The darkness dissolved.
It didn't fade or break apart; it simply ceased to be. One moment, Ethan was in a formless void, the next, he was standing in an infinite, brilliantly white space. It wasn't a room. There were no walls, no ceiling, no floor—just pure, clean, light in every direction. It was calm, silent, and humming with limitless potential. He felt weightless, yet completely stable. It was the blank page before the masterpiece, the empty pitch before kick-off.
In front of him, elegant blue text materialized out of the light, sharp and clear.
[Avatar Customization Module Initiated.]
"Whoa," Ethan breathed, the sound echoing softly in the vastness. "Okay. Here we go."
A figure appeared before him, a generic, gray mannequin-like shape of a man. It was a blank slate. To the side, a series of menus and sliders shimmered into existence. This was his coaching persona, the face he would present to the virtual world.
This was Coach Couch.
He grinned. This was going to be fun.
He wasn't trying to create a supermodel or a muscle-bound hero. He wanted to look the part: a young, sharp, modern football manager.
He started with the basics. He kept the height a little taller than his own—a manager should have presence on the touchline, after all. For the build, he chose a lean, athletic frame. Not a player's physique, but that of someone who lived and breathed the sport, the kind of manager who wears a tracksuit, not a stuffy suit.
Then, the face. He resisted the urge to go crazy. He tweaked the jawline to be a little sharper, a bit more defined. He gave himself clear, focused eyes—the kind that could see a tactical flaw from fifty yards away. The hair was important. He scrolled through dozens of options before landing on a neat, stylish cut, short on the sides and slightly longer on top.
He made it a deep black, a classic choice.
He rotated the avatar, examining it from all angles. It was him, but an idealized version. It was the version of himself he saw in his head when he dreamed of this life: confident, capable, and ready for anything.
"Perfect," he whispered, hitting the confirmation button with a decisive mental tap.
The avatar gave a slight nod, the menus vanished, and a new prompt took their place, the letters larger and more imposing this time.
[Team Creation Module Activated.]
Ethan's heart began to pound. This was it. This was the most important decision. A manager is nothing without his club. This was the birth of his legacy.
[Enter Team Name:]
A shimmering keyboard appeared before him.
His mind raced. He thought of the giants, the names that were whispered with reverence in stadiums across the globe.
Manchester United. Real Madrid. Bayern Munich. Juventus.
They were more than names; they were symbols of power, history, and glory. He wanted something that could stand beside them one day.
He typed a few ideas, watching the letters hang in the air.
"Starlight FC." Too whimsical.
"Ironclad Rovers." Too aggressive.
He needed something that was both modern and timeless. It had to sound ambitious, professional.
He thought about what he wanted to achieve. He wanted to reach the very top, the peak, the apex of the footballing world. And he wanted to do it with a team that was unified, a single cohesive unit.
The words clicked into place in his mind.
He reached out and typed with a newfound certainty.
Apex United
The name glowed for a moment before locking in. A wave of pride washed over him. It sounded real. It sounded important. It was his.
[Team Name: Apex United - Confirmed]
Immediately, a new prompt followed.
[Choose Team Colors: Primary, Secondary, Tertiary.]
A virtual mannequin appeared, now clad in a plain white kit. Beside it, a color palette bloomed, offering every shade imaginable. This was just as important as the name. This was the club's identity, what the fans would wear, what would strike fear or respect into the hearts of their opponents.
He thought of the classic combinations. The red of Liverpool, the blue and black of Inter Milan, the pure white of Real Madrid. He wanted something that was both classic and sharp.
His primary color, the heart of the home kit, had to be bold. He chose a deep, royal blue. The mannequin's shirt and shorts instantly shifted to the rich color. It looked strong, dependable.
For the secondary color, the accent, he chose a brilliant, clean white. The trim on the collar and sleeves, the player names, and the numbers all snapped to white. The contrast was beautiful, crisp and professional.
For the tertiary color, he wanted something sleek for the away kit and third kit. He chose a stark, powerful black.
The system instantly generated the kits for his approval.
The home kit was stunning: a royal blue shirt with clean white trim, blue shorts, and blue socks. It was elegant and powerful.
The away kit was the reverse: a pristine white shirt with blue and black accents creating sharp, geometric patterns on the shoulders, paired with white shorts. It looked fast and modern.
And the third kit… oh, the third kit was his favorite. It was almost entirely black. A "blackout" kit, with the club crest and sponsor logos rendered in a shimmering, dark gray. It was pure intimidation. It was the kind of kit a team wears for a tough away match under the floodlights.
"Unbelievable," he breathed, completely captivated. He could already picture his players, his team, wearing these colors, lifting a trophy. This was no longer a dream. It was a plan.
He confirmed the designs, his mind buzzing with excitement. He felt like a true founder, a creator. He had a name, an identity, a look. He was ready to conquer the world.
The kits vanished, and one final message appeared, simple and direct.
[Tutorial Mode Recommended for New Coaches. Start Tutorial?]
[Yes / No (Proceed to Main Menu)]
Ethan paused. The temptation was immense.
Proceed to Main Menu. The words called to him, a siren song of immediate action. He wanted to see his office, his stadium, his squad list. He knew football inside and out.
Did he really need a tutorial to tell him what a 4-4-2 formation was?
The arrogance of a thousand victories in his own mind told him to skip it, to dive right into the deep end.
But another voice, the smarter voice, the one that had won him this opportunity in the first place, held him back.
This wasn't just football. It was a VMMORPG. There would be systems, mechanics, user interfaces, and resource management he couldn't possibly know. Going in blind would be tactical suicide. Sarah's voice echoed in his head, telling him not to be reckless.
A true master of football IQ knows what he doesn't know.
He took a deep breath, reining in his wild excitement. First, learn the rules of the world. Then, dominate it.
He selected [Yes].
The moment he made his choice, the infinite white space dissolved.
Not into darkness, but into reality.
He felt the solid ground beneath his feet. A gentle breeze brushed against his cheek, carrying the unmistakable, intoxicating scent of freshly cut grass.
The air was cool and crisp. He looked down and saw he was wearing a sleek, blue tracksuit—the Apex United colors—and on his feet were pristine white trainers.
He was standing on the touchline of a football pitch. The grass was a perfect, vibrant green, marked with brilliant white lines.
In the distance, the shell of a massive, empty stadium rose against a clear blue sky. It was quiet, peaceful, and filled with a sense of boundless promise.
Then, he heard footsteps on the grass.
A figure was walking towards him from the center circle. The man was older, with sharp, intelligent eyes and a calm, authoritative presence.
He wore the same tracksuit as Ethan, but with an air of having worn it for a thousand victorious seasons. He stopped a few feet away, a warm, knowing smile on his face.
"Welcome to the training ground, Coach," the figure said, his voice calm and clear.
"A club is not built in a day. It is built here, on the grass, with sweat, strategy, and a clear vision. They say you have the knowledge. Now, let's see if you can turn it into glory. Ready to build your dynasty from scratch?"