Monday morning in Barnsley usually started with the sound of rain hitting the windows and the smell of wet grass. But today, the Sterling Era Training Complex smelled of something else.

Disappointment.

Not because of a loss. They had just beaten Everton. They were flying high in fourth place.

The disappointment was coming from the canteen.

Michael Sterling walked in to get his coffee. He found a chaotic scene.

Diego Nunez, the Uruguayan Bull, was standing in front of the serving hatch. He looked like he was about to cry. Or kill someone. It was hard to tell the difference with Diego.

"What is the problem?" Michael asked, walking over.

"Boss," Diego said, pointing a massive finger at the serving tray. "Look. It is empty."

Michael looked. "It is just the steak tray, Diego. There is plenty of chicken."

"Chicken is for birds," Diego grunted. "I am a Bull. I need red meat. My knee is healing. It needs iron. It needs the soul of a cow."

Arthur Milton sat at a nearby table, eating a salad with a look of deep misery.

"He ate four steaks already Boss," Arthur said. "The chef is terrified. He is hiding in the pantry."

"I am a growing boy," Diego argued.

Isaiah King walked in. He was wearing a silver tracksuit that looked like a spacesuit.

"Yo," Isaiah said. "Why is everyone shouting? I need my avocado toast."

"There is no toast," Kai Sora said from the corner. The Architect was wearing his sunglasses and drinking a smoothie. "Diego ate the bread too. He made a steak sandwich the size of a car."

Michael sighed. He looked at his squad. They were rich. They were famous. They were winning. But the infrastructure was struggling to keep up with their appetites.

He felt a vibration in his pocket.

[SYSTEM ALERT!]

[FACILITY ISSUE DETECTED: NUTRITION CENTER]

[CURRENT RATING: 3/5]

[MORALE PENALTY: HUNGRY PLAYERS ARE ANGRY PLAYERS]

Michael rubbed his chin.

"We need a solution," Michael said. "We cannot have the Bull starving. He might eat the academy kids."

"I have a solution," Diego said instantly. His eyes lit up. "Buy Luigi's."

"Luigi's?" Michael asked.

"It is an Italian place in town," Arthur explained. "Old school. Red checkered tablecloths. The owner shouts at you if you ask for ketchup. But the food... the food is incredible."

"Luigi makes a lasagna that makes me weep," Diego whispered reverently. "And his steaks... they are thick like phonebooks."

Michael looked at Arthur.

"Is it for sale?"

"Everything is for sale Boss," Arthur shrugged. "Luigi is seventy years old. He wants to retire to Naples and fish."

Michael smiled. A Shark smile.

"Get the car Arthur. We are going for lunch."

Luigi's Trattoria was a small building on a side street in Barnsley. It did not look like much from the outside. The paint was peeling and the sign was crooked.

But inside, it smelled like heaven. Garlic, tomatoes, and roasting meat.

Michael walked in with Arthur and Diego. Diego was limping slightly, acting more injured than he was to gain sympathy.

The restaurant was empty. An old man with a giant white mustache was wiping a table.

"We are closed!" the man shouted. "Come back at five!"

"Luigi!" Diego roared, opening his arms. "It is me! El Toro!"

The old man squinted. Then he smiled.

"Diego! The crazy defender! You broke your leg, eh?"

"Only a little bit," Diego said. "Luigi, this is my Boss. Michael Sterling."

Luigi looked at Michael. He wiped his hands on his apron.

"The Wonder Boy," Luigi grunted. "You beat Manchester United. Good. I hate United. They are too commercial. No soul."

"We try our best," Michael said shaking his hand. "Luigi, we need to talk business."

"I do not do business before I feed you," Luigi said. "Sit. Eat."

An hour later, the table was covered in empty plates.

Arthur was leaning back, patting his stomach. "That was the best carbonara of my life."

Diego was finishing his second T-bone steak. He looked like a lion that had just taken down a gazelle. He was purring.

Michael wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"Luigi," Michael said. "The food is world class."

"I know," Luigi said, pouring more wine. "My grandmother taught me. She was a scary woman. If the pasta was soft, she would hit me with a spoon."

"I want to buy your restaurant," Michael said.

Luigi stopped pouring. He looked at Michael.

"Buy it?"

"Yes," Michael said. "Diego tells me you want to retire. You want to go fishing."

"The fish are calling me," Luigi admitted. "But who will cook? If I sell to a chain, they will use frozen sauce. It breaks my heart."

"No frozen sauce," Michael promised. "I want to buy it for the club. This will be the official restaurant of Barnsley FC. The players will eat here. The staff will eat here. And on weekends, the fans will eat here."

He leaned forward.

