The rain in North London didn't feel like water; it felt like lead.
Julian Vane stood in the technical area of Highbury, his cheap suit soaked through to the skin.
At twenty-five, he was supposed to be a prodigy—a former academy prospect whose knees had betrayed him, but whose mind was supposedly sharp enough to convince the Aston Villa board to take a desperate gamble.
Now, that gamble was being incinerated in front of thirty-eight thousand people.
6-1.
The scoreboard was a neon taunt. On the pitch, Thierry Henry was casually adjusting his socks, looking like a man who hadn't even broken a sweat.
Behind Julian, the veteran players on the bench weren't even hiding their whispers anymore. They were already talking about who the next manager would be.
Julian didn't turn around. He couldn't. His eyes were fixed on the tactical movements of the Arsenal side—the way Robert Pires drifted inside, the way Patrick Vieira dominated the central circle like a king on a throne.
Julian's high intelligence allowed him to see the geometric flaws in his own 4-4-2 system, but he lacked the tools to bridge the gap between his vision and his players' mediocrity.
TWEEEEEET—!
The final whistle blew. The humiliation was official.
As the sound of the whistle echoed, Julian felt a sudden drop in atmospheric pressure. The roar of the crowd didn't fade; it stretched. The droplets of rain suspended themselves in mid-air, turning into shimmering diamonds of static.
A cold, synthesized pulse vibrated directly against his frontal lobe.
[ THE EMINENCE PROTOCOL: INITIALIZING... ]
[ HOST: JULIAN VANE ]
[ STATUS: TACTICAL ANNIHILATION ]
[ ANALYSIS: Your cognitive processing is functioning at 92/100. However, your environmental control is 0/100. ]
Julian blinked. Transparent blue lines began to etch themselves across his vision, overlaying the pitch. He saw "Heat Maps" of where Henry had decimated his backline.
He saw "Fatigue Bars" hovering over his demoralized players.
[ SYSTEM ALERT: The World's Endgame has begun. ]
[ MISSION: THE FIRST SURVIVAL ]
Objective: Navigate the post-match press conference.
Condition: Retain your job by manipulating the narrative. Convince the board that this loss was a calculated necessity for future growth.
Reward: Unlock Layer 1: [THE EYE OF THE PROGENY].
Failure: Contract Termination. The Protocol will seek a more 'capable' host.
Julian felt a surge of adrenaline that had nothing to do with football. His mind, already naturally elite, felt as though it had been overclocked. The fear of the 6-1 loss didn't disappear—it was simply categorized and filed away as "Raw Data."
"Boss? You coming? The press is waiting for blood."
The world snapped back to motion. His assistant coach was staring at him, looking like a man who had already started updating his CV.
Julian wiped the rain from his forehead, his expression becoming unreadably cold. The "Humble Loss" was the end of Julian Vane, the lucky youngster. It was the beginning of the Apex Tactician.
"Tell the players to stay silent in the dressing room," Julian said, his voice cutting through the rain with newfound precision. "I'll handle the vultures."
He turned toward the tunnel, his brain already running simulations of every question the journalists would throw at him. He didn't need luck anymore. He had the Protocol.