naaapseattle Chapter 311: Billionaire
Chapter 311: Billionaire
The private jet was purple.Inside, it looked less like an airplane and more like the VIP lounge of an exclusive Tokyo nightclub.
Neon lights pulsed softly along the floorboards, the leather seats were softer than butter, and a massive flat-screen TV was currently displaying a complex architectural 3D model.
Michael Sterling sat in one of the plush armchairs, nursing a glass of sparkling water.
He looked out the window at the fluffy white clouds passing by, trying to mentally prepare himself for the biggest negotiation of his managerial career.
"Look at this, Michael!" Kenji Sato shouted, bouncing up and down in the seat opposite him.
The billionaire owner was pointing enthusiastically at the TV screen.
"The new stadium expansion! I call it... The Dragon’s Nest! No, wait... The Emperor’s Colosseum~!"
Michael turned his attention to the screen. It showed a massive, sweeping grandstand being added to Barnsley’s historic Oakwell ground.
"Kenji, we are a club in Yorkshire, not Ancient Rome," Michael sighed, though a fond smile tugged at his lips. "And you know the local council won’t let you put literal fire-breathing statues at the entrance..."
"Cowards! All of them!" Kenji pouted, crossing his arms. "But fine. I compromised. We are just putting in heated seats for the entire stadium. And the investments don’t stop there, Boss! I bought the state-of-the-art cryotherapy chambers from Germany! And the new anti-gravity treadmills! Oh, and I hired a Michelin-star chef to make Enzo’s pasta!"
[Ding!]
A familiar blue holographic screen popped up in front of Michael’s eyes, invisible to Kenji.
[Football Empire System]
[Club Infrastructure Update!]
[Investment Log Recognized. Over £150,000,000 injected into Club Facilities.]
[Training Ground Level:] S-Tier (World Class)
[Medical Facility Level:] S-Tier (Injury Recovery Time reduced by 40%!)
[System Note:] Your billionaire is crazy, but his money is very useful. Your empire now has the foundation of a true European giant.
Michael swiped the screen away, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. When he first took over Barnsley, the training ground shower only had cold water, and Arthur used to buy the matchday snacks from a local petrol station. Now, they were a financial powerhouse. The Champions League television rights combined with Kenji’s obsessive spending meant they could finally compete with the big boys.
"The investments are perfect, Kenji," Michael said smoothly. "If we want to attract world-class players, we need world-class facilities. We need to show them that Barnsley isn’t a stepping stone. It’s a destination."
"Exactly!" Kenji beamed, adjusting his solid-gold Rolex. "And that is why we are going to Spain! To steal a prince!"
Two hours later, the purple jet touched down under the blazing Spanish sun.
Madrid was sweltering. The air was thick with heat and the undeniable pressure of footballing royalty. This was the city of Real Madrid. The city of fourteen Champions League titles. Coming here to poach one of their players felt like walking into a dragon’s cave to steal its treasure.
Michael and Kenji were driven in a blacked-out Mercedes to an ultra-exclusive, hidden restaurant on the outskirts of the city. The place was entirely empty, rented out completely by Kenji for this single meeting.
Sitting at the largest table, looking incredibly nervous, was a twenty-one-year-old young man with sharp features and a stylish haircut. Beside him sat a severe-looking older man in a tailored suit—his agent.
Arda Güler. The Turkish wonderkid.
"Mr. Sterling," the agent said, standing up and offering a stiff handshake as Michael and Kenji approached. "I must admit, when we received the call from Barnsley... we thought it was a prank."
"I assure you, it is not," Michael said, taking a seat directly across from Arda. Kenji sat next to Michael, trying very hard not to look too excited.
Arda looked down at his glass of water. He looked tired. Despite being at the biggest club in the world, the spark in his eyes was dim.
"Let’s skip the formalities," Michael began, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "You are twenty-one years old, Arda. You are a generational talent. You have vision that most players couldn’t dream of. So... why did you only start nine league games for Carlo Ancelotti last season?"
The agent bristled. "Now, listen here—"
"It’s fine," Arda interrupted softly. His English was very good, heavily accented but clear. He looked up, meeting Michael’s gaze. "I didn’t start because... Jude Bellingham is here. Vinicius is here. Kylian Mbappe is here. Endrick is here. They are the Galácticos. I am... I am just the backup plan."
