Little did Claire know, as he sat on the pitch, that he had already become a hot commodity in the eyes of Manchester United's top brass.
Bored out of his mind, Claire decided to pass the time by striking up conversations with the substitute players. Perhaps thanks to Captain Rooney's earlier words, many of them didn't reject his attempts. Instead, they chatted back and forth with him like old friends.
For some reason, Claire couldn't shake the feeling that every time he talked to someone, cameras were trained on him. But whenever he glanced toward them, they'd quickly shift away.
Not entirely clueless, Claire wised up—he cupped his left hand over his mouth as he leaned in to whisper to the player beside him, Gabriel Heinze.
Claire had heard a thing or two about this veteran defender. At thirty, Heinze had been a mainstay for both the Argentine national team and Manchester United's backline during the 2003-2004 season, even earning the club's Player of the Year honors.
But a torn ACL in a Champions League match against Villarreal sidelined him for nearly his entire second season with United. Sir Alex Ferguson had been devastated.
By January 2006, with Heinze still recovering, Ferguson brought in French left-back Patrice Evra as his replacement. Evra not only performed brilliantly but was also far more compliant. Heinze, meanwhile, faded into the background, relegated to the bench for most major matches.
Had Heinze played along, Ferguson's sentimental side might have kept him in the rotation. But whether it was arrogance or sheer bad luck, Heinze defied both the club and Ferguson's objections to play in the World Cup. Though he performed well and avoided further injury, he never regained his starting spot at United.
"Arsenal is lucky to have a manager like Wenger. He gives young players chances and isn't afraid to tweak defensive tactics. Looks like we might lose this one."
Claire ignored Heinze's bitter remark, instead nervously checking the clock—only twelve minutes remained in the second half.
Unfazed by Claire's silence, Heinze shrugged. "If we lose today, you're in trouble."
Just then, Rooney was knocked down by Arsenal's Clichy during a counterattack. United's players rushed in, nearly sparking a brawl. Claire, like the other substitutes, bolted to the sideline, yelling at the ref.
Ronaldo led the charge, shoving Clichy before the scuffle ended with yellow cards for both sides. The crowd's chants grew louder, more unified, fueling the players' intensity. Claire could feel the energy too—goosebumps rising on his arms.
"Don't get too excited," Heinze muttered, suddenly beside him. "Wenger's 4-2-2 attack might not match United's, but if Arsenal really buckles down defensively, we're in trouble."
Claire frowned. The way Heinze kept talking about United—*"United this, United that"*—irked him. "What a traitor," he thought.
"I never betrayed United. United betrayed me," Heinze shot back, as if reading his mind. "And you? If we lose today, Ferguson will throw you under the bus to protect Ronaldo."
"What?"
Heinze smirked, draping an arm over Claire's shoulders and waving at the cameras overhead. The stadium's giant screen instantly cut to the two of them.
The moment Claire appeared, a surge of fans began chanting his name, waving jerseys and screaming:
"Claire!"
"You're so handsome!"
"Get on the pitch!"
Claire stared blankly at the crowd, but Heinze seized the moment, flashing a thumbs-up beside him—triggering another roar from the stands before the screen switched back to the match.
Still gripping Claire's shoulder, Heinze whispered, "You really think this stadium's packed for the game? Oh wait, you've never played a big match. No phone, no news, huh?"
"Pathetic. You're being used. United's execs are selling 30% more tickets thanks to your fame and that song of yours."
"You think this 'closed training' actually kept anyone from leaking? Every star here has agents, connections."
"Think Rio Ferdinand was just being nice? Wrong. He and Ronaldo share the same agent."
"Don't worry, kid. I was naive once too. But if United loses today, the backlash Ronaldo faced in England? That'll be you."
"MUTV's hyping you up now, but the higher they lift you, the harder you'll fall."
"Wait till the fans—United's, Ronaldo's, your so-called 'music fans'—turn on you."
"Though, gotta admit, your lyrics are decent. Can you actually live up to them? 'Live a life you'll remember'?"
"Honestly? I'm jealous. If football doesn't work out, you've got music. And with that song blowing up online, you'll cash in quick. Plus, you're good-looking. Must be nice."
Everything clicked for Claire.
The closed training. Arsenal's taunts. Park Ji-sung's sudden friendliness. Ronaldo and Rooney's truce. The assistant coach's kindness. Heinze's bitterness.
It all connected.
A familiar surge of emotion welled up inside him—the "bond" was about to trigger again.
