Dynasty Awakening: Building My Own Football Empire

Chapter 305 305: Like blood

The digital clock in the Barnsley changing room flashed 05:58 AM.Outside, the Yorkshire sky was pitch black. The rain wasn't falling; it was being fired at the earth by an angry god. It was the kind of weather that made ducks reconsider their life choices.

Inside, the squad sat in stunned silence.

They were used to 10 AM starts. They were used to pre-activation massages, warm espressos made by Enzo, and a gentle jog while discussing which nightclub in Leeds had the best VIP area.

Today, there were no espressos. There were no masseurs.

There was only Bastion King.

The new offensive coach stood by the door. He wasn't wearing the official club tracksuit. He was wearing a grey wool jumper that smelled of wet dog and tobacco, combat trousers, and boots that looked like they had kicked a tank to death.

He held a stopwatch in one hand and a whistle in the other.

"You look pretty," Bastion growled, breaking the silence. His voice sounded like a cement mixer full of gravel.

He pointed at Jax. The Brazilian prodigy was wearing neon pink gloves and a matching snood.

"Take it off," Bastion barked.

"But Coach!" Jax protested, shivering. "My brand! The pink is my signature! It is for the vibes!"

"Vibes don't keep you warm, boy," Bastion walked over, towering over the teenager. "Running keeps you warm. Hate keeps you warm. Take. It. Off."

Jax gulped and slowly peeled off the gloves.

Bastion turned to the rest of the room. Kaito Tanaka was trying to hide behind Lars Jensen. Diego Nunez was the only one smiling, currently headbutting his locker to wake up.

"Listen to me," Bastion said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. "You beat Real Madrid. Congratulations. You got a nice little trophy in your head. You think you are big men now. You think you are Galacticos."

He spat on the floor.

"You are nothing. You are soft. You are pudding."

"I like pudding," Arthur Milton whispered from the corner, where he was wrapped in three coats.

"Shut up, jelly man," Bastion snapped without looking. "Out. Everyone. Now."

The Hill of Death

They didn't go to the pristine, heated hybrid-grass pitch that Kenji Sato had spent millions installing.

Bastion led them out the back gate, past the car park, to a muddy hill that overlooked the M1 motorway. It was steep, covered in thistles, and currently turning into a mudslide.

At the bottom of the hill lay a pile of logs. Not gym equipment. Actual logs. Rough, heavy, splinter-filled pieces of tree.

"What is this?" Enzo Moretti asked, looking at his expensive boots with horror. "Where is the ball? I do not play lumberjack simulator."

"The ball is a privilege," Bastion shouted over the wind. "You earn the ball. Right now, you don't deserve leather. You deserve wood."

He pointed up the hill.

"Pick a log. Run to the top. Run back down. If you drop it, you start again. If you vomit, do it away from my boots."

"This is illegal!" Jax screamed. "I call my agent! This is abuse!"

"Your agent is asleep!" Bastion roared. "GO!"

Michael Sterling stood at the top of the hill, holding a large umbrella over Arthur. He watched as his multi-million pound squad scrambled for the logs.

It was chaos.

Lars Jensen (The Wall) picked up the biggest log. He put it on his shoulder like it was a toothpick and started marching up the hill. He looked like a Viking going to build a boat.

"This is good!" Lars shouted. "Good for core!"

Diego Nunez picked up two logs. One for each shoulder. He sprinted past Lars, screaming.

"I AM THE KING OF THE FOREST!" Diego howled.

But the others...

Jax slipped face-first into the mud within three seconds. His neon hair turned brown.

Kaito Tanaka was struggling. He was fast, but he wasn't strong. The log was heavy. He was panting, slipping, his Titanium Hamstrings burning in the cold.

Enzo Moretti refused to run. He walked. With dignity. Holding the log like a fine wine.

"Come on, lads!" Michael shouted from the top. "Think of Dortmund! Think of the Butcher!"

"Fuck the Butcher!" Victor Osimhen wheezed, halfway up. "I want my bed!"

For an hour, it was hell. They ran. They slipped. They cursed.

Bastion King stood at the bottom, arms crossed, looking like a statue of disappointment.

"Faster!" he yelled. "My pigeons fly faster than you! And they have tiny brains!"

Finally, he blew the whistle.

PEEEP.

The players collapsed in the mud at the bottom of the hill. They were ruined. Covered in filth, gasping for air, steaming in the cold rain.

Bastion walked into the middle of the pile of bodies.

"Get up," he said quietly.

Nobody moved.

"I SAID GET UP!" Bastion roared.

They scrambled to their feet, swaying like drunkards.

Bastion looked at them. He walked up to Jax, who was wiping mud from his eyes.

"You're tired?" Bastion asked.

"Yes," Jax whispered.

"Good. Dortmund doesn't care."

Bastion turned to the group. This was it. The speech Michael had hired him for.

"I watched the Madrid game," Bastion said. "You got lucky. You survived because you were scared. You parked the bus because you didn't think you belonged on that pitch."

