Milan was hot. It was a sticky, fashionable heat that made Michael Sterling sweat in his suit.

He sat in the private dining room of the most expensive restaurant in the city.

Opposite him sat Julian Thorne. The American billionaire was wearing a white linen suit and a hat that looked like it belonged to Indiana Jones.

"I love Italy," Julian boomed, waving a breadstick. "The pasta. The fashion. The way they drive like they want to die. It is exhilarating."

"We are here for business Julian," Michael reminded him, checking his watch. "The window closes in twenty-four hours."

"Relax Michael," Julian grinned. "Money speaks all languages. And today, we are speaking loud."

The door opened.

Three men walked in.

The first two were directors from Inter Milan. They looked serious. They looked like men who ate sharks for lunch.

The third man was Benjamin Pavard.

The French defender looked like a movie star. He had curly hair, sad eyes, and he was wearing a jumper that probably cost more than Michael's car. He looked bored.

"Gentlemen!" Julian stood up. "Welcome! Please, sit. Have some wine. It costs five thousand euros a bottle. It tastes like grapes."

The Inter directors sat down. They did not touch the wine.

"Mr. Thorne," the lead director said. "We are busy. You want Benjamin. We want money. Let us keep this simple."

"I like simple," Julian said. "Forty million euros."

The director laughed. It was a dry, dusty laugh. "Benjamin is a World Cup winner. He is in his prime. Forty million is for his left leg."

"Forty-five," Julian countered.

"Sixty," the director said.

"Fifty," Julian said. "And I will buy you a new team bus. With a jacuzzi."

The director paused. "A jacuzzi?"

"Two jacuzzis," Julian promised. "One for the players. One for you."

Michael watched the negotiation. It was insane. It was football business at the highest level, and it involved jacuzzis.

He looked at Pavard.

The player was staring out the window. He looked unhappy.

Michael stood up. He walked over to Pavard.

"Benjamin," Michael said.

Pavard looked at him. "You are the manager? The young one?"

"Yes," Michael said. "I am Michael. Listen. I know you are tired. You are tired of playing right back. You are tired of running up and down the line like a winger."

Pavard sat up straighter. "I am a center back. I want to defend. I want to control the game. Here... they make me run."

"At Barnsley," Michael said, "you will be the General. We have a Bull named Diego. He destroys people. But we need a brain. We need someone to organize the chaos."

Michael opened his laptop. He activated the System.

[SCANNING TARGET...]

[NAME: BENJAMIN PAVARD]

[POSITION: CB / RB]

[TRUE VALUE: £55,000,000]

[CURRENT MOOD: FRUSTRATED]

[HIDDEN DESIRE: LEADERSHIP]

"We play a high line," Michael said, showing Pavard the tactical map on the screen. "We take risks. We need a World Cup winner to tell the kids where to stand. You will not just be a player, Benjamin. You will be the Professor."

Pavard looked at the screen. He looked at the formation.

"The Carousel?" Pavard asked, pointing at the midfield. "I saw this on TikTok. It is crazy."

"It is crazy," Michael agreed. "Do you want to be part of the crazy?"

Pavard smiled. It was a small, tired smile. "I like crazy. Inter is... boring. Tactical. Slow."

Pavard turned to the directors.

"I want to go," Pavard said in Italian. "Let me go."

The directors looked at Julian.

"Fifty-five million," the director said. "And the bus."

Julian slammed his hand on the table. "DONE! Waiter! More wine!"

Michael let out a breath. He had done it. He had signed a World Cup winner to replace Diego Nunez.

But as the champagne arrived, Michael's phone rang.

It was Arthur Milton back in Barnsley.

"Boss," Arthur rasped. "We have a problem."

"What problem?" Michael asked. "We just signed Pavard."

"It is the Financial Fair Play," Arthur said. "The accountant just ran into my office screaming. We spent too much. The wages for Kai, Isaiah, and now the fee for Pavard... we are in the red. We need to sell someone. Today."

Michael froze.

"Sell who? I told you, the core is untouchable."

"Everton just called," Arthur said. "They want Finn Riley."

Finn Riley. The Wild Fox. The kid who had played left back against Newcastle when he didn't know how to defend. The kid who was always smiling.

"How much?" Michael asked, his voice heavy.

"Twenty million pounds," Arthur said. "Pure profit. He is an academy product. If we sell him, the books are balanced. We are safe."

Michael looked at Julian, who was laughing with the Inter directors.

This was the ugly side of the empire. To build the future, sometimes you had to sell the past.

"Finn loves this club," Michael whispered.

"Finn wants to play," Arthur said gently. "With Isaiah and Arda here... Finn is on the bench. Everton are offering him a starting spot. And forty thousand a week."

Michael closed his eyes. He thought about Finn. He thought about the team.

"Do it," Michael said. "Accept the bid."

The flight back to England was quiet.

Pavard was sleeping in the back of the private jet. Julian was playing poker with the pilot.

Michael sat by the window. He had to make the call.

He dialed Finn Riley's number.

"Boss!" Finn answered on the first ring. "Did you get the French guy? Is he cool?"

