naaapseattle Chapter 308: To the Misfits
Chapter 308: To the Misfits
Peeeeeep! Peeeep! Peeeeeeeeep!"And there it is! The final whistle! Unbelievable scenes!
The Misfits of Barnsley... the team that was in League One just a few years ago... have officially secured fourth place in the Premier League!
They are going to the UEFA Champions League! What a story! What a season!"
Michael let out a breath he felt he had been holding since August.
[Ding!]
A translucent blue screen popped up in his field of vision.
[Reward: 10,000 System Points, 1x ’Golden Era’ Youth Academy Upgrade, 1x S-Rank Player Ticket.]
[Status: Claimed!]
Michael smiled, swiping the holographic screen away. "We did it..." he whispered to himself.
Before he could even process the magnitude of the System’s reward, a heavy weight crashed into his back.
"Boss~!"
It was Kaito Tanaka. The Japanese winger had literally jumped onto Michael’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck.
Kaito was covered in mud, sweat, and grass stains, but his face was glowing with pure, unadulterated joy.
"We did it, Boss! We’re playing against Real Madrid next year! Or Bayern! Or maybe Barcelona!" Kaito yelled, his voice cracking.
Michael staggered under the weight, laughing as he grabbed Kaito’s legs to steady him. "Only if you don’t break my spine first, Kaito! Get down!"
Suddenly, Enzo Moretti jogged over. The usually stoic Italian maestro looked completely disheveled. His perfect hair was ruined by the rain, and there were actual tears mixing with the water on his cheeks. He tried to wipe them away quickly, coughing into his fist to maintain his cool aura.
"The rain... it is very heavy today, Boss," Enzo sniffled, pointing at the sky. "It is getting in my eyes."
"Sure, Enzo. Just the rain," Michael grinned, pulling the Italian into a tight hug. Kaito hopped down and joined the embrace, sandwiching Michael in a wet, muddy huddle.
"This is not a stepping stone..." Enzo whispered, his voice thick with emotion, referencing their conversation in the sauna months ago. "This is destiny."
"Yo! Let’s go! Champions League vibes!" Jax slid across the wet grass on his knees, holding his phone out on a selfie stick, livestreaming to millions. "Chat, look at this! Look at the gaffer! He’s crying! The Boss is crying!"
"I am not crying, you absolute menace!" Michael laughed, reaching out to playfully shove the teenager’s phone away.
The stadium was shaking. The fans were singing the club anthem so loudly the ground literally vibrated under Michael’s stylish, soaking-wet shoes. It was a symphony of triumph. Against Pep Guardiola’s Manchester City. Against Mikel Arteta’s Arsenal. Against the millions of Chelsea and Manchester United... Barnsley had survived. They had thrived.
"Michael!"
Arthur Milton, Michael’s loyal, sugar-fueled assistant manager, was sprinting across the pitch. He was completely out of breath, his tie thrown over his shoulder, clutching a massive, half-empty bag of red jelly babies.
"Boss! We’re rich! The television rights! The UEFA prize money! Do you know how much this is worth?!" Arthur screamed over the crowd, his eyes wide with financial panic and joy.
"I know, Arthur, I know," Michael patted his assistant’s shoulder. "Take a breath. Have a jelly baby."
"I’ve had thirty!" Arthur wailed happily.
Thirty minutes later, the locker room was absolute chaos.
It smelled like expensive champagne, cheap deep-heat muscle rub, and sweat. Music with heavy bass was blasting from Jax’s giant Bluetooth speaker, rattling the lockers.
Pop!
A cork flew across the room, nearly taking off Arthur’s glasses. Enzo was standing on the massage table, spraying champagne everywhere while singing an old Juventus chant, but replacing the lyrics with Barnsley players’ names.
The door kicked open.
Kenji Sato, the billionaire owner, walked in. He wasn’t wearing a suit. He was wearing a custom-made, solid gold tracksuit, carrying a giant cardboard cutout of the Champions League trophy.
"My Misfits!" Kenji roared, lifting the cardboard trophy high. "We are massive! We are the greatest! Tomorrow, everyone gets a new car! No, wait... a boat! Everyone gets a boat!"
The players erupted into cheers, dog-piling the eccentric billionaire.
Michael stood near his locker, leaning against the cold metal, just watching them. His heart felt full. This was his team. He had built this from the ground up with the help of the System, but the System couldn’t make them love each other. The System couldn’t create this kind of spirit.