"Give me a chance," Claire silently pleaded. "This is my life now. Trust me. I've been through what you've been through. Let's work together."
The tension in his chest eased slightly, but a bitter smile still tugged at his lips.
[This kind of scheming… Claire had faced it in his past life too. He knew how easily dreams could be tainted by outside noise.]
Heinze's resentment had clearly shattered the original Claire's spirit.
Rubbing his stinging eyes, Claire couldn't stop the tears. Through the blur, he spotted Ferguson and assistant coach Queiroz approaching.
Instinctively, he glanced toward MUTV's cameras—searching for family in his moment of vulnerability. But all he heard was Heinze's sharp voice:
"If you have a problem with the club, say it outright. No need for this charade."
"Oh, please. I'm just giving the new kid a reality check. Don't want him getting played like I did."
Ferguson sighed, shaking his head. Before Heinze could say more, Queiroz yanked him away by the jersey, snarling, "Not everyone's as selfish as you, putting yourself above the team for the World Cup!"
Ferguson studied Claire with a pained expression but didn't offer comfort. Instead, he said quietly, "I know what he told you. But Claire, everyone—including Rooney and Ronaldo—appreciates what you've done for them and the team."
"They even asked me to put you in today. I wasn't going to tell you, but..."
Claire wiped his eyes, sniffling.
"Your uncle just didn't want fame to ruin you. It's for your own good."
Ferguson fell silent, scowling at the stalemate on the pitch. Despite United's dominance in possession and attacks, Arsenal's defense held firm.
Then the chants started again—*"Claire! Claire!"*—growing louder. Ferguson's stomach dropped. Fans had noticed the sideline drama.
[Player conflicts are always big news. And with Claire's existing fame? This could spiral fast.]
The screen replayed Claire wiping his tears. Ferguson shot a disgusted look toward Malcolm Glazer's private box.
Behind the glass, Glazer smirked. "It begins."
Down in the tunnel, Danielle Sharp checked her watch, then pulled a massive speaker from a trash bin. With a megaphone in hand, she shed her jacket, revealing a curve-hugging outfit that drew whistles.
"Let's cheer for Claire to shine on the pitch!" she yelled, as her crew flipped the bin sideways, amplifying the音响 blaring "The Night."
The song echoed across Old Trafford—from multiple directions. Sharp, now perched near the cheerleaders, cupped her hands and shouted:
"Claire! Fight like your song says—light up the world!"
Nine minutes remained.
The jumbotron suddenly cut to Sharp. Some fans booed at first, but many—especially the men—quickly changed their tune at the sight of her in a United jersey.
Then, slowly, the crowd began humming "The Night."
The melody spread—some knew it was Claire's song, others didn't. But within a minute, the entire stadium was singing.
Ronaldo and Claire's story passed through the stands. The chorus swelled, infectious, easy to follow.
Ferguson's expression darkened as he glanced at Glazer's box. He'd initially planned to use Claire's music to deflect from Ronaldo's scandal. But after seeing Claire's dedication in training, he'd grown fond of the kid—his old friend's nephew.
He'd kept Claire benched to protect him. If United lost, the blame would fall on Ronaldo, who'd volunteered to shoulder it.
But Glazer, hungry for profit, had thrown Claire to the wolves.
Then a voice snapped Ferguson from his thoughts.
"Coach, I want to play. Let me try. If we lose, I'll take the blame."
Ferguson turned. Claire's eyes were still red, but they burned with determination.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
The crowd reached the chorus:
"He said, one day you'll leave this world behind..."
Ferguson chuckled. "Great lyrics. Your father's words?"
"Yes. His last advice to me."
"Six minutes left. Your choice. When I first met you, you were barely half my size. Now? It's your life. Face it."
"Thank you... Teacher."
Ferguson didn't correct him. He ruffled Claire's hair, then signaled the referee.
No time for warm-ups. As Claire adjusted his jersey, the stadium erupted. Seventy percent of the fans were on their feet—some even throwing their shirts onto the pitch.
Rio Ferdinand jogged over, panting, and punched Claire's chest lightly. But before joining the game, Claire turned toward Heinze and shouted:
"You gave up on your life. But mine's just beginning. I'll change my fate—my way!"
Without waiting for a response, Claire sprinted onto the field, eyes blazing.
Support me by leaving a comment, voting, and visiting myPatr-eon at belamy20
Check out another story in my profile original works