The Monday morning headlines felt like Christmas morning to Ethan Cross.
"Red Storm Rising – United Finally Look Like United"
"McCabe Shines in Breakout Performance"
"Owner or Visionary? Ethan Cross Earns Dressing Room Response"
Ethan scrolled through the media feeds in disbelief. Not a single scathing editorial. No anonymous "sources close to the dressing room" questioning his involvement. Even TalkSport had to admit he might be onto something.
"I'm scared," Ibrahim said, peering over Ethan's shoulder. "Not a single 'banter era' meme. Something's wrong with the internet."
Ethan smirked. "Or something's finally right with the club."
He wasn't the only one who noticed.
Boardroom Buzz
Monday's executive meeting felt different. The long mahogany table was still filled with suits—some loyal, some snakes—but for once, the tension wasn't aimed at Ethan.
Peter Lawford, head of commercial partnerships and Glazer relic, opened the meeting with an unexpected tone.
"I'll be blunt," Lawford said, tapping his tablet. "Engagement metrics have spiked 40% since Saturday. Positive sentiment is up. Jersey sales for McCabe doubled in 48 hours. Even our TikTok admin seems happy."
A pause.
Then: "You were right about the PR reset, Ethan."
Ethan blinked. Was that… an olive branch?
"I appreciate that, Peter. But it wasn't just PR," Ethan said. "It was culture. Standards. Belief."
Sandra, the PR director, nodded. "The media loves a redemption arc. And Ethan's now part of it. If we build on this week, we change the narrative completely."
Not everyone was thrilled.
Harold Dunbridge, the finance hawk, leaned forward. "So we're rewriting the business model based on one decent win against Brighton?"
Ethan shot him a look. "No. We're rewriting it because it's working. And we've barely scratched the surface."
Fan Power
Outside the stadium, the mood had shifted.
Banners that once read "Glazers Out" were now rebranded with a new slogan:
"The Cross Era Has Begun."
A mural had even popped up overnight just off Sir Matt Busby Way—Ethan, Ten Hag, Rashford, and a cartoon goat labeled "McGOAT."
When Ethan saw it on Twitter, he nearly spit out his coffee.
"Tell me we're not encouraging murals of me," he told Sandra.
She shrugged. "We didn't. That came from the Stretford End boys."
"Even worse," he muttered. "Now I have to live up to it."
Backstage Ripples
Back at Carrington, the atmosphere had changed. Laughter echoed more often in the halls. Players trained with sharpness. Even the staff—groundskeepers, kit managers, cafeteria cooks—walked a bit taller.
Ten Hag noticed.
"You've done something rare," the manager told Ethan during a closed-door coffee meeting. "You've won trust without shouting for it."
"I just called out a few egos."
"You called out a system," Ten Hag corrected. "Now let's make sure it doesn't bite back."
Because not everyone was happy.
Word had reached Ethan that several agents—especially those representing underperforming stars—were growing restless. One had even leaked a rumor about Ethan trying to influence team selection (false, of course, but juicy).
"They'll come harder now," Sandra warned. "They'll try to frame any loss as your fault. You're no longer the underdog. You're a threat to the old way."
Ethan leaned back in his chair.
"Good," he said. "Let's break the old way."
Meanwhile: A Power Play Brews
In the shadows of Old Trafford's executive offices, Harold Dunbridge made a quiet phone call to a contact in New York.
"He's popular now," Dunbridge muttered. "But this is still a business. If he overplays his hand…"
The voice on the other end replied coolly:
"Wait for a dip. Then we strike."
Not everyone had embraced the new United.
But Ethan Cross had made one thing clear—he wasn't going anywhere.