felt a strange, impossible connection to the news story. A thought, so audacious and insane it barely made sense, began to form in his head.
The game used a real-world player database. It assigned him a team, and a wonderkid.
What if it wasn’t a random allocation?
What if the game knew something the rest of the world didn’t?
"Leo," Ethan said slowly, his voice barely a whisper.
"What if... what if the game didn’t just give me his profile? What if the game just signed him?"