"He is cool Finn," Michael said. "Listen. I need to talk to you."

"What is it Boss? Do you want me to play in goal next week? I can do it. I have good hands."

Michael laughed sadly. Finn was always willing.

"Finn. Everton have made a bid for you."

Silence on the line.

"Everton?" Finn asked. "The Toffees?"

"Yes. Twenty million pounds. They want you to be their starting winger."

"Oh," Finn said. The energy dropped out of his voice. "So... you are selling me?"

"I have to Finn," Michael said honestly. "To bring in Pavard... to keep the club safe... we need the money. And you deserve to play. You deserve to be a star, not a substitute."

"I see," Finn whispered. "It is business."

"It is business," Michael agreed. "But Finn... you will always be a Barnsley boy. You helped build this. You scored against Newcastle in the mud. You are a legend here."

There was a sniffle on the other end.

"Okay Boss," Finn said, his voice wobbling. "Everton is okay. It is not too far. Can I... can I come back and say goodbye?"

"Of course," Michael said. "The door is always open."

Michael hung up. He felt sick.

He looked at his phone. The notification from the bank app popped up.

[TRANSFER COMPLETED]

[OUT: FINN RILEY -> EVERTON]

[INCOME: +£20,000,000]

[TRANSFER COMPLETED]

[IN: BENJAMIN PAVARD <- INTER MILAN]

[COST: £55,000,000]

[CLUB BALANCE: STABLE]

The numbers balanced. The System was happy. But Michael felt like he had lost a limb.

"You okay kid?" Julian asked, sitting down next to him.

"I sold Finn," Michael said.

"That is the game," Julian said, lighting a cigar even though they were in a plane. "You trade a pawn to get a knight. It hurts, but that is how you win the chess match."

"Finn was not a pawn," Michael said. "He was a friend."

"Friends don't win Premier League titles," Julian said ruthlessly. "World Cup winners do. Look at him."

Julian pointed to the sleeping Pavard.

"That is the next level Michael. You are not running a daycare anymore. You are running a war machine."

Michael looked at Pavard.

The Frenchman stirred in his sleep. Even sleeping, he looked elegant.

Michael nodded. Julian was right.

If they wanted to stay in the top four, if they wanted to fight City and Arsenal, they needed monsters.

They landed in Barnsley late at night.

The press was waiting at the airport. The news of Pavard had leaked.

WORLD CUP WINNER JOINS THE MISFITS!

Michael stepped off the plane. The flashes blinded him.

Pavard stepped out behind him. He put on his sunglasses. He waved coolly.

"Benjamin! Benjamin!" the reporters screamed. "Why Barnsley? Why Yorkshire?"

Pavard leaned into a microphone.

"Because," Pavard said in a thick French accent. "I like the color red. And I like ambitious people."

He pointed at Michael.

"He promised me we will win. I like winning."

The next morning, the training ground was buzzing.

Finn Riley had come to say goodbye.

The locker room was emotional.

Isaiah King was crying. He hugged Finn so hard he almost broke his ribs.

"Who will I play Mario Kart with?" Isaiah sobbed. "Who will tell me my outfits are good?"

"You can play with Pavard," Finn sniffed. "He looks like he has style."

Diego Nunez hobbled in on his crutches. He looked at Finn.

"You are leaving little fox?" Diego asked.

"Yeah Diego. Everton."

Diego nodded. He reached into his locker. He pulled out a shin pad. It was cracked and old.

"Take this," Diego said handing it to Finn. "It is my lucky shin pad. It smells bad. But it protects you."

"Thanks Diego," Finn laughed, holding the smelly plastic like it was gold.

Then, the door opened.

Benjamin Pavard walked in.

The room went silent.

It was one thing to see him on TV. It was another to see him standing next to the tactics board. He had an aura.

Pavard looked around the room. He saw the bed in the corner where Kai Sora was sleeping. He saw the pink suit hanging in Isaiah's locker. He saw Diego on crutches.

Pavard smiled.

"Bonjour," Pavard said. "I heard this place was crazy. I see it is true."

He walked over to Finn Riley.

"You are the one leaving?" Pavard asked.

"Yes," Finn said. "I am making space for you."

Pavard shook his hand. "Thank you. I will defend your house with my life."

It was a classy moment. A passing of the torch.

Michael stood in the doorway. He watched Finn leave with his box of things. He watched Pavard sit down and start talking to Isaiah.

The team had changed. It was stronger. It was richer. It was more famous.

But as Michael looked at the empty space where Finn used to sit, he realized the cost of the Dynasty.

You have to keep moving forward. Even if it means leaving people behind.

He felt a vibration in his pocket.

[SQUAD UPDATE]

[QUALITY LEVEL: ELITE]

[DEFENSIVE RATING: WORLD CLASS]

[NEXT MATCH: TOTTENHAM HOTSPUR]

Michael walked into the room.

"Alright everyone!" Michael shouted. "Say goodbye to Finn. Say hello to Benjamin."

"Welcome to the family Benji!" Isaiah shouted. "Do you like rap music?"

"I prefer classical," Pavard said.

"We will fix that," Isaiah grinned.

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