Dynasty Awakening: Building My Own Football Empire

Chapter 299 299: FaceTime Pitch

The phone on the mahogany desk didn't look like a weapon of mass destruction, but it felt like one.It was an iPhone 15 Pro Max, encased in a cover that looked like a slice of pepperoni pizza. It belonged to Enzo Moretti.

Around it, the War Room at Barnsley's training complex was silent.

It was 11:00 PM in Yorkshire. It was 7:00 PM in Buenos Aires.

Michael Sterling sat in his leather chair, staring at the black screen. He was sweating. He had faced Real Madrid at the Bernabéu without blinking, but the prospect of calling a 17-year-old kid made him want to vomit.

"Boss," Arthur Milton whispered from the sofa, clutching a bag of Sour Patch Kids. "What if he hangs up? What if he doesn't speak English? What if he's eating dinner and we interrupt his steak?"

"Arthur," Michael hissed. "Shut the fuck up. You are vibrating. You are making the air nervous."

Kenji Sato was pacing by the window. The billionaire owner was wearing a silk kimono (he had started sleeping at the office). "Do not worry about the steak," Kenji muttered. "If he wants steak, I will buy him a cow. I will buy him a ranch. I will buy him the entire Pampas region."

"We are not buying a region, Kenji," Michael sighed. "We are selling a dream."

Enzo Moretti, the Italian Magician, was the only calm person in the room. He was sitting on the edge of the desk, sipping a tiny espresso that smelled like jet fuel.

"He is online," Enzo said, looking at the phone. "He just posted a story. He is playing FIFA."

"FIFA?" Michael perked up. "Good. That means he's distracted. Ambush time."

Enzo picked up the phone. He didn't dial a number. He opened Instagram. He hit the video call button.

Ringing...

Ringing...

The seconds stretched out like hours. Michael felt his heart hammering against his ribs. This wasn't just a transfer. This was the anointed one. The kid Messi called "The Next Generation."

Connecting...

The screen flickered.

A face appeared.

It was a kid. He looked impossibly young. He had messy dark hair, big brown eyes, and was wearing a River Plate hoodie. He was wearing a gaming headset around his neck.

"Enzo?" The kid asked. His voice was soft, surprised. "Moretti? Il Mago?"

Enzo grinned, leaning into the camera. "Ciao, Julian. Che succede? You winning?"

Julian Romero laughed. It was a nervous, fan-boy laugh. "No. I am losing. The servers are laggy. Why are you calling me? Is this a prank?"

"No prank, fratello," Enzo said smoothly. "I am just... hanging out. With my boss."

Enzo turned the phone.

Michael Sterling stared into the camera. He activated his Media Darling (S+) smile.

"Hola, Julian," Michael said.

On the screen, Julian's eyes went wide. He dropped his controller.

"Sterling?" Julian whispered. "The... The Purple Guy? The one who beat Madrid?"

"That's me," Michael winked. "The Purple Guy. Although my friends call me Michael. Or 'The Architect'."

"Holy shit," Julian breathed. "My dad watches your press conferences. He says you are crazy. Like Bielsa, but with better suits."

"Your dad has good taste," Michael chuckled. "Listen, Julian. Do you have a minute? Or are you too busy losing at FIFA?"

Julian sat up straighter. "I have time. But... my agent says I cannot talk to clubs. Manchester City is calling tomorrow. Pep Guardiola sent me a PowerPoint presentation."

Michael felt a spike of adrenaline. A PowerPoint presentation. Of course. Pep would send a fucking spreadsheet.

"Julian," Michael said, his voice dropping an octave. "Let me guess. The PowerPoint had graphs? It had possession stats? It showed you exactly where you would stand on the pitch for the next five years?"

Julian blinked. "Yes. It had a heat map. It was... very detailed."

Michael leaned in closer to the phone.

"That is because Pep wants a robot," Michael said softly. "He wants a machine. He wants to program you. Click, click, pass. Stand here. Run there. Win trophy. Repeat."

He paused for effect.

"Is that you, Julian? Are you a robot?"

Julian frowned. He looked at his hands. "No. I like to dribble. I like to... invent."

"Exactly," Michael slammed his hand on the desk (gently). "You are an artist. And artists die in factories. Manchester City is a factory. Real Madrid is a museum."

"And Barnsley?" Julian asked, a spark of defiance in his eyes. "What is Barnsley? It is in the rain. It is cold. Nobody goes there on holiday."

"Barnsley," Michael grinned, "is a pirate ship."

Arthur Milton let out a small squeak from the sofa. Kenji stopped pacing.

"A pirate ship?" Julian repeated.

"Yes. We are Misfits, Julian. We are the guys nobody wanted. Look at Enzo." Michael pointed the camera at the Italian. "Barcelona said he was too slow. Now he runs the midfield at the Bernabeu."

He pointed the camera at the empty chair where Diego usually sat. "We have a defender who eats corner flags. We have a winger with hamstrings made of titanium. We are chaos, Julian. And in chaos, there are no rules."

Julian was listening now. Really listening. The FIFA game on his screen had timed out.

