Monday, January 31st. 2:00 PM. The Chairman's Office, Crestwood Park.
Transfer Deadline Day.
In the Premier League, it was a circus of helicopters, fax machines, and Sky Sports reporters standing outside training grounds in the freezing cold, wearing yellow ties.
In League Two, it felt like a scavenger hunt. Clubs were desperately checking their sofa cushions for spare change to afford a loan player's wages.
Mason Turner sat in a faux-leather chair that sighed heavily under his weight. Arthur Pendelton's office smelled of stale coffee and damp paper. A small television in the corner was muted, the infamous yellow ticker of Sky Sports News scrolling endlessly across the bottom of the screen.
The Gaffer stood by the window, looking out at the car park. He wouldn't meet Mason's eye.
"I'll get straight to the point, Mason," Arthur said, leaning over his cluttered desk. He was a nervous man who owned a local chain of hardware stores. "We have received a formal bid from Preston North End."
Mason blinked. Preston. The Championship.
"For me?"
"Yes," Arthur swallowed hard. "Eight hundred and fifty thousand pounds, with add-ons. Mason, that is life-changing money for this football club. It secures our operating budget for the next three years."
"And your wages," the Gaffer added quietly, still looking out the window. "They're offering you ten thousand a week. You'd be set, son."
Mason looked between the two men. Two years ago, he was driving a forklift and playing for match fees paid in crumpled twenty-pound notes. Now, a Championship club wanted to make him wealthy.
He thought about Ethan at West Brom, navigating the millions. He thought about his own bank account.
Then, he thought of Callum Reid, sitting in a flat a mile away with a leg full of titanium, worried the club would release him in the summer. He thought about Toby, the 17-year-old winger who looked to Mason for protection every time a center-half tried to snap him in half.
"No," Mason said.
Arthur looked taken aback. "Mason, I don't think you understand the math."
"I understand math fine, Arthur," Mason interrupted, his voice low and gravelly. "I also understand the league table. We are one point above the relegation zone. If I leave today, who plays center-back tomorrow night against Stevenage? Jenkins? He's got a pulled groin."
"We could use a fraction of the fee to bring in a loan player," the Gaffer offered weakly, finally turning around.
"A loan player who doesn't care if this club goes back to the National League," Mason shot back. "A kid from a Premier League academy who doesn't want to get his boots muddy. If I leave, we go down. And if we go down, Callum loses his contract because you won't be able to afford his rehab."
Arthur rubbed his temples. "Mason, we have a duty to the club to accept this."
Mason stood up, towering over the Chairman's desk.
"You can accept whatever you want," Mason said firmly. "But you can't force me to sign the contract. If Preston calls, tell them I'm flattered. If they push it, I'll drive up there and fail the medical myself. I'll tell their physio that my ankle is held together by Terry's cheap tape and sheer spite. They'll pull the offer in ten seconds."
The Gaffer let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
"I'm the captain of this football club," Mason said, walking toward the door. "I'm not abandoning ship in the middle of a storm. See you at training."
9:30 PM. Callum's Flat, Eastfield.
The TV was on, the yellow ticker glaring into the small living room.
DONE DEAL: PRESTON NORTH END SIGN VETERAN CB FROM MILLWALL FOR £600K.
Mason slouched on Callum's sofa, eating a slice of cold pizza.
"You're an idiot," Callum said affectionately from his armchair, his leg resting on its elevated cushion. "Ten grand a week, Mase. You could have bought a car that doesn't make a grinding noise when you shift into third gear."
"I like that grinding noise," Mason mumbled, checking his phone. "It builds character."
An incoming FaceTime call lit up Mason's screen. It was Ethan.
Mason propped the phone against a half-empty bottle of Coke on the coffee table so they could both see.
Ethan appeared on the screen, relaxed in his Birmingham penthouse, wearing a West Brom tracksuit.
"Tell me the Preston rumors were a joke," Ethan said immediately. "My agent texted me saying they bid nearly a million for you."
"They were real," Mason said, taking a bite of pizza. "I told the Chairman to shove it."
Ethan let out a loud, genuine laugh. "You turned down the Championship? Mase, you're crazy."
"Look who's talking, Galactico," Callum yelled at the phone. "You turned down Real Madrid! We're a trio of financial disasters. The Eastfield Idiots."
Ethan smiled, but his eyes were serious. "Why did you stay, Mase? Honestly. You've been playing through absolute hell."
Mason looked at the yellow ticker on the screen, then at Callum's medical boot.
"Because of the pact, Eth," Mason said simply. "You stayed at West Brom to finish the job. I'm staying at Crestwood to finish mine. If I leave now, the defense collapses, the club gets relegated, and all that bleeding in the National League was for nothing."
Callum reached over with his crutch and poked Mason in the ribs. "You stayed because you love shouting at Deano."
"That too," Mason smirked.
"We made our choices," Ethan said softly through the speaker. "The window shuts in an hour. After that, no more noise. Just the football."
"Just the football," Mason agreed.
11:00 PM. Deadline Passed.
The Sky Sports presenters announced the official closing of the January Transfer Window. The frenzy was over.
Mason locked his phone and stood up, stretching his back.
He had left a life-changing contract on the table. He was going back to the mud, the freezing rain, and the harsh reality of a League Two relegation dogfight.
He didn't regret it for a single second.
"Right," Mason said, grabbing his coat. "I'm heading home. I need to ice my ankle. Stevenage away tomorrow."
"Give them hell, skip," Callum said, raising his mug of tea.
Mason walked out into the cold Eastfield night. He breathed in the freezing air. The circus was out of town. It was time to go to war.