Manchester United's fitness coach, Di Salvo, stared in disbelief at Claire Lee's medical reports—all indicators perfectly normal. He turned to Sir Alex Ferguson and explained, "Cases like Claire's rapid recovery aren't unheard of in the Premier League. You could attribute it to accelerated cellular metabolism. Honestly, this is great news—for both the team and him."
Ferguson skimmed through United's upcoming fixtures while listening. "Fine. Get him back in the squad. If we keep him benched any longer, I'm afraid this kid might just buy the whole damn club."
Di Salvo took the Wall Street Journal Ferguson handed him, scanning the front page.
The headline blared: [Google's Acquisition of YouTube Sparks Market Surge—Buffett Predicts $70B Boost to Google's Valuation].
Confused, Di Salvo frowned. "Are you… asking me for stock tips? Boss, you know I've got an 80-year-old—"
Ferguson cut him off with a glare. "Not that, you idiot! Look at the article below!"
Sheepishly, Di Salvo scratched his head—then froze. Beneath the Google news was a photo of Claire Lee shaking hands with Steve Chen outside Old Trafford.
"Fk! Since when is his 'business' worth $80 million?!"
"Cross-border online travel," Ferguson muttered, exasperated, before refocusing on tactics.
"Right. I'll slot Claire into the next match. Off the bench?"
Ferguson grunted without looking up. Di Salvo took the hint and slipped out quietly.
Once alone, Ferguson set down his pen and sighed.
United had been thriving—too well, in fact. And success always bred new problems.
After crushing Benfica on December 7th, United topped Group F, advancing to the Champions League knockout stage. The win itself wasn't the issue.
Ferguson didn't believe in stumbling twice over the same obstacle (last season's shock elimination by Lille still stung). But the board kept pressuring him—"Moneybags" Malcolm Glazer insisted Claire's return would boost ticket sales and demanded he start.
With the club flourishing, Ferguson wasn't keen on fighting ownership. Yet throwing Claire into the starting XI too soon could backfire.
Publicly, Ferguson never downplayed Claire's impact—his creativity and attacking edge were undeniable. But Claire was also the Premier League's most infamous "glass man."
The first half of the season was nearly over. Survive the "December Gauntlet," and the winter transfer window would offer respite. But Claire had only played 2 matches (1 as a sub).
Were his stats impressive? Sure. But Ferguson saw long-term potential—a player who might one day carry United on his back. Right now, though? He was still a rookie. A pop star, not a football icon.
So Ferguson stalled. No outright refusal to Glazer, but no green light either. All to protect Claire.
"Hope the lad understands what I'm doing."
——
Back on the Old Trafford pitch, Claire soaked in the cheers—and his teammates' playful jabs.
"Oi! Rooney! Kick the ball at my head again, and I'll rearrange yours post-training!"
Rooney, fresh off receiving Claire's pinpoint through ball, responded with a middle finger.
Gasping for breath, Claire braced his hands on his knees—until Rio Ferdinand, United's £30M defensive pillar, sidled up, grinning.
"You've gone viral, mate."
Claire smirked. "Haven't I always been famous?"
"My girlfriend wants your autograph."
That gave Claire pause. He knew Ferdinand was engaged (wedding plans in the British Virgin Islands and all). But a signature request? That was a first.
"Uh… sure. But I've never actually signed anything before."
Ferdinand waved it off. "No rush. How about dinner tonight? She'd love to chat."
"Isn't that… inappropriate?"
"Get your head out of the gutter! Bring the MUTV hostess. My fiancée wants to be the first on Facebook with your photo and autograph!"
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Facebook had opened to all users on September 11, 2006. Despite initial backlash, the platform's growth drowned out critics. Claire had tried it—clunky but revolutionary for social connections.
"Deal. If Lucy's busy, I'll bring someone else."
Ferdinand trotted off, boasting to teammates, while Claire zoned out—until a ball slammed into his skull.
Across the pitch, Cristiano Ronaldo smirked, curling a finger in challenge. Claire fired the ball back—only for Ronaldo to bicycle-kick it toward the net.
Claire rolled his eyes. Ronaldo had been obsessed with flashy goals lately. Sure, it worked once (that stunner against Middlesbrough), but Claire found it pointlessly extra.
Still, he couldn't deny United's metamorphosis in his absence.
The quartet of Ronaldo, Giggs, Rooney, and Saha was unstoppable—2.3 goals per game, 20+ more than Chelsea.
"No wonder this is peak 06-07 United," Claire mused.
After the 3-0 Manchester Derby rout, Ferguson had taunted media: "This season, everyone is our star. We're unstoppable—no one's taking the Premier League from us!"
Shockingly, no one argued. Pundits doubled down, hyping United's "era of dominance."
As training wrapped up, Claire checked his watch. "Overtime. I'm out."
He headed for the exit—shadowed by Park Ji-sung and Ronaldo, while Ferdinand yelled after him:
"Hey! Don't forget—dinner tonight!"