"But," Julian hesitated. "Messi said... he said I am the next generation. The pressure... it is heavy. Everyone expects me to be him."

Michael saw the fear in the kid's eyes. It was the same fear he had seen in Arthur a year ago. The crushing weight of expectation.

"Julian," Michael said softly. "Messi is wrong."

The room gasped. Arthur choked on a Sour Patch Kid.

"He is wrong?" Julian whispered. "He is God."

"He is a legend," Michael corrected. "But he is wrong about one thing. You are not the next Messi. You are the first Julian Romero."

Julian stayed silent.

"If you go to City, you will be compared to Silva. If you go to Madrid, you will be compared to Modric. But if you come here?"

Michael looked directly into the lens.

"You build your own throne. We don't have a number 10, Julian. The shirt is empty. It's waiting for you."

Julian looked down. He was biting his lip.

"My agent... he wants the money. City offers £200,000 a week."

Kenji Sato suddenly jumped into the frame. He shoved his face next to Michael's.

"I offer £201,000!" Kenji shouted. "And a house! And a boat! Do you like boats, Julian? I have a swan pedalo!"

"Kenji, get out!" Michael pushed the billionaire away. "Sorry, Julian. That is our owner. He is very rich and very unstable."

Julian laughed. A real laugh this time. "He looks fun. Pep does not look fun. Pep looks like he eats plain yogurt."

"He definitely eats plain yogurt," Michael agreed. "Look, Julian. I'm not going to send you a PowerPoint. I'm not going to promise you trophies every year. But I promise you this."

Michael's System Interface flickered.

[SKILL ACTIVATED: CHARISMATIC LEADER (S+)]

[TARGET EMOTION: CURIOSITY -> DESIRE]

"If you come to Barnsley," Michael whispered. "You will never be bored. And you will never walk alone. Because if anyone touches you, Diego Nunez will eat them."

Julian smiled. "The bald guy? I saw him headbutt the post. He is legend."

"He is ready to be your bodyguard," Michael promised.

There was a long silence on the line. The connection crackled.

"Michael," Julian said slowly. "I... I like the pirate ship. I like the chaos."

"But?" Michael sensed the 'but' coming.

"But I need to see it," Julian said. "My dad... he says talk is cheap. He says, 'Show me'."

"Show you what?"

"You play Dortmund next week. The Yellow Wall. It is scary. My dad says Barnsley was lucky against Madrid. He says the carriage will turn back into a pumpkin."

Michael felt a cold steel settle in his stomach. The doubt. The skepticism. It was fuel.

"So," Michael said. "If we beat Dortmund... you come?"

Julian nodded. "If you beat Dortmund, I tell my agent to fuck off. I come to Barnsley."

"And if we lose?"

"Then I go to the yogurt factory," Julian shrugged apologetically. "I cannot join a sinking ship, Michael. I want to win."

"Fair enough," Michael said. "Deal."

"Deal," Julian smiled. "Good luck, Arquitecto. I will be watching."

The screen went black.

The Aftermath

The room exploded.

"YES!" Kenji screamed, high-fiving the air. "WE HAVE HIM! THE PRINCE IS COMING!"

"We don't have him yet!" Arthur yelled, picking himself up off the floor. "We have to beat Dortmund! Do you know who they have? They have Adeyemi! They have Sabitzer! They have fans who scream for ninety minutes without breathing!"

"Arthur, breathe," Michael ordered, slumping back into his chair. He felt exhausted.

Enzo Moretti pocketed his phone. He looked smug.

"He likes you, Boss," Enzo said, finishing his espresso. "He thinks you are pazzo. Crazy. Argentineans love crazy."

"He wants us to beat Dortmund," Michael muttered, staring at the blank screen. "No pressure. Just the future of the entire Dynasty riding on ninety minutes."

"We can do it," Kenji said, suddenly serious. "We have the money. We have the players. We have the vibes."

"Vibes don't stop counter-attacks, Kenji," Michael sighed.

He stood up and walked to the window. The Yorkshire night was pitch black.

He thought about Julian Romero. The kid was the missing piece. The creative spark that could turn Barnsley from a chaotic underdog into a European superpower.

But to get him, they had to climb another mountain.

"System," Michael whispered.

[MISSION UPDATE: THE HEIR TO THE THRONE]

[NEW OBJECTIVE: DEFEAT BORUSSIA DORTMUND]

[CONDITION: WIN AT ALL COSTS]

[REWARD: JULIAN ROMERO (SSS POTENTIAL)]

[FAILURE CONSEQUENCE: THE DREAM DIES]

"No pressure," Michael repeated, a grim smile forming on his face.

He turned back to the room.

"Arthur, call Diego," Michael commanded.

"Why, Boss? It's midnight."

"Tell him to start sharpening his head," Michael said, his eyes burning with a dangerous light. "We have a German wall to break down. And I need a wrecking ball."

"On it, Boss," Arthur saluted.

"And Kenji?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"Buy the swan pedalo. Julian is going to need it."

Kenji grinned. "I'll buy two."