Dynasty Awakening: Building My Own Football Empire-Chapter 272: Plane to Paris
The restart came quickly, almost abruptly, like Manchester City were trying to outrun the feeling that had settled in their chests.
The ball moved through the midfield trio almost by instinct.
De Bruyne kept moving inwards from the right while Foden stayed wide, stretching the backline with Rodri exchanging short passes at the edge of Barnsley’s shape and testing for gaps.
For a few seconds, it looked promising.
The Etihad crowd leaned forward again, cheering them on as on one occasion, Haaland took it on the edge of the box, squared up Vladimir Petrovic, and tried to force the issue.
There was no space to run into, no angle to slip through, so he created one for himself.
He opened his body and smashed one toward the near post, but Jan Visser was already set, expecting just that.
He took two quick steps and parried it cleanly, the ball thudding into the advertising boards as the noise dipped.
City stayed on it still, pressing Barnsley from the front, and they won the ball back almost immediately, and didn’t bother recycling it.
They played from the front, and a moment later, Grealish had the ball, driving at Jean Luc Dubois with long, tricky strides.
He pushed it beyond him and burst past, the angle narrowing with every step.
He swung through the shot anyway, praying for a rebound at the very least, but then Diego Nunez appeared out of nowhere.
The ball smacked into his chest, the impact sharp and dull at the same time, and dropped harmlessly.
Jan Visser was there again, claiming it and pulling it into his chest as Diego turned away, screaming at the sky like a maniac while Jan immediately began looking for options he could get the ball to.
And after settling on one, he rolled the ball forward, then lobbed it into midfield with purpose.
Lukas Weber met it, or at least pretended he was going to before letting the ball drop right in front of Mateo Vega.
The City player still tried to get a hold of the ball, but after it bounced once on the wet grass, it lobbed over him and into the feet of Kaito Tanaka while Mateo darted into space, got it back off Kaito, then slipped it forward to Victor Osimhen in stride.
The away end rose, gathering behind the Nigerian as he made his way forward, slipping past Stones, then Ruben Dias and the moment he slipped past the second, the crowd appealed.
"Shoot!" came the shout, loud and unified, as Victor glided past Akanji, the ball glued to his right foot.
But Victor didn’t even look at the goal.
He shifted his weight and pushed it right where Kaito Tanaka took it in stride.
The moment the ball reached him, the pitch tilted.
City’s back line and Ederson slid across together, a blue wall forming in front of him.
Mateo gestured in the middle, arm out, calling for it, but Kaito ignored everything.
He slowed, nudging the ball forward with small touches, forcing Ake to backpedal.
Then he leaned back like he was about to stop before nudging the ball left and then right with the outside of his right boot in one swift motion, completing the reverse elastico to go past Ake, who lunged, already off balance, and clipped his leg.
Kaito stumbled, fought it for a step, then went down after a moment.
Ake, feeling guilty, spun toward the referee even before the whistle came through, shaking his head, finger raised in protest, but it was pointless.
The decision had already been made.
"Penalty," the commentator confirmed, the words almost swallowed by the roar of the Barnsley fans.
"And Barnsley have a chance to take the lead at the Etihad before City have even caught their breath."
Kaito pushed himself up, brushing grass from his purple shorts.
He picked up the ball beside him and then handed it to Victor Osimhen with a small shove and a look that said enough.
The Nigerian nodded once, thanking Kaito before moving towards the spot with the ball.
Kaito, after that, stepped out of the box, rolling his shoulders while, around him, City players argued and gestured until the referee waved them away, clearing the area.
Victor, after that, placed the ball carefully on the spot while the referee backed off, standing to the side after clearing out the box.
The Etihad held its breath, the home fans hoping that Ederson could save their title hopes while the away fans wished for the Misfits to make history.
"Can he put it away?" came the call as Victor ran up and smashed it straight into the top right corner.
Ederson dove to his left, fully committed, leaving the goal almost fully empty as the net snapped.