"Hey, Boss."
Michael turned. Kaito was standing there, holding a towel and his smartphone. He looked a little pouty, his lower lip pushed out in a comical sulk.
"What’s wrong, starboy?" Michael asked. "You just qualified for the biggest club tournament in the world."
Kaito sighed, showing Michael his phone screen. It was the final Premier League top scorers chart.
"Haaland scored a hat-trick against Everton today..." Kaito grumbled. "He is an alien, Boss. A literal robot. I checked his Wikipedia. I am sure he is made of metal."
Michael looked at the screen.
1. Erling Haaland (Man City) - 34 Goals
2. Kaito Tanaka (Barnsley) - 29 Goals
3. Bukayo Saka (Arsenal) - 22 Goals
4. Phil Foden (Man City) - 19 Goals
"Second place~" Kaito sighed. "In Japan, we say the second place is just the first loser."
Michael chuckled, putting a hand on the young winger’s shoulder. "Kaito, you scored twenty-nine goals in the hardest league in the world. You beat Saka. You beat Foden. You carried us when Enzo was injured, and you taught Jax how to cross the ball without making it a TikTok dance."
Kaito looked up, his eyes shining.
"Next year," Michael said softly, "We aim for the alien. We’re going to build a team around you that will feed you so many assists, Haaland will be complaining about you being a robot."
A massive, bright smile broke across Kaito’s face. "Gold hamstrings, Boss! Remember the gold hamstrings!"
"I remember," Michael laughed.
Suddenly, a heavy hand clapped Michael on the back. It was Bastion King, the giant, terrifying offensive coach. He was holding a protein shake and glaring at the dancing players.
"They’re too soft," Bastion growled, taking a sip of his sludge-colored shake. "They are celebrating fourth place. Weak mentality. Tomorrow, training at 5:00 AM. We run up the hills. We need to prepare for Bayern Munich."
Michael smiled. "Give them tonight, Bastion. They earned it. Let them be kids."
Bastion hmphed, though the corner of his lips twitched upwards. "Fine. But I am not getting on a boat with Kenji."
As the players started a conga line around the locker room—led by Jax and a very confused club chef—Michael closed his eyes and opened the System interface one last time for the season. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see the proof of their blood, sweat, and tears.
"System," Michael thought. "Show me the End of Season Summary."
[Ding!]
[Processing Final Season Statistics...]
[Generating Output...]
A massive, golden holographic screen materialized, listing the achievements of the chaotic, beautiful empire he had built.
[Barnsley FC - 2025/2026 Season Summary]
[League Position:] 4th Place (Champions League Qualification Secured!)
[Total Points:] 76 Points (23 Wins, 7 Draws, 8 Losses)
[Goals Scored:] 82 (2nd Highest in League)
[Goals Conceded:] 41
[Key Player Statistics:]
- Kaito Tanaka: 29 Goals, 11 Assists (Premier League Silver Boot Winner!)
- Enzo Moretti: 8 Goals, 19 Assists (Playmaker of the Season!)
- Jax: 12 Goals, 8 Assists, 4.2 Million New Followers.
[Manager Rating: S+]
[Fan Approval Rating: 99.9%] (0.1% disapproval from the local butcher who thinks Diego the dog eats too many free sausages).
[System Note:]
Congratulations, Host. You have successfully transformed a stepping-stone club into a true destination. The continent of Europe awaits. Warning: The difficulty multiplier will increase significantly next season. Please prepare your squad for Tuesday night lights under the Champions League anthem.
Michael read the final note and felt a thrilling shiver run down his spine.
The Champions League!
He looked at Kaito, who was currently trying to balance a champagne bottle on his head while Enzo cheered him on. He looked at Jax, who was recording Arthur eating jelly babies. He looked at Kenji, who was seriously trying to buy a yacht on his phone.
They were a mess. They were Misfits.
But they were his Misfits. And next season, Europe wouldn’t know what hit them.
"Alright, boys!" Michael clapped his hands loudly, stepping into the center of the room. The music died down slightly as they looked at their manager.
"Tonight, we celebrate!" Michael shouted, raising a water bottle high. "Tomorrow, we rest! But come August... we are going to war with the kings of Europe! To the Misfits!"
"TO THE MISFITS!" the locker room roared in unison.