"I want you to train our chefs. Teach them the grandmother's secrets. Teach them how to make Diego's steak."

Luigi looked at Diego. Diego looked back with pleading puppy eyes.

"Please Luigi," Diego said. "If I do not eat your food, I will lose my power. The strikers will run past me."

Luigi sighed. He looked around his restaurant. He looked at the pictures on the wall of old Barnsley teams.

"I love this club," Luigi said. "I have been a season ticket holder for forty years."

"I will name a stand after you," Michael lied. Or maybe not. He could probably name a hot dog stand after him.

"No need," Luigi said. "Just promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"No pineapple on pizza," Luigi said sternly. "If I hear you serve pineapple, I will come back from Naples and I will haunt you."

"I promise," Michael said seriously. "Pineapple is banned."

"Then we have a deal," Luigi smiled.

Michael felt a vibration in his pocket.

[ASSET ACQUIRED: LUIGI'S TRATTORIA]

[COST: £500,000]

[BENEFIT: NUTRITION UPGRADE (ELITE)]

[BENEFIT: TEAM BONDING LOCATION UNLOCKED]

"Arthur," Michael said. "Write the check."

Two days later, the grand reopening of "The Misfits' Kitchen" (formerly Luigi's) took place.

It was a private event for the squad and staff.

The place had been cleaned up, but the rustic charm remained. The only difference was a new neon sign above the kitchen door that read: FUEL FOR THE DYNASTY.

The team sat at a long table that stretched the length of the room. It looked like the Last Supper, but with more tracksuits.

Isaiah King was wearing a bib.

"I do not want to spill sauce on my drip," Isaiah explained.

Kai Sora was inspecting a piece of ravioli.

"It is perfect," Kai said. "Symmetrical. Beautiful."

Kenji Sato was eating vegetables. "High energy," Kenji noted. "Good for running."

But the star of the show was Diego Nunez.

The Bull stood up. He held a glass of grape juice (because alcohol was banned during the season).

"Brothers," Diego shouted. "Listen to me."

The room went quiet.

"We have a home," Diego said. "The training ground is for work. This place? This is for family. We eat together. We laugh together. And we get strong together."

He pointed at Michael.

"The Boss bought this for us. He spent money so we can eat good meat. So what do we give him?"

"Wins!" Danny Fletcher shouted.

"Trophies!" Isaiah yelled.

"A nap!" Kai suggested quietly.

"We give him everything," Diego roared. "We give him our blood! We give him our sweat! But not our food. The food is mine."

The room erupted in laughter.

Michael sat at the head of the table. He watched them.

This was what Julian Thorne couldn't buy. This was what the System couldn't simulate. Chemistry.

He looked at Benjamin Pavard. The World Cup winner was laughing at a joke from young Tom.

He looked at Arda Guler teaching Jamie Weston a word in Turkish.

They were bonding.

Arthur Milton leaned over to Michael.

"You were right Boss," Arthur whispered. "This was a good investment. They are happy."

"Happy players run faster Arthur," Michael said. "And they recover faster."

Leo Volt walked in. The tech billionaire was wearing a Barnsley scarf.

"Michael!" Leo said. "I analyzed the menu. It is high in protein, good carbs. My data approves."

"Grab a plate Leo," Michael said. "Stop analyzing and start eating."

Later that evening, the players started to filter out. They had training in the morning.

Michael stayed behind to lock up.

He stood in the empty restaurant. It smelled of good food and victory.

He looked at his phone. The fixture list for December was brutal.

Dec 23: Leeds United (Home)

Dec 26: Liverpool (Home - Boxing Day)

Dec 29: Newcastle (Away)

Jan 1: Chelsea (Away)

"Four games in ten days," Michael whispered. "The Christmas crush."

It was the period that killed teams. Injuries. Fatigue. Rotation.

But Barnsley had a secret weapon now. They had Luigi's lasagna.

Diego Nunez walked back in. He had forgotten his crutches. He was walking quite well without them.

"Boss," Diego said.

"Yes Diego?"

"Thank you."

"For the food?"

"No," Diego shook his head. "For understanding. Most managers... they just see players as robots. You run, you kick, you go home. You see us as men. Hungry men."

"You are the heart of the team Diego," Michael said. "I need the heart to be full."

Diego smiled. He grabbed his crutches.

"My knee is good Boss," Diego said. "I will be ready for Leeds. I want to play the Derby."

"The doctor said January," Michael warned.

"Doctors know medicine," Diego said tapping his chest. "They do not know passion. I will play."

He walked out into the night.

Michael turned off the lights.

He walked out to his car. The air was freezing. Winter had truly arrived in Yorkshire.

But inside, Michael felt a fire burning.

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