Chapter 314: The Super Cup
Enzo Moretti stood in the center circle, dictating the tempo of the practice match. Enzo didn’t run; he simply calculated angles. With a casual swing of his right boot, Enzo launched a forty-yard diagonal pass perfectly into the path of Jax. The teenage winger controlled the ball on his chest without breaking stride, instantly dropping his shoulder to completely bypass the reserve left-back.
"Too slow, grandpas~!" Jax laughed, accelerating down the touchline.
Jax fired a low cross into the penalty box. Arda Güler, the newly signed Turkish prodigy, let the ball roll across his body. Instead of shooting, Arda executed a blind backheel pass through the legs of the center-back.
Kaito Tanaka arrived like a bullet train, smashing the ball into the top corner of the net.
Whoosh!
"Golazo~!" Kaito yelled, sliding on his knees across the wet grass.
Lisandro Martinez, Barnsley’s new defensive anchor, threw his hands into the air. He screamed at his fellow defenders in rapid-fire Spanish, his face red with fury. The young Barnsley center-backs, Liam and Davies, just stared at their boots, looking utterly defeated.
Michael analyzed the sequence with cold detachment. The problem was not individual skill; it was structural mechanics. The defensive line was a tragedy. The distance between the center-backs was too wide, and the fullbacks were caught out of position, pushing too high in anticipation of an attack. When Arda created the asymmetric overload, the entire defensive geometry collapsed. It was a complete failure of basic shape.
Arthur Milton, Michael’s assistant manager, stood next to him on the balcony. Arthur was nervously chewing on a handful of red jelly babies.
"Boss... they are killing us out there," Arthur muttered, scribbling frantically on his clipboard. "We are scoring a hundred goals in training, but the defense is completely exposed. Lisandro is trying to hold the line by himself, but the others aren’t moving with him."
Michael didn’t reply immediately. He simply watched Lisandro aggressively tackle a water bottle out of frustration.
"The Kenji Super Cup is next week," Arthur continued, flipping a page. "Paris Saint-Germain. Juventus. If our defensive transition is this broken... Kylian Mbappe will score six goals before halftime. Vlahovic will physically bully our backline. It will be a massacre on international television."
Arthur hesitated, looking sideways at Michael’s stoic profile. "Maybe we need more practice on defense before the Friendly tournament? We could run the low-block drills again? Spend the week just working on clearances?"
"Drills are useless now, Arthur," Michael stated, his voice flat and entirely devoid of emotion. "Drills teach positioning. They do not teach suffering."
Arthur blinked. "Suffering...?"
"Our defenders are too polite. They lack the dark arts," Michael explained smoothly. "They wait for the attackers to make a mistake instead of forcing the issue. They need to learn how to grab shirts, how to break the rhythm, how to make the opposing forwards hate their lives. Lisandro knows how to do it. But the rest of the squad still thinks football is a gentleman’s game. They need a brutal wake-up call."
Michael turned away from the railing and headed toward the stairs.
"Where are you going, Boss?" Arthur called out.
"To find a sparring partner," Michael replied without looking back. "Cancel the afternoon tactical session. I need to talk to Kenji."
Kenji Sato was a man who genuinely believed that every problem on earth could be solved by throwing large amounts of cash at it until the problem simply gave up.
Michael found the eccentric billionaire owner inside the massive executive suite at the top of Oakwell Stadium. Kenji was currently surrounded by five different interior designers, looking at glossy catalogs of luxury tour buses.
"Michael~!" Kenji cheered, waving a brochure in the air. "Look at this! I am designing the new team bus! Should we put a hot tub in the back? Or a sushi bar? I want the players to feel like emperors when we travel to Manchester!"
"Neither. Water weight ruins fuel efficiency, and raw fish on a moving bus is a biological hazard," Michael said smoothly, walking into the room and sitting on a plush leather sofa. "Kenji. I need a favor."
Kenji immediately dismissed the designers with a wave of his hand. "A favor? For you, Boss, anything! Do you want a new helicopter? A private island? I can buy you an island. We will call it ’Sterling Topia’!"
"I want Atletico Madrid," Michael said simply.
Kenji blinked, his smile faltering slightly. "You want to buy a Spanish football club? That is... complicated. La Liga has very strict ownership rules. But give me an hour, let me call my bankers..."
"No, Kenji. I don’t want to buy them," Michael sighed, maintaining his emotional detachment. "I want to play them. This weekend. Before the Friendly tournament begins. I need a closed-door friendly match against Diego Simeone’s team."
Kenji scratched his chin, looking genuinely confused. "Atletico Madrid... Boss, they are very angry men. They wear stripes, and they tackle very hard. They are not a fun team to play against. Why do you want them?"
"Because my defense is soft, and Atletico Madrid is the most disciplined, cynical, and defensively robust team in Europe," Michael explained directly. "Simeone’s players go to war. Julian Alvarez, Griezmann, De Paul... they will press us until we cannot breathe. If my defenders survive ninety minutes against them, Paris Saint-Germain will feel like a walk in the park."
"Ah! A trial by fire!" Kenji nodded enthusiastically, clapping his hands. "Very clever! But Boss... the season is starting soon. Atletico Madrid is busy. They will not fly to Yorkshire just for a practice game."
"That is why I came to you," Michael said, looking the billionaire directly in the eye. "Make them fly here."
A terrifying, deeply capitalistic smile slowly spread across Kenji’s face.
