Chapter 1: The Man Who Knew Tomorrow
June 4, 2017 – Barcelona, Spain
The Mediterranean sun glared down over the Camp Nou, its golden rays reflecting off the steel beams and tinted windows of the stadium's upper ring. Tourists buzzed in front of the entrance, snapping photos of the legendary crest like pilgrims before a shrine. But none of them noticed the man sitting quietly on a nearby bench.
Noah Marlowe adjusted the sleeves of his faded Barça windbreaker. The last time he stood here, it was 2023—and the club was collapsing in slow motion. Corporate corruption. Tactical decay. Messi gone. He'd watched it all with a bleeding heart and a powerless mind.
But now?
It was 2017.
And the job was wide open.
In his hands sat a sleek black tactical tablet—too advanced for this era. On its glass surface, holographic traces flickered with soft-blue luminescence. The display pulsed silently:
AI TACTICAL SYSTEM: ONLINE
User: NOAH MARLOWE
Tactical Memory Bank: [Verified]
Timeline Lock: [Active]
System Boot Year: 2017
He stood, exhaled deeply, and walked to the Camp Nou entrance. The receptionist barely looked up.
"Sorry, señor. No tours right now."
"I'm not here for a tour," Noah said calmly. "I have an appointment with the board."
"Name?"
"Noah Marlowe."
She blinked. "You're not on the schedule."
"You will want to make the call."
His tone was quiet but undeniable. The receptionist hesitated, then picked up the phone.
Fifteen minutes later, Noah stood in a private lounge overlooking the stadium. He gazed out at the pristine grass — the calm before the chaos. Behind him, footsteps approached.
"You're the analyst who claims he can fix the club?" asked a sharp voice.
Noah turned. Four men entered — led by Josep Maria Bartomeu, the club's sitting president. Advisors flanked him, along with a legal assistant holding an iPad.
"I don't make claims," Noah said. "I deliver results."
Bartomeu smirked. "You've never coached professionally. No UEFA license. No experience at the senior level. What exactly qualifies you to manage FC Barcelona?"
"I know what happens if you choose wrong."
Bartomeu raised a brow. Noah continued.
"You'll pick Valverde. He'll play cautious football. You'll win La Liga, but collapse in the Champions League. Roma. Then Liverpool. Then Bayern."
Silence. Noah stepped forward, his voice precise.
"Messi will beg for vision. You won't give it. Neymar will leave for Paris. The money will go to panic buys—Dembélé, injured. Coutinho, misused. You'll waste over €300 million and lose control of the dressing room."
The advisors exchanged glances. The legal assistant blinked.
"You're guessing."
"I'm remembering."
Noah tapped a command on his tablet. A holographic interface blinked to life — tactical simulations, injury projections, heat maps, and team chemistry models all flowed in perfect harmony.
"Where did you get this software?" Bartomeu asked, stunned.
"I built it."
He pointed at the simulation.
"Give me full tactical control. Let me restructure La Masia. No expensive flops. Trust the youth. I'll bring in Pedri, before anyone else. I'll turn Ansu Fati, Aleñá, and Riqui Puig into first-team staples. You don't need five €100 million signings. You need one vision."
"And if Neymar leaves?" one advisor asked.
"He will," Noah said without hesitation. "But don't react emotionally. Take the €222 million and divide it intelligently:
30% for academy expansion
20% for a winger who can grow into the system
50% held in reserve for later window dominance."
Bartomeu frowned. "You don't want us to buy Dembélé?"
"If you buy him, do it right. Give him structure. Mentorship. Tactical safety. He's fragile. Don't throw him in and expect magic. Let me build him."
Noah stepped toward the glass and looked out at the pitch.
"Messi stays. You win the Champions League. The board survives."
The AI TACTICAL SYSTEM chimed:
[Tactical Timeline Anchor Secured]
Next Directive: Squad Evaluation – Player Confidence Profiles Active
Before leaving, Noah hesitated.
"One last thing. I'd like a private meeting with Neymar."
Bartomeu narrowed his eyes. "…Why?"
"Because if he's going to leave, he should at least hear the truth."
Later That Day – Player Lounge
Noah found Neymar sitting alone, earbuds in, tapping his foot to a rhythm only he could hear. The Brazilian looked up as Noah approached.
"You're… new," Neymar said slowly, sizing him up. "You with the staff?"
"Not yet," Noah replied. "But I might be your coach soon."
Neymar chuckled. "They say that every week."
Noah smiled. "You're thinking about Paris. About being number one. Away from Messi's shadow."
That made Neymar pause.
"I get it," Noah added. "You want the Ballon d'Or. You want to carry your own team."
Neymar leaned forward. "Yeah. So?"
"Just know this," Noah said, voice low. "If you go to PSG… you'll win trophies. But you'll never win the Ballon d'Or. You'll lose the rhythm. You'll fight injuries. They won't build a legacy — just a brand."
Neymar's eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"
"No one. But I've studied you, Neymar. Every touch. Every sprint. I know how this ends."
Neymar looked away. He didn't answer.
Noah stood to leave, but added one last line:
"If you do go… just don't be surprised when they try to replace you with Mbappé."
Back at the lounge, Bartomeu watched Noah depart in silence. One advisor leaned in.
"Should we vet him?"
"Watch him," Bartomeu muttered. "He talks like he already knows the future."
Outside, Noah looked up at the towering stadium once more. His fingers tightened around the AI Tactical System.
This time, it wasn't about changing fate.
It was about executing a gameplan no one else had ever seen.
"Welcome to Matchday Zero, Coach Marlowe," the system whispered.