naaapseattle Chapter 296 296: Bald Real Estate Agent
Chapter 296 296: Bald Real Estate Agent
Two days had passed since the miracle at the Bernabéu. Barnsley was still drunk.The pubs were empty because everyone was asleep, and the streets were covered in purple confetti that the council had given up trying to sweep away.
Michael Sterling sat at the kitchen island of Kenji Sato's mansion. He was wearing a bathrobe that cost more than his first car and eating a piece of toast that tasted like cardboard because he was too tired to put butter on it.
"You look terrible," Sarah said, walking in with a pot of coffee. She looked fresh, radiant, and annoyingly awake.
"I feel like I went twelve rounds with Tyson Fury," Michael groaned, accepting the coffee like it was the Holy Grail. "And then Tyson Fury invited Diego Nunez to jump on my stomach."
"Diego is actually outside," Sarah noted casually, pouring herself a cup. "He's wrestling Kenji's dog in the pool."
Michael choked on his coffee. "He's what?"
"Wrestling. The dog is winning, I think."
Michael rubbed his face. "Of course he is. It's Thursday. Thursday is wrestling day."
Just then, the double doors swung open. Kenji Sato strode in. The billionaire owner wasn't wearing a bathrobe. He was wearing a three-piece suit that screamed 'I just bought a small country for fun.'
"Michael!" Kenji boomed, slamming a glossy brochure onto the marble counter. "Pack your bags. We are leaving."
"Leaving?" Michael blinked. "Kenji, we have Dortmund next week. I can't go to the Maldives."
"Not the Maldives, you idiot," Kenji tapped the brochure. "We are going house hunting. You are a Global Icon now. An S-Tier Manager. You cannot live in my guest room anymore. It's embarrassing for the brand."
Michael looked around the kitchen. "I like the guest room. The bed vibrates."
"The bed vibrates because Arthur hides under it when thunder strikes," Kenji deadpanned. "You need a castle, Michael. A fortress. A place where you can plot world domination without hearing Arthur snore."
Michael sighed. He knew that look in Kenji's eyes. It was the same look he had when he decided to buy a League One football club. There was no fighting it.
"Fine," Michael said, sliding off the stool. "But if I see one gold toilet, I'm leaving."
The House Hunt
An hour later, a convoy of black Range Rovers was winding through the Yorkshire countryside.
In the lead car: Michael, Kenji, Sarah, and Arthur Milton (who was clutching a packet of jelly babies for emotional support).
In the second car: Diego Nunez. He had invited himself. He claimed he had "an eye for defensive structures."
House Number 1: The Glass Box.
The first property was a modern monstrosity made entirely of glass and steel. It sat on a hill, looking like an Apple Store that had crash-landed in a sheep field.
The real estate agent, a nervous man named Nigel, was sweating profusely. He had recognized Michael immediately.
"Mr. Sterling! An honor! This property features floor-to-ceiling windows, underfloor heating, and a smart-home system controlled by voice."
"Voice controlled?" Arthur squeaked. "What if I sneeze? Will the lights go out?"
"No, sir," Nigel smiled weakly.
Michael walked through the living room. It was cold. It was sterile. It felt like a dentist's waiting room.
"It's too open," a deep voice grunted from the doorway.
Diego Nunez walked in. He was wearing sunglasses indoors and a tight t-shirt that said 'I EAT ATTACKERS'.
"Diego," Michael sighed. "What's wrong with it?"
"Too much glass," Diego said, tapping a window. "Snipers can see you. Haaland can see you. No privacy. Also, where do I roast the pig?"
"We don't roast pigs indoors, Diego," Sarah pointed out gently.
"I do," Diego stated. "This house is shit. Next."
Nigel the agent looked like he wanted to cry.
House Number 2: The Haunted Manor.
The second property was the opposite. It was an old Victorian manor house, covered in ivy and gloom. It had turrets. It had gargoyles. It definitely had ghosts.
"Now this," Kenji beamed, "is a statement. It says 'I am a vampire lord who manages football on the weekends'."
They walked into the grand hall. Dust motes danced in the light. The floorboards creaked ominously.
"It smells like my grandmother's attic," Michael muttered.
"It smells like history!" Kenji countered. "Imagine the parties, Michael! The masquerade balls!"
"Imagine the heating bill," Michael shot back.
Arthur was clinging to Michael's sleeve. "Boss, I don't like it. The gargoyle looked at me. It winked."
"It's stone, Arthur."
"Stone things are the worst kind of things!"
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.
CRASH.
Arthur screamed and jumped into Kenji's arms.
They ran to the kitchen.
Diego Nunez was standing there, holding a broken cabinet door.
