“Roberts won’t be playing this weekend,” was what Mitch said to me on Saturday. “Neither will Holmes.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Roberts has come down with something,” he said, rubbing his temple. “Flu, apparently. Temperature, aches, the whole thing. Doctor’s pulled him out for the week. And Holmes is in Portugal.”

  “What?”

  “Family thing. He booked months ago. He told me, then I told him fine, then promptly forgot about it until yesterday when he reminded me by not being in the country.” Mitch sighed exasperatedly. “I guess I’ll have to put Raj on in between the posts. He turns up on time, and hasn’t gone on holiday.”

  Now that would be a problem. Mitch hadn’t trusted Holmes between the posts for weeks. I’d even heard (second hand, from Kowalski) that he’d dared to argue with the bossman about bringing in a new keeper. How Kowalski knew was anyone’s guess. He knew things the way damp knew walls.

  Raj, though… Raj couldn’t keep out a strongly worded email.

  That would be a problem, indeed. But not for me.

  “You know who also turns up on time and hasn’t gone on holiday?”

  Mitch didn’t look up. “If you say ‘one of the kids’, I’m ending this conversation now.”

  “Crane,” I said anyway. “From development.”

  “Kid’s seventeen.”

  “He’s eighteen,” I said. “And he’s already better than Raj.”

  Mitch exhaled. “This is your agenda again. We’ve already got Redding playing. We don’t need to turn the back line into a school trip.”

  “Then I deal with it,” I said. “I tell him where to stand. We’ll keep it compact and simple, and let’s admit it, the defense is already tighter when I’m on.”

  Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But if you’re telling me to put the Asian striker kid on for this match, I’m walking.”

  I held up both hands. “Of course not. I’m not throwing him in for his debut just because it suits me.”

  Mitch squinted. “Good.”

  “I don’t even know if he wants first-team football yet,” I added. “He’s still figuring his feet out.”

  That seemed to ease something. Mitch nodded once, guarded.

  I said, “But with Cartwright, that’s different.”

  Mitch’s head tilted. “Is it?”

  “Why would you want Ronson on the bench anyway?” I said. “You never play him. If we’re honest, he’s a warm-up cone.”

  Mitch snorted despite himself. “That’s harsh.”

  “And accurate,” I said. “Give Cartwright a seat. Let him see the pace.”

  “I’m not playing him,” Mitch said immediately.

  “I know,” I said. “I’m not asking you to. He sits, he watches, he learns where the game speeds up. That’s it.”

  Mitch considered that longer than I’d expected. The idea didn’t threaten his match plan, and that did it for me.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “Also, Bossman signed Harper. He’s going to be on the bench this weekend. No idea why, but the boss liked him very much. Even insisted on starting the kid immediately; what a lunatic. Probably realized he’d overpaid the kid and trying to squeeze every bit of value out of him.”

  “Great to know.”

  I checked FMSim again and my Silver Tongue skill had levelled up from having to convince Mitch all the time.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  As I walked out of the dressing room, something entirely new popped up in front of me.

  I remember unlocking Scenario after I’d leveled up earlier, but I had no idea how it’d be different to the usual Quests.

  I tried to find a description for it, and this was what FMSim came up with:

  From what I’d gathered, a scenario would be like a conditional world state. You did not accept a scenario; you couldn’t farm a scenario. Heck, it was designed this way so you couldn’t abuse them like you did Quests. Now, let’s see what reward completing this scenario would give me:

  The reward was good. We could use the morale boost, and the progression boosters could bend a kid’s development curve just enough to matter.

  The problem was the scenario itself. Starting four U21 players in such a tight game was risky, to say the least. One bad clearance and we’d pay for it with actual points lost, and no reward.

  Normally, I wouldn’t touch it. But this wasn’t normal. Three U21s were locked in before the system even asked the question. There wasn’t going to be a cleaner setup than this. If I was ever going to let the system watch me do this, it was now.

  I scrolled through the names once, even though I already knew.

  There could only be one.

  Elliot Harper.

  I literally just told Mitch I wouldn’t try to convince him to put another kid on the field, though…

  Hold on. Why go through Mitch?

  That was the mistake every time—thinking the manager was the choke point. Mitch resisted pressure because pressure implied responsibility. If it went wrong, it’d be his fault. He’d dig his heels in just to make sure the blast radius stayed pointed somewhere else.

  But Mitch wasn’t the top of the chain. The bossman was.

  The boss cared about narratives and assets. About being able to say I spotted that one early over a glass of something expensive. Maybe he could even sell Harper in a year’s time for a dozen grand.

  The thought of nudging egos sat badly with me, like I was doing reality-TV psychology rather than football. The producers on those dating reality shows deliberately kept the drinks coming and designed the space so every glance was visible and people cracked on schedule. I felt dirty just thinking about it.

  I thought I’d left that life behind me, but…

  I wasn’t locking anyone in a villa or piping vodka into plastic cups. Harper would get ninety minutes he might never get again, and Donovan deserved to sit one out until he gained actual motivation to play anyway. Donovan wouldn’t even get to sulk, because he knew he deserved to be benched. I was just accelerating natural selection.

  So I turned down the corridor instead of heading for the car park, and headed for the Bossman’s office. He should be here on Saturdays.