Claire sat on the bench at Old Trafford, sulking like a scolded child during Manchester United's match against Benfica.
By all rights, as a newly signed player—regardless of skill—he should've gotten at least some playing time to justify his transfer. But fate had other plans.
Two days prior, Denis Irwin had informed Claire that club owner Malcolm Glazer, Sir Alex Ferguson, and even Ronaldo would visit the hospital to escort him personally for his grand "return."
But when the entourage arrived at his room?
Empty. Just a crumpled bedsheet.
A nurse revealed Claire had discharged himself at dawn without telling anyone.
Glazer stormed off. Ferguson shot Ronaldo a glare. Irwin scrambled after them, red-faced.
By nightfall, Claire had unwittingly become the most infamous benchwarmer in the Premier League—a story too juicy for the press to ignore.
Now, he was stuck beside Park Ji-sung on the sidelines, their misery so palpable that Sky Sports' cameras couldn't resist zooming in every five minutes. Even Ferguson's grimace became a meme in real-time.
---
"D'you think I'll get famous like you? Is the Warner deal real? Ronaldo says you have a girlfriend—true? My girlfriend's best friend actually likes you—want an intro?"
Park's nonstop yapping went in one ear and out the other. Claire was too busy stewing in regret:
1. He'd forgotten about the hospital visit, costing him a starting spot.
2. Warner's £4.5M signing bonus still hadn't hit his account.
For a guy who'd been ordinary in his past life, that money felt like winning the lottery—only to wake up and realize it was a dream.
"Do we even stand a chance today?" Park nudged him again, grinning every time the camera panned their way.
Claire sighed. "We're top of the group. Benfica's good, but their league focuses on technical play—less physical than the Prem. Boss's confidence makes sense."
Park's eyes gleamed. "We might lose. My Champions League debut could be sooner than you think!"
---
Claire finally tuned into the game—and froze.
Benfica's coach, Sánchez, stood rigid, barking orders. Ferguson lounged, chatting casually.
United's 4-3-3 formation had Ronaldo in midfield, Rooney leading the attack. But Benfica?
Their two star forwards—Portugal's Manuel Rui Costa and Angola's Pedro Mantorras—weren't even playing.
Instead, their players moved deliberately slow, conserving energy, lulling United into complacency.
"They're running the ' Horse Race' strategy!" Park hissed.
(Ancient tactic: Sacrifice weak units early to unleash elites later.)
Claire's stomach dropped. Ferguson had taken the bait.
Then—disaster.
Scholes botched a pass. A Benfica midfielder intercepted, sprinting uncontested toward United's box.
"FUCK! You jinxed it!" Claire hissed.
Park was already stretching, fighting a smirk. Ferguson leapt to his feet, face darkening.