He paced the line.

"But next week? The Yellow Wall comes here. They will run at you for ninety minutes. They will try to break you. And if you play like little boys who want to make TikToks... they will fucking destroy you."

He stopped in front of Kaito.

"You want to be a legend? You want to be a Dynasty?"

He grabbed Kaito's muddy shirt.

"Then you have to stop playing like a victim. Stop looking for the foul. Stop looking for the easy pass."

He let go and turned to the whole group.

"HERE!" Bastion screamed, his voice cracking with intensity. "EVERY ONE OF YOU MUST PLAY AS A MAN! YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

The wind howled.

"I don't care about your skills," Bastion growled. "I don't care about your followers. I care about your balls. When your lungs are burning, when your legs are dead, when the German giant is breathing down your neck... do you fold? Or do you fight?"

He looked at Diego.

"Diego fights. Lars fights."

He looked at Enzo.

"Enzo creates. But creation without destruction is just decoration."

He pointed to the hill.

"That hill is Dortmund. It doesn't care if you're tired. It doesn't care if it's raining. You climb it because you have to."

He kicked a log.

"We are not Misfits anymore. Misfits is a cute name for losers. We are Wolves. And Wolves hunt."

Bastion stared at them. His blue eyes were blazing.

"Now," he said softly. "Go shower. Get the mud off. Training starts in two hours. And this time... bring your boots."

He turned and walked away, back towards the complex, leaving the stunned squad in the rain.

The Aftermath

Michael Sterling lowered his umbrella. He looked at Arthur.

Arthur was pale. He was trembling.

"Boss," Arthur whispered. "I think I wet myself. Is that normal?"

"With Bastion? Yes, Arthur. It's a survival mechanism."

Michael walked down the hill to his players.

They were silent. But something had changed.

Jax wasn't complaining about his hair anymore. He was staring at the retreating figure of Bastion King with a look of pure, terrified respect.

Kaito Tanaka wiped the mud from his face. He looked at the log he had just carried.

"He is right," Kaito said quietly.

"What?" Victor asked, stretching his back.

"We played scared in Madrid," Kaito admitted. "We celebrated a 1-0 win like we won the lottery. But Real Madrid... they were angry they lost. They expected to win."

Kaito looked at Michael.

"Boss. I don't want to be a Misfit. I want to be a Wolf."

Diego Nunez walked over. He was covered in so much mud he looked like a swamp monster. He put a heavy hand on Kaito's shoulder.

"Then we hunt," Diego grunted. "We hunt the yellow bees."

Enzo Moretti sighed. He looked at his ruined Gucci boots.

"My shoes are dead," Enzo mourned. "But... the old man has fire. I like fire."

Michael smiled. It was a grim, satisfied smile.

"Go get cleaned up," Michael ordered. "And eat something. You're going to need it."

The Office

An hour later, Michael walked into his office. Bastion King was sitting in his chair, eating a raw apple with a knife.

"Get out of my chair, Bastion," Michael said, closing the door.

Bastion didn't move. "Comfortable chair. Too soft. Makes your ass weak."

"My ass is fine, thank you."

Bastion stood up and moved to the sofa.

"Well?" Michael asked. "What do you think?"

"They're soft," Bastion grunted. "The Brazilian kid... Jax. He has talent, but he plays like he's in a video game. He thinks if he messes up, he can just restart."

"And Kaito?"

"Fast. But fragile. He needs to trust his body. He runs like he's afraid he'll break."

"And Diego?"

Bastion actually smiled. It was a terrifying sight.

"The bald one? He's mental. I love him. If I had eleven of him, I'd win the World Cup without a goalkeeper."

Michael sat down at his desk. He opened his laptop.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[TRAINING SESSION COMPLETE]

[SQUAD MENTALITY SHIFT: +15% AGGRESSION]

[TRAIT GAINED: 'WOLF PACK' - Players gain stamina boost when pressing together.]

[ARTHUR MILTON STRESS LEVEL: CRITICAL]

"It worked," Michael murmured.

"Of course it worked," Bastion scoffed. "Fear works. Pain works."

He pointed the knife at Michael.

"But be careful, Sterling. You unleash the wolves, you have to feed them. If we don't beat Dortmund... they'll turn on you."

Michael looked out the window. The rain had stopped. The sun was trying to break through the grey clouds.

He thought about Julian Romero. He thought about The Butcher waiting in Argentina. He thought about the 60,000 fans who would pack the stadium on Tuesday.

"Let them turn," Michael said softly. "I'd rather be eaten by wolves than die as a sheep."

Bastion laughed. A deep, barking laugh.

"Good lad. Now, do you have any jelly babies? That little nervous man hides them in his desk."

"Top drawer," Michael pointed. "Help yourself."

Bastion opened the drawer, grabbed a handful of sweets, and popped them into his mouth.

"The Red ones are the best," Bastion noted. "Like blood."

"Like blood," Michael agreed.