Dynasty Awakening: Building My Own Football Empire-Chapter 221: One week to change the world

Diego Nunez was at the front. The giant defender was skipping. He was singing a song that did not have words just loud happy noises.

Sergio Ramos was next. The captain. He had won the World Cup. He had won the Champions League. But today he looked like a child on Christmas morning.

Arthur Milton walked next to Michael. Arthur was crying. He was not hiding it.

"Boss," Arthur sniffed. "My legs are shaking. Is this real? Did Amara really turn into a Ferrari? Did Diego really use his brain?"

"It is real Arthur," Michael said putting a hand on his shoulder. "We are here. We climbed the mountain."

They reached the top.

The Prince of Wales was there. He shook the hand of Sergio Ramos. He gave him the trophy.

The FA Cup.

It was silver. It was heavy. It had ribbons of purple and white on the handles.

Ramos took it. He turned to the team. He turned to the crowd of 40,000 Barnsley fans below.

He did not lift it yet.

He looked at Michael.

"Boss," Ramos said. "Come here."

"No," Michael said shaking his head. "This is for the players."

"Come here Papa Michael!" Diego Nunez shouted. He grabbed Michael by the suit jacket and pulled him to the front.

Michael stood in the center. The Misfits surrounded him.

Ramos handed the trophy to Michael.

"Together," Ramos said.

Michael placed his hands on the cool silver metal. He felt the vibration of the roaring crowd.

"One," Ramos counted. "Two. Three!"

Michael lifted the cup.

ROAR.

The sound was not human. It was the sound of a city releasing thirty years of pain. Confetti exploded. Gold and purple streamers filled the air.

Michael looked through the silver ribbons. He saw the fans. He saw the flags. He saw Kenji the billionaire dancing on a plastic chair in the VIP box.

He closed his eyes for one second.

We did it Gabriel, Michael thought. We got the shiny thing.

THE PITCH PARTY

They went back down to the pitch.

The serious part was over. Now it was chaos.

Diego Nunez put the lid of the trophy on his head like a hat. It was too small. It balanced precariously on his bald head.

"LOOK AT ME!" Diego shouted running in circles. "I AM THE QUEEN!"

Jean Luc Dubois sat on the grass. He was holding the base of the trophy. He was taking a selfie.

"Cheese," Jean Luc said to the camera. "Big silver cheese."

Amara was surrounded by photographers. The winger who had been broken by Chelsea was now the hero of Wembley. He was smiling so hard his face looked like it hurt.

"You fast car!" Victor Osimhen shouted hugging Amara. "You drove us home!"

Michael stood near the goal post. He watched them.

This was the reward. The sleepless nights. The stress. The media attacks. The doubt.

It was all worth it to see Diego Nunez wearing a silver lid as a hat.

Arthur Milton walked over. He was holding a bottle of champagne. He looked mischievous.

"No Arthur," Michael warned. "My suit is expensive."

"Sorry Boss," Arthur grinned. "Tradition is tradition."

He shook the bottle. He sprayed Michael.

Michael did not run. He let the cold sticky liquid hit him. He laughed.

"Okay," Michael said wiping his eyes. "You win Arthur. Now give me the bottle."

THE LOCKER ROOM SILENCE

One hour later the team was back in the dressing room.

The music was loud. The floor was wet. There were pizza boxes everywhere.

But then Michael walked to the center of the room. He turned the music down.

The players stopped dancing. They sat down on the benches. They looked at their manager.

They were champions. But they saw the look in the eyes of Michael Sterling. It was not just a happy look. It was a serious look.

Michael held the FA Cup in his hands. He placed it on the table in the middle of the room.

The metal clunked against the wood.

"Look at it," Michael said softly.

The players looked.

"It is beautiful," Leo Stone whispered.

"It is heavy," Diego added.

"It is yours," Michael said. "Nobody can take this away from you. You are legends of Barnsley forever."

He paused. He walked around the table.

"But I want to tell you something. I want to tell you why we are here."

"Because we scored two goals," Jean Luc suggested.

"No," Michael said. "We are here because we lost."

The room went deadly quiet.

THE GOOSEBUMPS TALK

Michael looked at Diego Nunez.

"Do you remember Anfield?" Michael asked. "Do you remember the league game three weeks ago? Do you remember the rain?"

Diego nodded slowly. "I remember. The ball hit my leg. I cried."

