My Football Legends Chat Group-Chapter 94: Alien Puts on a Suit

Friday morning at 'The Oaks' was peaceful. The kind of peace that Rio Lance had paid four and a half million pounds to secure.

The Manchester rain tapped gently against the large kitchen windows, blurring the view of the green garden. Inside, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air.

Rio sat at the wooden island, nursing a protein shake while his dad, Carlos, read a physical newspaper.

"Dad," Rio mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You know you can read that on an iPad, right?"

"I like the ink, son," Carlos grunted, turning a page. "It smells like news. An iPad smells like... nothing. Like Leo."

Rio chuckled. His mom, Maria, placed a plate of eggs in front of him.

"Eat," she commanded gently. "Tonight is Burnley. You need strength. I saw that manager of theirs, Kompany. He looks like he eats defenders for breakfast."

"He used to, Mom," Rio smiled, cutting into an egg. "Now he just wears a cap and shouts."

It was a slow morning. A grounding morning. The chaos of the transfer, the shirt sales, and the "World's Desire" hype felt a million miles away. Here, he was just Rio, eating his mom's cooking before a big day at work.

But peace in the Lance household had a shelf life of exactly thirty minutes.

SLAM.

The side door flew open.

Leo Lance stood there. He was wearing a tracksuit that looked like it was made of tinfoil. He was holding his phone like a grenade with the pin pulled out.

"Rio!" Leo screamed. "Turn on the TV! Now!"

"Leo, it's 9 AM," Rio sighed. "Can I finish my eggs?"

"Fuck the eggs! This is history! This is the apocalypse!" Leo grabbed the remote and pointed it at the wall-mounted screen.

CLICK.

Sky Sports News appeared. The "Breaking News" banner was yellow and flashing urgently.

But it wasn't about a transfer. It wasn't about a scandal.

The headline read:

LIONEL MESSI PRESS CONFERENCE: "I AM NOT DONE WITH THE GRASS."

Rio put his fork down. Carlos lowered his newspaper.

On the screen, Lionel Messi was sitting behind a microphone in Miami. He looked relaxed. He was wearing a hoodie, not a suit. He spoke softly in Spanish, with subtitles running below.

"I cannot play anymore," Messi said, his eyes crinkling with a small smile. "My legs say no. But my head? My head is still full of football."

The room went silent.

"I want to teach," Messi continued. "I will begin my coaching badges immediately. I don't know where. Maybe Barcelona. Maybe Argentina. But I want to see the game from the sideline."

A collective gasp seemed to echo through the television speakers.

"I want to create a team that plays... with joy."

The screen cut back to the studio. The pundits were losing their minds. Gary Neville looked like he needed a lie-down. Jamie Carragher was screaming.

"A coach?" Rio whispered. "Messi is going to be a manager?"

"Holy shit," Leo breathed. "Imagine the tactics. 'Just dribble past five players and score.' Who can coach that?"

Carlos folded his newspaper slowly. He looked at the screen with a strange expression.

"He is not leaving the game," Carlos said softly. "He is just changing his view."

The Training Ground Shockwave

Rio drove the McLaren to the City Football Academy an hour later. The mood in the locker room was heavy. Not sad, like yesterday, but electrified.

Erling Haaland was sitting in his corner, staring at the wall.

"Erling?" Rio asked, dropping his bag. "You okay?"

Haaland turned his head slowly. "He will coach. That means... one day... I might have to play against a team coached by Messi."

"Yeah," Rio nodded.

"That is... terrifying," Haaland stated. "His brain is a computer. He will know my runs before I make them."

Jack Grealish walked in, looking unusually serious. He sat down next to Rio.

"Did you see it, lad?" Jack asked quietly.

"Yeah. Crazy."

"Pep is in his office," Jack whispered. "He hasn't come out for an hour. He's just watching the press conference on a loop."

"Is he scared?"

"Scared?" Jack scoffed. "No. I think he's excited. It's like... imagine if Batman found out Superman was becoming a villain. Or a rival. It's the ultimate test."

The door to Pep's office opened.

Pep walked out. He looked tired, but his eyes were burning with a fierce, intelligent light.

He didn't say anything about Messi. He didn't acknowledge the news.

He walked to the center of the room and clapped his hands once.

"Burnley," Pep said. "Tonight. Turf Moor."

The room went quiet.

"The world is talking about Messi," Pep said, his voice low. "The world is looking at the past. But we? We are the present."

He pointed at Rio.

"Rio. Tonight is your debut. The world thinks football is over because the King retired. You show them that football is alive."

Pep's intensity was suffocating.

"You show them that the joy is still here. On this pitch. In your boots."

"Yes, Boss," Rio said, his throat dry.

"Good. Now get on the bus. We have a war to win."

The Bus Ride to Lancashire

The journey to Burnley was short, but it felt like a voyage into the heart of darkness.

Manchester was grey and modern. As the bus moved north into Lancashire, the landscape changed. Rolling hills, old mills, red brick terraces.

Turf Moor. One of the toughest grounds in England.

Rio sat at the back of the bus, noise-canceling headphones on. He wasn't listening to music. He was listening to the rain drumming against the window.

He pulled out his phone.

[Chat Room Active]

Rio_7: He's going to coach. Messi.

The_King: I saw. It is a mistake.

Total_Football_14: Why, Eric? He has the mind.

The_King: He is a genius. Geniuses make bad teachers. They cannot understand why normal players cannot do what they did. He will get frustrated. He will scream at his winger for not seeing a pass that only God could see.

Zizou_5: I disagree. I was a genius too, no?

The_King: You were a bald genius. It is different.

Zizou_5: Hah. Coaching is about respect. When Messi speaks, the players will listen. He doesn't need to shout. His presence is the tactic.

Total_Football_14: It is interesting. The game evolves. Pep learned from me. Now Messi will learn... from whom? Perhaps he will create something new. Total Football 2.0.

Rio_7: It puts pressure on us. The new generation.

Zizou_5: Pressure is a privilege, Rio. Tonight, you debut in the Premier League. Messi is watching. Pep is watching. The world is watching to see if the game died with Leo, or if it was reborn with you.

Rio_7: Reborn. I like that.

The_King: Burnley will not care about rebirth. They will try to kick you into the stands. Be ready for the physical battle. Do not cry when you get hit.

Rio_7: I won't cry. I'll hit back.

The_King: With goals, Rio. Hit back with goals.

Arrival at Turf Moor

The bus pulled up to the stadium. It was old school. Tight streets, fans banging on the side of the coach.

"Who are ya! Who are ya!"

Rio looked out the window. He saw a sea of claret and blue. Angry faces. Passionate faces.

This wasn't the sanitized luxury of the Etihad. This was raw English football.

"Ready, lad?" Kyle Walker asked, standing up and grabbing his washbag. "It's gonna be cold. It's gonna be wet. And Kompany will have them fired up."

"I'm ready," Rio said.

He stood up. He felt the weight of the Number 7 shirt in his bag. He felt the expectations of the £75 million price tag.

But mostly, he felt the excitement.

The King had left the stage. The throne was empty.

And tonight, on a rainy Friday in Burnley, Rio Lance was going to make his first bid for the crown.

He stepped off the bus. The cold wind hit his face.

"Welcome to the Premier League," he whispered to himself.