Michael Sterling stood on the balcony overlooking the indoor pitch. He was holding a tablet. Leo Volt, the tech billionaire, had sent a new software update for The Oracle. It was called Evolution Tracker.

Arthur Milton stood next to him. The old scout was wearing a scarf indoors. He was eating a hot meat pie that smelled delicious.

"Look at them Arthur," Michael said pointing down at the squad. "They are not the same players we found in the mud two years ago."

"They are expensive now," Arthur mumbled through a mouthful of pastry. "And they have better haircuts."

"It is not just the hair," Michael said tapping the screen. "Look at the data."

[SQUAD EVOLUTION REPORT: MID-SEASON]

Michael zoomed in on the profile of Kai Sora.

When Kai first arrived he was a lazy genius who refused to run more than three kilometers a game. He would hide in the shadows and sleep at halftime.

Now the graph showed a spike.

NAME: KAI SORA

OLD ATTRIBUTE: LAZY GENIUS

NEW ATTRIBUTE: THE GRANDMASTER

VISION: 94 -> 97

STAMINA: 40 -> 65 (Acceptable)

LEADERSHIP: HIDDEN

"He is running six kilometers now," Michael noted. "It is still low compared to Kenji. But for Kai? It is a marathon."

"He told me yesterday that running keeps him warm," Arthur chuckled. "He is only doing it because he hates the cold."

"Whatever the reason," Michael smiled. "He is dictating games. Against United he did not just pass. He controlled the tempo. He told everyone where to stand."

Michael swiped the screen.

NAME: DIEGO NUNEZ

STATUS: THE BULL

PHYSICALITY: 95 -> 99 (MAX)

AGGRESSION: CONTROLLED CHAOS

NEW TRAIT: FEAR AURA

"Fear Aura?" Arthur read over Michael's shoulder. "Is this a video game Boss?"

"It means strikers are scared of him Arthur," Michael explained. "Look at training."

They looked down.

On the pitch a practice match was happening.

Diego Nunez was marking the young academy striker Harry.

Harry received the ball. He looked at the goal. Then he looked at Diego.

Diego did not tackle. He just smiled. A wide toothy smile. He slapped his hands together.

Harry panicked. He passed the ball backward immediately.

"See?" Michael said. "He won the ball without touching it. That is the aura."

"He is terrifying," Arthur agreed. "I am scared of him and I pay his wages."

Michael walked down to the pitch level. He wanted to see the new signing.

Erik "The Axe" Olsen.

The Norwegian winger was playing on the left side. He was wearing short sleeves. Everyone else was wearing thermals.

Isaiah King had the ball on the right.

Isaiah loved to dance. He did a step over. He did a shimmy. He rolled the ball. He looked good doing it.

Then he crossed it.

Erik Olsen was waiting at the back post.

Erik did not dance. He did not shimmy.

He just attacked the ball.

He sprinted. He jumped. He smashed the ball into the net with a volley that sounded like a gunshot.

BANG.

Goal.

Erik landed. He turned around. He jogged back to the center. No celebration. No smile. Just business.

"He is a robot," Isaiah King whispered to Arda Guler. "Look at him. He did not even do a knee slide."

"He is efficient," Arda said. "He saves energy for the next goal."

"It is boring," Isaiah complained. "Where is the sauce? Where is the flavor?"

Michael blew his whistle.

"Gather round!"

The players jogged over. They were sweating. The intensity was high.

"Good session," Michael said. "Saturday we play Aston Villa. They are third. We are fourth. This is a big game."

He looked at Erik.

"Erik. How do you feel?"

"I feel normal," Erik said. "The grass is good. The ball is round."

"How is the chemistry?" Michael asked.

Erik looked at Diego Nunez.

"The big bald man is funny," Erik said pointing at Diego. "He roars like a bear. But he passes well."

Diego beamed. "See? The Viking likes me! We are brothers of destruction!"

"And Isaiah?" Michael asked.

Erik looked at Isaiah King. He looked at the pink boots. He looked at the silver hair.

"He is... colorful," Erik said diplomatically. "He takes many touches. Sometimes three touches when one is enough."

"It is called style bro!" Isaiah protested. "You cannot buy style at the Viking store!"

"I do not buy style," Erik said calmly. "I buy goals."

The squad laughed. Even Isaiah laughed.

"Okay," Michael said. "We have different styles. That is our strength. We have the Artist (Isaiah). We have the Machine (Erik). We have the Bull (Diego). And we have the Architect (Kai)."