"Yes, he can!" the commentary continued as Victor sprinted to the corner, pulling off his mask celebration before turning and grabbing Kaito, dragging him close and pointing straight at him.
On the touchline, Michael Sterling clapped twice, applauding his men and then barking instructions, demanding more as if the scoreline meant nothing.
"It is now one to the good, and they have breathing space," came the commentary as the Barnsley players turned towards the centre of the pitch while the City players dragged themselves back to restart.
"And now the question," the commentary said as the ball was placed down again, "is whether Manchester City can find a response... or whether the Misfits have already stolen the show." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞
The referee watched as the City players reset before blowing his whistle to let the game continue.
.....
By the time the final whistle faded, the Etihad had settled into a low, frustrated murmur as the rain began to pour.
Barnsley did not linger.
Shirts were swapped, a few pats on backs exchanged, then the group moved as one toward the tunnel and made their way towards the locker room.
Once there, they had their showers and grabbed their bags afterwards, like they had just finished a training session, not just beaten the champions.
Outside and in the area leading up to where they would find their bus, things were a bit unsettled.
Barriers rattled as reporters surged forward, microphones lifted with cameras flashing in quick, sharp bursts as they tried to capture whatever they could.
The first few Barnsley players slipped through, acknowledging the reporters with just half smiles and nods, but they kept their eyes ahead. Vladimir Petrovic was holding a small potted plant he had found somewhere.
Then Michael Sterling stepped out with Arthur Milton beside him, handing him a packet of jelly babies, and immediately, the noise jumped.
"Michael, over here!"
"What does a win away at the Etihad mean for this team?"
"You could have celebrated more, but you went straight down the tunnel. Does that mean you are focused on the Champions League?"
"And the Real Madrid job, Michael. The rumors are everywhere. Are you leaving?"
One voice cut through louder than the rest.
"Will you even be here next season, or are you already learning Spanish?"
Michael kept walking and let the questions wash over him, not bothering to pay them any heed. His Media Darling skill was passive, but he knew exactly what to do.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he climbed the steps onto the bus and moved down the aisle, brushing past players already slumped into their seats.
Michael took the first seat at the front and dropped into it, adjusting his tie.
Through the tinted glass, he could still see the reporters outside, animated, arms moving as they talked among themselves now that the door had closed.
The words circled anyway.
He leaned back, eyes following the reflections sliding across the window as the engine hummed to life.
"Who else?" he muttered under his breath, the smirk returning as the bus eased forward and pulled away from the stadium.
Outside, the city lights of Manchester blurred into streaks as they made their way to the airport.
When they arrived, Michael got down immediately and made his way inside the private terminal.
When the players got to the lounge, he glanced at his watch and then back at them.
"Listen," he said, voice calm but firm.
"It’s almost nine. We had planned to fly back to Yorkshire, but there has been a change of plans. I want everyone ready in one hour. We are going to Paris."
The place hummed as the players looked confused, and immediately after that, the group split into whispers.
"Paris?" Diego asked, eyes wide. "For Disneyland?"
"No," Arthur whispered, checking his phone. "For the Ballon d’Or ceremony. Kaito is nominated for the Kopa Trophy."
Some headed straight for the buffet, minds already on the food and the nap that the one hour could serve them before getting that out of their thoughts after realising they needed to look smart.
Others drifted toward the duty-free shop, drawn by the quiet pull of shopping that only showed up once the adrenaline wore off.
Michael stood for a moment in the lounge while the others walked off, seemingly in thought.
He had already packed his tuxedo in a secret compartment of his bag, so after a bit of contemplation, he made his way over with Kenji Sato towards the bar, his bag still in tandem before making his way back to the gate after he was done getting a celebratory espresso.
"You knew Kaito was nominated?" Kenji asked, sipping his drink.
"I had a feeling," Michael grinned. "The System never lies."
"And Madrid?"
"Let them wait," Michael said, looking at the departure board.
