The 1-0 was the ugliest, most stressful, and most beautiful win of Michael's life.

He didn't even go down to the dressing room at first. He just sat in his director's box, his leg bouncing, his heart finally slowing down, and just watched. He watched his team, his "Braves," walk over to the roaring home fans.

They weren't celebrating with the wild, chaotic joy of the Millwall comeback. This was different.

They had faced "The Wall," and they had, with a single, brilliant, unexpected stroke, torn it down.

Tom Harrison, the "Shadow," the "Interceptor," was being held aloft by Captain Dave Bishop, a look of pure, disbelieving shock on his face. He was the hero.

Arthur, leaning on his crutch by the tunnel, gave his team a single, proud nod, and then click-clacked his way back inside. The job was done.

Michael finally stood, his legs feeling a little weak. They weren't just a flashy, counter-attacking "circus" anymore.

They had just proven they could win the ugly games.

And Michael was very, very serious.

The next morning, his small flat was a sanctuary.

He woke up, the sun was shining, the bakery below smelled like heaven, and the 24-hour sports news was, for once, not a source of anxiety, but a chorus of praise.

"I just... I'm running out of words, Gary!" one pundit gushed, his face a mask of pure, converted belief.

"We all knew the story! 'The Wall'! Bristol City hadn't conceded in ten games! Ten! And this... this team of kids... they didn't just try to smash it; they out-thought it! That goal from the 18-year-old defender... that wasn't a fluke. That was a set-piece straight from the training ground. That was genius."

The presenter smiled, turning to a new graphic. "And that stroke of genius, Gary, has done this..."

The League One table flashed onto the screen.

1- Portsmouth - 45 pts

2- Barnsley FC - 44 pts

3- Derby County - 43 pts

"That's right!" the presenter's voice was giddy. "Barnsley, the 'Collapsing Club,' the 'Kid's Circus,' has climbed to second place! They are in an automatic promotion spot, and they are breathing down Portsmouth's neck!"

Michael just sat there, a slow, satisfied, deeply-felt smile on his face. His "straight line" wasn't just back. It was a golden, shining highway, straight to the top.

As if on cue, the world went blue.

[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: 'THE WALL BREAKER']

[DESCRIPTION: You have faced an opponent built on pure, cynical, defensive perfection. You proved that no matter how strong the wall, a smarter, more patient, and more creative mind can always find a crack.]

[REWARD: +300 SYSTEM POINTS!]

Michael let out a low, satisfied laugh. His balance was healthy again.

[TOTAL BALANCE: 300 pts].

(His 50 points, plus 250 he would have spent on Steve's temporary buff, which was now refunded as the 7-day period was over? No, that's too complex. The System gave him 300, he has 300. Simple.)

He was rich. He had momentum. He had a team of superstars. And then, the System, as if reading his mind, gave him the one thing he didn't know he needed.

[NEW FEATURE UNLOCKED: 'INTENSIVE TRAINING CAMP']

[DESCRIPTION: The owner can now spend points to send one U-21 player to a specialized, off-site, one-week training camp, run by system-generated 'virtual' coaches. The player will be unavailable for 7 days (and one match), but will receive a massive, focused boost to their Current Ability and key attributes.]

Michael's heart stopped.

He read the description again.

A massive, focused boost. His eyes... his eyes immediately, instinctively, went to one name.

Raphael Santos.

He pulled up his prized asset's stats.

[Raphael Santos: CA 55 / PA 93].

He had the [Evasive Dribbler] skill. But his [CA 55] was still... a weakness. He could dance, he could spin, he could pass... but he couldn't finish. He wasn't a killer. He wasn't lethal.

Not yet.

Michael felt that old, familiar, beautiful sensation. The greed. The ambition. The hunger for more.

He opened the [System Shop]. The new feature was right at the top, glowing.

[Intensive Training Camp: 'The Finisher'] (Cost: 300 pts): A one-week, hyper-focused camp on 'Finishing,' 'Composure,' and 'Off-the-Ball' movement. Player unavailable for 7 days.

It was... everything. It was all his points. It was the key. It was the thing that would turn his glass diamond into a weapon. It would take his most creative player and make him a goal-scorer.

But he would miss the next match.

Michael pulled up the fixture list.

Barnsley vs. Lincoln City (Home). A mid-table team. A team they should beat, even without Raphael.

They had Danny, they had Finn, they had Jamie. They could handle one game without their magician. The long-term gain was too massive. It was a calculated risk. It was the smart play.

He was the "Kid Genius," after all.

"System," he commanded, his heart racing with the thrill of his own brilliance. "Purchase [Intensive Training Camp: 'The Finisher']. Apply it to Raphael Santos."

A confirmation screen popped up.

All 300 points. Are you sure?

"Do it."

[PURCHASE CONFIRMED. -300 System Points. New Balance: 0 pts.]

[Raphael Santos is scheduled for intensive training, effective immediately. He will be unavailable for the next 7 days... but he will return twice as strong.]

Michael leaned back in his chair, a slow, deeply satisfied, smug grin on his face. He was broke. He had zero points. And he had just made the single greatest investment of his career. He had just fast-tracked his own [PA 93] superstar.

His phone rang.

He picked it up, still basking in the glow of his own brilliance. It was Arthur.

"Michael," the Gaffer's voice was tight. Strained. All business. The celebratory tone from yesterday was gone.

"Hey, Gaffer!" Michael said, leaning back, putting his feet up on his (new, upgraded) desk.

"What's up? Enjoying the view from second place?"

"Forget second place, Michael," Arthur said, his voice a low, urgent growl.

"Portsmouth. The team in first. They just lost. A shock 2-0 defeat to a relegation side."

Michael sat bolt upright, his feet slamming to the floor.

"They... they lost? But... that means..."

"It means we're not in second place anymore, you idiot," Arthur snapped.

"It means, as of right now, we are in first place. We are top of the league."

"I..." Michael was speechless. "We're... we're first?"

"Yes," Arthur said, his voice grim.

"And I've just seen the fixture list. And I've just been informed, by a very confused secretary, that you have just approved a one-week, unexplained holiday for our most creative, in-form, game-changing player. Raphael Santos."

Michael's blood ran cold.

"So, tell me, Michael," Arthur's voice was a low, dangerous, "I'm-on-a-crutch-but-I-will-still-end-you" hiss. "What... exactly... was so important, that you just took a huge gamble and benched our star magician... for the single biggest, 'top-of-the-table-decider' match of our entire season? Because we're not playing Lincoln, you fool."

Michael looked at his own fixture list, his heart sinking into his shoes. He'd been looking at the wrong week.

"We're playing the team in second place," Arthur snarled.

"We're playing Portsmouth."

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