"Yes," Michael said. "We lost in the 95th minute. It broke our hearts. The media laughed at us. They said the Misfits were dead."

Michael looked at Amara.

"Do you remember Chelsea?" Michael asked. "Do you remember Mudryk running past you? Do you remember feeling like you wanted to quit football?"

Amara looked at the floor. "I remember Boss."

Michael raised his voice.

"Those moments were painful. They were agony. I went home and I sat in the dark. I know you did too."

"But listen to me closely."

Michael slammed his hand on the table next to the trophy. The sound made everyone jump.

"We did not win this Cup today because Amara is fast. We did not win because Diego used his brain. We won because we suffered."

"If we had beaten Liverpool in the league we would have been arrogant today. We would have been soft. We would have thought we were kings already."

"But the loss at Anfield... it cut us. It made us bleed. And that blood turned into fire."

He looked into the eyes of Victor Osimhen.

"Why do we fall?" Michael asked.

"To learn to pick ourselves up," Osimhen said softly.

"Exactly," Michael said. "We lost to learn how to win. We lost to kill the boys inside us and give birth to the men sitting here today."

"The deflection off Diego leg was not bad luck. It was a lesson. It taught us that one second of lost focus can destroy a dream. So today... today you did not lose focus. Today you defended like lions."

Michael voice was trembling with emotion.

"This trophy is made of silver. But the foundation of it is made of your scars. Every bruise. Every tear. Every insult from the media. You took it all. You swallowed the poison and you turned it into medicine."

He picked up the trophy again.

"You are Misfits," Michael said. "The world rejected you. But look at you now."

"You are not rejects. You are the FA Cup Winners."

"But..."

Michael paused. He let the silence hang in the air for ten seconds.

"But the job is not done."

"We have one game left. One game against Everton on Sunday. We are two points behind Manchester City."

"City are watching this on their TVs right now. They see us celebrating. They think we are satisfied. They think we are full."

Michael leaned forward. His eyes were burning blue.

"Are you full?"

Diego Nunez stood up. He knocked the bench over.

"I AM HUNGRY!" Diego roared. "I AM STARVING!"

Sergio Ramos stood up.

"We want the big one," Ramos said. "We want the League."

Michael nodded.

"Good. Because this cup is nice. It is shiny. But it is just the appetizer."

"Next week we play for immortality. Next week we play to turn this Dynasty into an Empire."

"So celebrate tonight. Drink the champagne. Wear the funny hats."

"But tomorrow morning... the work starts again. We have to beat Everton. And we have to pray that City fall."

"And if they fall," Michael smiled a dangerous smile. "We will be there to catch the crown."

THE FINAL CHEER

The room erupted. It was louder than the stadium.

"MISFITS! MISFITS! MISFITS!"

Diego Nunez picked up Michael and hugged him. The manager disappeared into the massive chest of the defender.

"You talk good Papa Michael," Diego shouted. "I have the goosebumps on my bald head!"

"Put me down Diego," Michael laughed.

Arthur Milton was writing something in his notebook.

"What are you writing Arthur?" Michael asked adjusting his suit.

"The speech," Arthur said wiping his eyes. "I am going to frame it. The Foundation of Scars. It is beautiful Boss."

THE DEPARTURE

One hour later the bus left Wembley.

The streets were still full of Barnsley fans. They were banging on the side of the bus. They were throwing flowers.

Michael sat at the front. The trophy was sitting on the seat next to him. It was buckled in with a seatbelt.

He took out his phone.

He sent a message to Sarah.

Mission 1 Complete. Bringing the shiny thing home. Tell Gabriel to get ready for Mission 2.

He looked out of the window.

London was disappearing behind them. The lights of the motorway stretched out towards the North. Towards Yorkshire. Towards home.

They had done it. They had won a major trophy.

But the speech was true. The hunger was still there.

The Premier League title was the ultimate prize. The impossible dream.

City had to play West Ham. Barnsley had to play Everton.

It was out of their hands. But they had forced it to the final day.

Michael closed his eyes. He could still hear the roar of the crowd. He could still feel the weight of the silver in his hands.

But in his mind he was already planning for Everton. He was already thinking about the tactics. About the fitness of Amara. About the mental state of Diego.

A Dynasty never sleeps.

"One week," Michael whispered to the trophy. "One week to change the world."