The journey back from Bolton was a world away from the tense, quiet trip there.
The team bus, once a library of nervous silence, was now a rolling party.
Michael watched from his seat near the front as the captain, Dave Bishop, walked up the aisle to where Arthur was quietly studying his notes.
"Gaffer," Bishop said, his voice full of a newfound, deep respect. "I just wanted to say… I've been playing this game for fifteen years. I've never seen anything like that. That was a masterclass."
Arthur looked up, a small, tired smile on his face.
"It only works if the players on the pitch are brave enough to execute it, Dave. Your header was the reward for that bravery."
The captain just nodded, a complete convert to the new religion, and went back to his seat. A few minutes later, another figure appeared beside Arthur.
It was Danny Fletcher. He wasn't sulking. He looked thoughtful, intelligent.
"Gaffer," Danny said, his voice quiet. "I get it now. You sacrificed me to occupy their best defenders with Kevin. It created the space for Jamie and Finn."
Arthur looked at Danny, a look of genuine pride in his eyes.
"You have the potential to be one of the best players in the world, Danny," he said, his voice low so only they could hear. "But the best players don't just know how to win the game when they're on the pitch. They understand how the game is won even when they're on the bench. You learned more today than you would have if you'd scored a hat-trick. Your time will come. Be ready."
Danny nodded, a look of complete understanding on his face, and returned to his seat. Michael watched the exchange, a profound sense of satisfaction washing over him.
The sports news cycle, which had been ready to bury them a day earlier, was now singing their praises.
Pundits who had called Arthur's decision "suicidal" were now calling it a "tactical masterstroke." The phrase "the Barnsley way" was being used with a tone of genuine, grudging respect. Morale wasn't just sky-high; it was stratospheric.
That evening, back in the quiet solitude of his small flat, Michael was scrolling through the glowing news articles on his laptop, a triumphant grin on his face. He felt like the king of the world.
As he closed the final article, a familiar, transparent blue screen shimmered into existence in front of him.
[Achievement Unlocked: First Victory!]
[Description: You have successfully guided your team to your first competitive victory as an owner.]
[Reward Issuing...]
Michael leaned forward, his heart starting to beat a little faster. He hadn't expected this. It was like a video game, a tangible reward for his success.
[New Feature Unlocked!]
[Global Talent Spotter!]
The text scrolled across the screen, detailing the new function.
[Description: The system's analytical capabilities have been upgraded. The 'Global Talent Spotter' can now automatically perform targeted scans of global player databases. The user can set specific criteria (e.g., age, position, potential ability, contract status, buyout clause) to identify undervalued assets anywhere in the world.]
Michael's jaw dropped. This was a quantum leap. He had been manually searching for released academy players, a slow, painstaking process.
He could filter the entire world's footballing talent down to his exact specifications.
His fingers trembled with excitement as he navigated the new interface.
A series of drop-down menus and search bars appeared.
It was clean, intuitive, and terrifyingly powerful.
He thought about the £2.2 million sitting in the club's bank account. It was time to find his next gem.
He began to set the parameters, his mind racing.
Position: Attacking Midfielder / Winger
Age: Under 20
Contract Status: Active
Then came the two most important filters, the ones that would define his entire empire-building strategy.
Potential Ability (PA): Greater than 85
Buyout Clause: Less than £1,000,000
It was an impossible search. A player with a potential of over 85 was a future star, the kind of player that big clubs would pay tens of millions for.
To find one with a buyout clause of less than a million was a fantasy.
He hovered his mouse over the 'Search' button. He took a deep breath, his heart thumping with anticipation, and clicked.
The blue screen transformed.
A holographic globe appeared, spinning slowly. Lines of data, like glowing green threads, began to crisscross the planet, darting from Europe to Africa, from Asia to North America.
It was scanning, processing, analyzing millions of data points in a matter of seconds. After about ten seconds, the frantic scanning slowed.
The globe zoomed in, focusing with dizzying speed on a single continent: South America. It zoomed further, past the giants of Brazil and Argentina, and settled on a small, landlocked country. Bolivia.
The globe vanished, and a single player profile appeared on the screen, a solitary ping of impossible discovery.
[Player Found: 1 Match]
[Name: Ricardo Vargas]
[Nickname: 'El Halcón' (The Falcon)]
[Age: 17]
[Club: Club Aurora (Bolivian Second Division)]
[Position: Attacking Midfielder (Center, Right)]
Michael stared, his mouth dry.
He'd never heard of the player, never heard of the club. Then, his eyes fell on the final two lines of the profile, the numbers that made his entire body go cold with a giddy, unbelievable thrill.
[CA: 58 / PA: 92]
Ninety-two.
It was a number that belonged to a future Ballon d'Or winner. And he was playing in the Bolivian second division.
And then, the final, heart-stopping detail. The number that made Michael feel like he was about to have a heart attack from pure joy.
[Buyout Clause: £250,000]
Michael just stared at the screen, a slow, disbelieving laugh bubbling up from his chest.
The pundits were talking about "the Barnsley way." They had no idea. He was about to take their new philosophy and launch it into the stratosphere. He had just found his next superstar. And nobody else in the world even knew he existed.