The message pulsed in Leon's mind, a stark, urgent plea from a world he had tried to leave behind. Chivu needed him. The Network was compromised.
An anomaly containment failure was imminent. It sounded like the plot of a terrible sci-fi movie, the kind Julián Álvarez would probably love.
He stood in the tunnel of the Stade Louis II, the cheers from his first home victory echoing around him, his heart pounding not with triumph, but with a cold, unsettling dread.
Guardians. Players. Anomalies.
What did it all mean? And what could he, an eighteen-year-old rookie manager with a team of inconsistent talents and a penchant for tactical philosophy involving baked goods, possibly do about it?
He took a deep breath, the salty Mediterranean air surprisingly calming. He thought of his conversation with his mother: You cannot control the circus. But you do not have to be the clown.