"Exactly," Michael nodded slowly. "At Real Madrid, you are playing a waiting game. You are waiting for someone to get injured. You are waiting for someone to lose their form. You are a prince, Arda, but the throne room is already too crowded. You might wait until you are twenty-five to become the main man. Can you afford to waste four years of your prime on the bench?"
Arda clenched his jaw. "No. I want to play. I want to be the reason my team wins. Not just a substitute at the eightieth minute..."
"Then come to Barnsley," Michael said simply.
The agent let out a dry, dismissive laugh. "Barnsley? With all due respect, Mr. Sterling, you had a cute season. You qualified for the Champions League. It’s a nice fairy tale. But Arda has offers from AC Milan, from Bayern Munich, from Paris Saint-Germain! Why would he go to Yorkshire to play with... misfits?"
Michael didn’t look at the agent. He kept his eyes locked firmly on Arda.
"Because at Milan, you are replacing Rafael Leão. At Bayern, you are replacing Jamal Musiala," Michael said, his voice dropping into a low, intense register. "You will walk into their history and just be the next guy in line."
Michael paused, letting the silence stretch for a dramatic second.
"But at Barnsley... we don’t have a history of winning the Champions League. We are writing the history right now," Michael continued. "If you come to me, I am not putting you on the bench. I am giving you the keys to the entire empire. I have a striker, Kaito Tanaka, who is desperate for someone with your passing range. I have a midfielder, Enzo Moretti, who will protect you and let you roam free. We are not just a team, Arda. We are a weapon."
Arda’s eyes widened slightly. The sheer confidence radiating from the English manager was magnetic.
"But... the Premier League is physical," Arda hesitated. "They say it is too fast. Too aggressive."
"Let them be aggressive," Michael smiled a dangerous, wolfish smile. "We will just be smarter. I will build the entire tactical system around your left foot. You want to be the main character? I am offering you the lead role on the biggest stage in the world."
Kenji, unable to contain himself any longer, slammed a massive leather folder onto the table.
"And!" Kenji shouted, making both Arda and his agent jump. "We pay very well! Look at this contract! We have a purple airplane! We have cryo-chambers! I will build a statue of your left foot in the new stadium! A golden foot!"
Arda looked at the numbers on the contract. His jaw dropped. The agent leaned over, his eyes bulging as he read the sheer financial weight of Kenji’s offer.
"This... this is a lot of money..." the agent whispered, suddenly looking much more respectful.
"The money is just a bonus," Michael said, standing up. "I don’t want you because you want to be rich, Arda. I want you because you are hungry. I want you because you are angry that Ancelotti benched you in the Champions League final. Bring that anger to England. Let’s show the world that the Misfits can dethrone the Kings."
Michael offered his hand.
The air in the restaurant felt heavy, charged with the electricity of a shifting timeline. Arda Güler looked at the contract. He looked at the eccentric billionaire in the gold watch. And finally, he looked at the young, sharply dressed manager who was offering him the world.
Arda stood up. A slow, genuine smile broke across his face—the first real smile he had worn in months.
He reached out and grasped Michael’s hand firmly.
"I like the sound of this empire, Boss," Arda said. "Where do I sign~?"
[Ding!]
[System Alert!]
[Main Quest Completed: The Madrid Heist!]
[Arda Güler (S-Rank Playmaker) has successfully joined Barnsley FC!]
[Reward: Squad Chemistry +20%, Global Reputation +5000, 1x ’Tactical Masterclass’ Skill Book.]
[System Note:] The world is officially on notice. The transfer market has just been broken.
Michael shook the young star’s hand, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
"Welcome to the Misfits, Arda," Michael grinned. "Pack your warmest coats. It rains a lot in Yorkshire."
As they walked out of the restaurant, Kenji was already on the phone, yelling furiously at his marketing team.
"Yes! Print the shirts! Number 10! I don’t care if it’s currently occupied, give the other guy a new number! And get the gold foundry ready! We are making a foot~!"
The flight back to England felt infinitely shorter. The energy on the plane was electric. They had done it. They had actually pulled off one of the most audacious transfers of the 2026 summer window. When the news broke, the internet was going to melt.
Michael sat back in his plush seat, opening his system interface one last time.
He looked at his projected starting lineup for the first game of the season.
LW: Kaito Tanaka.
CAM: Arda Güler.
CM: Enzo Moretti.
RW: Jax.
Bench/Prospect: Leo Rossi.
His phone buzzed. It was a text from Arthur Milton.
-Boss! The Champions League group stage draw is starting in an hour!-
Michael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he smiled.