Discovery

1 Hour Later

Edward's Apartment

"Ugh, goddamn it, that was super long," Edward groans, stretching his back and reaching his hands as far behind him as possible.

"I think I did well. The design might be a bit iffy, but everything else looks good," he remarks, glancing at the piece of paper on his table.

The paper contains the team name, stadium name, team colors, and the uniform design. He has chosen "Titans FC" as the team name, inspired by Greek mythology. The stadium is named "Mount Olympus," and the crest features Atlas carrying the globe, symbolizing endurance. The team colors are black and white. The home uniform is a black kit adorned with a white, paint-like design and the team's crest on the chest. The away jersey is blue with a light blue wave pattern, while the alternate uniform mirrors the home design, replacing white with gold.

[IMAGE]

"Time to send it," he says, pulling out his phone to snap a picture of the paper before sending it to the secretary's number.

In less than ten seconds, the "delivered" status under the message turns to "seen," and a new message arrives.

Scary Boss Secretary: The maximum budget the president has allocated to the club is 100 million pounds.

Scary Boss Secretary: 40 million will be deducted for the stadium, 10 for personnel, lodgings, and buildings, another 10 for purchasing land, and the remaining funds will be used for transfers, wages, and other expenses.

Noticing she's not typing anymore, Edward hurriedly responds.

Edward: Thank you.

Scary Boss Secretary: I'm not done yet.

Scary Boss Secretary: There will be a mass testing in three months. That's when everything related to the club will be finalized. You and the other coaches we hire will test out and select the players you need. The wages are up to you to figure out.

Scary Boss Secretary: I hope you don't fail the president's expectations; the consequences will be severe.

"What a scary woman" He mutters.After waiting a full twenty seconds without a response, Edward quickly sends another thank you before stepping out of his apartment, dressed in light joggers and a top, thinking about going for a walk.

I can't believe I'm actually doing this, he thinks as he strolls down the street, his mind wandering to what Lily had told him.

Three months should bring us to June. The 2013 season starts in mid-August, so that gives me about a month for assimilation and training, he muses, looking up just in time to see a man jogging ahead of him. Instantly, the stats of the man appear in his mind.

Status: Small Street Footballer

Form: Average

Pass: 58

Shot: 59

Pace: 70

Dribbling: 63

Def: 54

Physical: 74

Leadership: 54

Coaching: 20

Management: 10

Scout: 10

Overall: 65

Potential: 67

A moment of silence passes in Edward's mind as he watches the man jog past him, his thoughts a jumbled mess. What the hell were those stats? Why are there overall and potential ratings? What's with this status and form?

To confirm he isn't imagining things, he glances at the man again, and the stats remain the same. He checks the stats of other people on the street, and they show similar attributes, narrowing down the similarities between the three.

"They're either involved in some kind of football activity or aspiring to be footballers," he mutters as he walks into a nearby store, his stomach growling for something to eat.

Another realization struck him during his earlier experiment : when focusing, he can see the attributes comprising each stat. For instance, the pass stat includes vision, short pass, and long pass, among others (for reference, check out FC24 or similar stat systems).

"Man, with powers like this, I should be a scout instead of a coach," he mutters, heading to the snack aisle while scratching his head in frustration. Although he jokes about it, coaching has always been his dream—to lead a team to the top and etch his name in glory. He's not about to give up just because of his newfound powers; instead, he intends to leverage them fully and become one of the best coaches the world has ever seen.

"Excuse me, sir, is that all you're buying?" a deep male voice asks, snapping Edward out of his thoughts. He looks around to see he's already at the counter, the snacks he selected laid out in front of him.

"Yeah, that's all. Sorry about that," Edward replies, offering the cashier an apologetic smile as he pulls out his wallet to pay. Without asking, the stats of the cashier flash before his eyes.

Status: Prospect with What It Takes to Reach the Top

Form: Poor

Pass: 85

Shot: 77

Pace: 76

Dribbling: 78

Physical: 79

Leadership: 82

Defense: 63

Spatial Awareness:locked(S)

Overall: 82

Potential: SSS

'Huh? Huh? What??? The fuck?!' Confusion floods Edward's mind as he struggles to comprehend the stats he's seeing. This is the best football-related stat he's encountered since gaining his powers. Even without seeing some of the pros in the current league, he can tell this player is likely exceptional. 'SSS?? How did numbers turn to letters? He has locked stats? S rank? Oh my god, I think I might faint!'

"Sir, that's a total of three pounds," the cashier says, snapping Edward out of his stupor. He clumsily searches through his wallet, eventually pulling out a five-pound note and handing it over.

The cashier takes the note, opens the register, and looks for change.

"Sorry, but what's your name?" Edward asks, deciding not to let someone like this slip through his fingers.

"Dylan Reeves," the man replies, his words carrying a subtle accent that Edward picks up on.

"You're from America?" Edward inquires, slipping his wallet back into his pocket while watching Dylan efficiently handle the register.

"Half American, half Welsh," Dylan answers, taking out a two-pound coin and handing it to Edward.

"Have you ever played football before?" Edward asks, taking the coin. His question causes Dylan's lips to tighten slightly before returning to their neutral expression.

"I did, for a little while, but I had to stop due to… circumstances," Dylan replies, his voice noticeably lower.

"Oh, really? Then this makes it easier," Edward says, oblivious to Dylan's shift in tone. He looks around the counter for a moment before spotting a pen and paper. Grabbing them, he quickly jots down his name and number. "Here, this is my contact info. I haven't seen you play yet, but just from your build, I can tell you're a solid player. I'm starting a club, and we need excellent players like you. You'd be a great addition, so don't hesitate—call me when you've thought it over."

Not waiting for a response, Edward dashes out of the store, not slowing down for a second. 'I need to get that guy,' he thinks, his mind racing. 'Even without that insane potential, his passing and unique stats are exactly what I need on the team. And with that leadership… I might've just found the one to lead us to the top. Now I just have to figure out how to hire him.'

The entire walk home is spent brainstorming ways to recruit Dylan, but by the time Edward arrives at his apartment, he still hasn't come up with a solid plan. 'Damn it. I'll just visit him often and try to learn more,' he decides, kicking off his shoes as he trudges to his bedroom.

"Wheeee!" he shouts, jumping onto his bed. The soft cushion pulls him toward sleep, and for the first time, he has a moment to digest everything that's happened. 'Wow. I'm actually going to own a club and go head-to-head with established coaches. Thinking about it now… it's kinda scary, especially with my life on the line here.'

His heavy eyelids prevent him from dwelling on the thought for long. 'Whatever. What's done is done. I just have to make sure I don't fail—and I've already seen the first step', he thinks, drifting into sleep, a smile spreading across his face.