Become A Football Legend

Scholes smiled.

"Probably. Not because I think he’ll dominate the league. I just don’t think there’s another teenager in the Premier League that’s better than him."

Carragher laughed.

"My bigger concern isn’t even the transfer fee. It’s the wages."

He looked toward the camera.

"From everything that’s been reported, he’s on about £240,000 a week."

He raised both eyebrows.

"£240,000.

A.

Week."

"I don’t care how talented you are, that’s an outrageous amount of money for a 16-year-old."

Around the dining hall, several City players who had been quietly listening started grinning.

Bernardo Silva walked past behind them carrying his tray.

"Jamie would faint if he saw Erling’s contract."

Haaland burst into laughter.

Lukas simply took another bite of his lunch.

"You know," Haaland said, locking his phone and setting it face down on the table, "they’ll keep talking."

Lukas nodded.

"I know."

Haaland pointed his fork at him.

"So make them change their minds."

A small smile appeared on Lukas’ face.

"I plan to."

As they were still talking, another tray slid onto the table.

Phil Foden dropped into the seat opposite them, balancing his lunch with one hand while wiping his fork and spoon with a paper napkin.

"You planning to what?"

Lukas looked up.

"To make them change their minds."

Foden glanced at Haaland’s phone, where The Overlap had moved on to another topic.

"They’re still talking about you?"

Haaland nodded.

"Gary. Carra. Rory."

Foden snorted.

"Don’t listen to any of them."

Lukas smiled faintly but didn’t answer immediately.

Foden pointed his fork toward him.

"I’m serious. It won’t do you any good."

Lukas took a sip of water before setting the glass down.

"I tend to do well under pressure."

Foden leaned back in his chair.

"You haven’t felt English pressure yet. Trust me, it’s different."

He gestured vaguely with his fork.

"In Germany, if you have a bad game, people talk about football. Over here, if you have a bad game, they’ll talk about your haircut, your body language, what you had for breakfast, whether you smiled too much after the match. They’ll invent stories just because they need something to fill tomorrow’s newspaper."

Haaland nodded in agreement.

"He’s right, you know. I thought people were exaggerating before I came here....They weren’t."

He laughed to himself.

"If you score 3 goals, they’ll ask why you didn’t score 4. If you score 4, they’ll talk about the 5th you missed. You get used to it eventually, but the first few months..." He shook his head. "It’s actually crazy."

Lukas listened quietly, rolling his bottle of water between his palms.

"I suppose that’s the price of playing here."

"It is," Foden replied. "And because of your transfer fee, they’ll watch every single touch you take. The first misplaced pass you make, somebody’s going to upload it with dramatic music and call you a flop."

Haaland laughed.

"And if you score a hat-trick the following week, they’ll delete the video and pretend it never existed."

"I won’t lie, that sounds exhausting." Lukas admitted as he chuckled.

"It is," Foden said with a grin. "So don’t waste your energy trying to convince them. Just convince Pep, the rest usually sorts itself out."

Lukas looked between the 2 of them before taking another drink of water.

"That," he said with a quiet chuckle, "was always the plan."

Nico O’Reilly arrived a moment later with his own tray and dropped into the empty seat beside Foden.

"What are we watching?"

"The Overlap," Haaland replied. "Apparently Luke’s already a flop."

Nico raised an eyebrow before looking at Lukas.

"Congratulations."

Lukas laughed.

"I’ve only been here a few weeks."

"Welcome to England," Foden said.

The table erupted into laughter.

Nico began eating before another thought crossed his mind.

"Actually, Luke, have you found somewhere to live yet?"

Lukas shook his head.

"No I’m still looking. The club has me in an apartment for now, and it’s been great while I’m settling in, but I’d like to buy somewhere before long. If everything goes well, I hope I’ll be here for a while."

Nico looked across the table.

"Phil."

Foden looked up.

"Don’t you still have that house on the market?"

Foden nodded slowly.

"I do."

He looked back at Lukas.

"I don’t know if it’d be your sort of place though."

Lukas leaned forward.

"What kind of place?"

"It’s a 5 bedroom house over in Prestbury, in Cheshire. Nice, quiet area. Loads of footballers live around there. It’s close enough to the training ground that you don’t have to spend half your morning sitting in traffic, and you’ve got plenty of privacy."

Haaland nodded.

"Prestbury’s nice."

"So is Alderley Edge," Nico added.

"Half the league lives around there."

Foden shrugged.

"I moved because I wanted somewhere bigger for the family, but the house itself is brilliant. Indoor gym, cinema room, swimming pool, decent-sized garden. It’s ready to move into."

Lukas smiled.

"It sounds a little out of my league."

Foden laughed.

"Mate, Manchester City paid nearly £80 million for you. I’m pretty sure you’ll survive."

"Well they paid that money to Eintracht Frankfurt not to me," Lukas responded with a smile.

The table laughed again.

"I’ll tell you what," Foden continued. "I’ll send Aaron my agent’s number this afternoon. Aaron already knows him anyway. If you’re interested, he can arrange a viewing whenever you’ve got time."

"I’d really appreciate that."

"No problem."

Foden waved it off as though it were nothing.

"It’s better if someone from the club ends up with it anyway."

Lukas nodded gratefully.

"Thanks, Phil."

As the conversation drifted toward lighter topics, Lukas found himself smiling.

Only a few weeks earlier he had arrived in Manchester knowing almost nobody. Now he had teammates helping him settle into the city, a liaison making the move as smooth as possible, and even a potential home waiting if he decided it was the right fit.

Little by little, Manchester was beginning to feel less like a new destination and more like home.

Outside the dining hall, preparations for the new campaign continued without pause. It was only Monday, but the Premier League season would begin on Friday night, and Manchester City would travel to Wolverhampton the following day for their opening fixture.

The waiting was almost over. The real season was about to begin.

* * *

That Monday night.

The Jackson Residence, Manchester

The television filled the living room with the familiar graphics of Monday Night Football at the Jackson apartment.

Roger Jackson sat back comfortably on the sofa, a mug of tea resting in one hand, while Jane sat beside him with a blanket draped over her lap. Across from them, their daughter Lexi was curled up in an armchair, absent-mindedly scrolling through her phone while listening to the discussion.

On the television, David Jones sat between Jamie Carragher and Micah Richards as they broke down the upcoming Premier League season.

"The transfer window has been fascinating," David Jones began. "Liverpool have probably had the strongest summer of anyone."

Carragher nodded.

"I don’t think there’s much debate there. Florian Wirtz, Hugo Ekitike, Jeremie Frimpong, Milos Kerkez... and if they manage to get Alexander Isak over the line as well, then you’ve got to say they’ve absolutely nailed this window. I think retaining their title will be a breeze."

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