"Wood is weak," Diego reported. "I test for intruders. Intruders would break this in two seconds. Also, mice."
He pointed to a small mouse scurrying across the floor.
"Aww," Sarah cooed. "It's cute."
"It is protein," Diego said, licking his lips.
"Okay!" Michael shouted. "We are leaving! Before Diego eats the local wildlife!"
House Number 3: The Sanctuary.
They had been driving for two hours. Michael was tired. Arthur was in a sugar coma. Kenji was getting frustrated.
"One last place," Kenji said, checking his phone. "It's not on the market yet. Jean-Pierre found it. It belongs to a retired rock star."
They turned off the main road, down a long, winding gravel driveway lined with ancient oak trees. The trees were thick, blocking out the world. It felt private. It felt secure.
The driveway opened up.
And there it was.
It wasn't a glass box. It wasn't a haunted castle.
It was a sprawling, modern farmhouse built of warm Yorkshire stone. It had huge windows, but they looked out onto a private lake. It had a massive garden that rolled down to the water. It had a separate annex that looked perfect for a gym (or a jelly baby storage facility).
"Whoa," Michael breathed.
They stepped out of the car. The air was quiet here. No traffic. No fans. Just birdsong and the sound of the wind in the trees.
"This is it," Sarah whispered, grabbing Michael's arm. "Michael, look at the light."
They walked inside. It was open-plan but cozy. Wooden beams. Stone fireplaces. A kitchen big enough to feed an entire football team (or just Diego).
Michael walked out onto the terrace overlooking the lake. He took a deep breath.
For the first time since the season started, the noise in his head stopped. The tactics, the transfers, the xG, the pressure... it all faded.
He felt the System hum in the back of his mind.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
[LOCATION DETECTED: POTENTIAL SANCTUARY]
[COMPATIBILITY: 100%]
[PASSIVE EFFECT: 'THE WAR ROOM' - Recovery speed +20% when sleeping here.]
"The System likes it," Michael murmured.
"I like it too," a voice said beside him.
It was Diego. The bald defender leaned on the railing, looking at the lake. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses anymore. He looked surprisingly peaceful.
"Water is good," Diego said. "Calm. Good for thinking about violence."
"Glad you approve, Diego."
"And look," Diego pointed to a flat area of grass near the water. "Perfect for Asado. Big fire. Whole cow."
"We can negotiate the cow," Michael laughed.
Arthur wandered out, chewing a yellow jelly baby. "Boss, the cinema room has bean bags. And the fridge makes ice in the shape of cubes and crushed. It's technology from the future."
"It's a fridge, Arthur."
"It's a spaceship, Boss."
Kenji walked out last, holding a bottle of champagne he had found in the car (he always traveled with emergency champagne).
"Well?" Kenji asked, popping the cork. It flew into the lake, startling a duck.
Michael looked at his friends. The billionaire who believed in him. The assistant who feared everything but loyalty. The defender who was a psychopath with a heart of gold. And Sarah, who was smiling at him from the doorway, knowing exactly what he needed.
"How much?" Michael asked.
"Three million," Kenji said casually. "Pocket change. I'll lend you the money. Interest-free. You pay me back in Champions League trophies."
Michael took the glass of champagne.
"Deal."
The Move
Two days later, Michael was standing in the middle of his empty living room.
The boxes were unpacked. The furniture—chosen by Sarah, thank god—was in place.
It was night. The house was silent.
He walked to the massive window and looked out at the dark lake, reflecting the moon.
He wasn't in a guest room anymore. He wasn't a lower-league manager scraping by.
He was Michael Sterling. The Architect. The man who beat Real Madrid. And now, the man with a mortgage.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table.
MESSAGE FROM: KAITO TANAKA
"Boss! Arthur says you have a lake. Can I come over? I bought a boat. It is a swan pedalo."
MESSAGE FROM: JAX
"Yo Boss! Housewarming party? I bring the vibes. Diego brings the meat. Let's goooo!"
Michael chuckled. He typed a reply to the group chat.
"Sunday. Barbecue. Diego is cooking. If anyone breaks a window, they are training with the U18s for a month."
He put the phone down.
He walked to the fridge (the spaceship one). He opened it. It was stocked with water, protein shakes, and a suspiciously large bag of jelly babies Arthur had left as a "housewarming gift."
He grabbed a water. He sat on his new sofa.
He closed his eyes.
[SYSTEM UPDATE]
[HOME BASE ESTABLISHED]
[MENTAL FATIGUE: RECOVERING...]
[READY FOR NEXT MATCH: BORUSSIA DORTMUND]
"Home," Michael whispered.