He pulled a diamond-encrusted smartphone from his pocket and dialed a number. He put it on speakerphone and placed it on the glass coffee table.
"Hello? Yes, get me Enrique Cerezo. The President of Atletico Madrid," Kenji demanded, pacing around the room. "Tell him it is Kenji Sato. Yes, the Kenji Sato."
Michael leaned back, watching silently.
"Enrique~!" Kenji shouted joyfully as the line connected, switching to flawless, heavily accented Spanish. "My friend! How is the weather in Madrid? ... Yes, yes, very sunny. Listen carefully. I have a proposal. I want your first team to come to Barnsley this Saturday."
A rapid, slightly annoyed voice crackled through the speaker. Michael didn’t speak Spanish, but the tone clearly translated to ’Are you completely insane?’.
"I know you have a training camp!" Kenji replied cheerfully, ignoring the rejection. "But hear me out. If you bring Simeone and the full squad, I will personally sponsor the back of your training kits for the next three years. Two million pounds a year."
The voice on the phone suddenly stopped shouting. There was a long, heavy silence.
"And," Kenji added, winking at Michael. "I will let your squad stay at my private countryside manor here in Yorkshire. Free of charge. We have a private golf course. Antoine Griezmann loves golf, yes?"
Another pause. When the voice spoke again, it was much softer and far more polite.
"Yes, exactly. A closed-door friendly. No cameras. No media. Just Diego Simeone and my manager fighting it out on the grass," Kenji laughed loudly. "Excellent! I will send the purple plane to Madrid tomorrow morning!"
Kenji hung up the phone. He looked at Michael with absolute triumph.
"It is done, Boss," Kenji beamed. "They will arrive on Friday. Alvarez, De Paul, Oblak... all of them. Simeone is bringing his strongest men."
[Ding!]
A familiar blue holographic screen materialized in front of Michael’s eyes.
[Football Empire System]
[Hidden Quest Triggered: The Simeone Suffering!]
[Description: You have invited the masters of the dark arts to test your team. Atletico Madrid will expose every weakness in your defensive structure.]
[Objective: Do not concede more than 2 goals. Successfully complete 15 sliding tackles as a team.]
[Reward: +30% Defensive Cohesion, ’Grinta’ Mentality Unlocked for all Defenders.]
Michael swiped the screen away. The reward was perfect. ’Grinta’ was exactly what they needed—the sheer, unyielding willpower to protect the goal.
"Thank you, Kenji," Michael said, standing up and buttoning his coat. "You just saved our defensive line."
"Anything for the Misfits~!" Kenji cheered. "Now, help me decide! Should the stadium corner flags be made of velvet or silk?"
Michael walked back down to the training pitch. The players were currently taking a water break. Jax was recording a TikTok video, doing a dance with the corner flag. Arda and Kaito were laughing loudly, while Enzo was adjusting his hair in the reflection of his phone screen.
They looked far too comfortable.
Michael brought the whistle to his lips and blew one long, piercing blast.
The players immediately stopped what they were doing and jogged over, forming a circle around the manager. Lisandro Martinez stood at the front, holding a water bottle, his eyes locked on Michael.
"Listen up," Michael said, his voice flat, slicing through the lighthearted atmosphere. "You think you are ready for Europe. You think scoring fancy goals in practice makes you unstoppable."
The squad went silent. Kaito lowered his head slightly, sensing the shift in the manager’s mood.
"Arthur mentioned earlier that maybe we need more practice on defense before the Friendly tournament," Michael continued smoothly. "He was right. But we are not running drills. On Saturday, we are playing a closed-door match."
"Against who, Boss?" Jax asked, looking confused. "A League One team? A local academy?"
"No," Michael said, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his players. "Atletico Madrid."
The name dropped onto the grass like a heavy stone.
Enzo Moretti actually flinched. "Simeone’s Atletico...? Boss, they do not play friendlies. They play street fights..."
Jax’s eyes widened in genuine panic. "Bro... they are menace tier. I saw a compilation of Gimenez tackling on YouTube. The man has no chill. He is going to break my ankles!"
"Exactly," Michael nodded, his expression completely serious. "Julian Alvarez will run through your passing lanes. Rodrigo De Paul will kick you until you forget how to walk. They will sit deep, they will defend with eleven men, and they will counter-attack with absolute brutality."
Michael stepped forward, looking directly at his young center-backs.
"You two are going to suffer on Saturday," Michael told Liam and Davies plainly. "They will pull your shirts. They will stand on your toes during corners. You will hate every single minute of it."
Liam swallowed hard, nodding nervously. "Yes, Boss."
"Lisandro," Michael turned to the Argentine midfielder.
"Yes, Boss?" Lisandro grinned, cracking his knuckles loudly.
"Your job is to make sure our defense doesn’t shatter," Michael ordered. "Teach them how to bite back. Teach them the dark arts."
Lisandro’s grin widened into a predatory, dangerous smile. "With pleasure~ Let them come. I will show De Paul how we tackle in Yorkshire."
Michael finally turned to his attacking stars. "Arda. Kaito. You will have zero space. They will put two men on you at all times. If you want to prove you belong in the Champions League, show me you can break down the iron wall of Madrid."
Arda Güler’s eyes sharpened, his competitive fire instantly igniting. Kaito cracked his neck, his posture shifting from relaxed to entirely focused.