He looked at Danny Fletcher.

"And we have the Prince."

Danny smiled. "Ready to lead Boss."

After training Michael called Arthur into the medical room.

It wasn't because anyone was injured. It was because Leo Volt had installed a new piece of equipment.

It looked like a giant glass tube filled with blue light.

THE CRYOCHAMBER.

"What is this?" Arthur asked poking the glass. "Is this where we clone Diego?"

"No," Michael said. "It is for recovery. It goes down to minus one hundred and forty degrees. Three minutes in there equals eight hours of sleep."

"Minus one hundred?" Arthur shivered. "I prefer a nap on the sofa."

"The players love it," Michael said. "Kenji goes in twice a day. He says it recharges his batteries."

Michael pulled up the fitness stats on the screen on the wall.

SQUAD FITNESS LEVELS

KENJI SATO: 100 percent

BENJAMIN PAVARD: 98 percent

DIEGO NUNEZ: 95 percent (Knee fully healed)

KAI SORA: 90 percent (Battery Saving Mode Active)

"We are peaking Arthur," Michael said. "Usually in February teams get tired. We are getting stronger."

"It is the science," Arthur said. "And the beetroot juice. Do not forget the juice."

"I try to forget the juice," Michael admitted.

Michael went back to his office to finalize the tactics for Aston Villa.

Unai Emery was a smart manager. He played a high line. He set traps.

"How do we beat them?" Michael whispered to himself.

He opened the tactical simulator on his laptop.

TACTIC A: THE CAROUSEL

TACTIC B: THE OVERLOAD

TACTIC C: ???

He needed something new. Something Villa would not expect.

He looked at the profiles of his wingers.

Isaiah King: Right footed. Cuts inside.

Erik Olsen: Left footed. Stays wide then cuts inside.

"What if..." Michael muttered.

He dragged the icons on the screen.

He swapped them.

TACTIC C: THE INVERTED TWIST

Isaiah on the left. Erik on the right.

"Isaiah can curl shots with his right foot from the left," Michael thought. "And Erik... Erik can drive to the byline on the right and cross with his weak foot. Or cut inside and shoot."

It was risky. Players liked their favorite sides.

But Misfits liked chaos.

Michael felt a vibration in his pocket.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[NEW TACTICAL CONCEPT DETECTED]

[THE INVERTED TWIST]

[SURPRISE FACTOR: HIGH]

[CONFUSION RATING: 90 percent]

The System approved.

Friday afternoon. The team meeting.

Michael stood in front of the whiteboard.

"Tomorrow," Michael said. "We change the script."

He wrote the names on the board.

LW: ISAIAH KING

RW: ERIK OLSEN

Isaiah raised his hand. "Boss? That is the wrong side. I get dizzy on the left."

"You will be fine," Michael said. "Villa expect you on the right. Their left back has studied you cutting inside on your left foot. Tomorrow you cut inside on your right. You have a whole new angle."

Isaiah thought about it. He visualized it.

"I can shoot the R2 shot from the left..." Isaiah whispered. "It will curl into the far corner."

"Exactly," Michael said.

He looked at Erik.

"Erik. You are on the right."

"Okay," Erik said.

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"No," Erik said. "The goal is in the same place. I just run from a different direction."

"I love this kid," Arthur whispered to Michael. "He is so simple."

"Simple is deadly," Michael replied.

The meeting ended. The players filed out. They looked ready. They looked evolved.

Michael stayed behind with Diego Nunez.

"Diego," Michael said.

"Yes Boss?"

"Tomorrow is big. Villa have Ollie Watkins. He is fast. He scores goals."

Diego cracked his knuckles.

"He is fast," Diego agreed. "But does he like to fly?"

"Fly?"

"Yes," Diego grinned. "When I tackle him he will fly. I will make him an astronaut."

"Just win the ball Diego," Michael laughed. "No astronauts."

"We will see," Diego winked.

Michael walked to the window. The sun was setting over the snow covered hills of Yorkshire.

They had come so far. From a mid table Championship team to a Champions League contender.

The stats were good. The development was incredible. The value of the squad was sky high.

But numbers on a screen did not win trophies.

Tomorrow they had to prove it on the grass.

Michael turned off the lights.

"Arthur," Michael said.

"Yes Boss?"

"Is the beetroot juice ready for tomorrow?"

"Yes Boss. Five gallons."

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