Chapter 96: Heads Up

"In the world of the Marrowgates, perception is reality," Elira said. She sounded almost carefree about it, but Maddox knew her well enough to hear the tension underneath. "If they can’t find a scandal, they’ll manufacture one. Rosana is a Tier 3 noble. She doesn’t like losing, and she certainly doesn’t like a ’loser’ youth coach making her niece look like a fool in the standings."

"I’m sorry you’re being dragged into this," Maddox said.

"Don’t be. I’ve dealt with people like Rosana before. She’s a shark, but I’m a kraken," Elira chuckled. "I’m not going to volunteer any information. In fact, I’ve already had my people send them a very polite, very terrifying cease-and-desist letter regarding the harassment of my person. Whether a Tier 3 noble or not, the Marrowgate Family isn’t at the level of making me worried yet. But Eric, you need more than just a defense. You need a weapon."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I’ve already contacted a top legal advisor," she said. "His name is Julian Vane. He specializes in Noble House disputes and contract law. He’s expensive, but he’s already been paid for. Consider it a little gift from me. We can’t have my star manager and loving boyfriend distracted by a bitter aunt when the NextGen Ascension League is about to start."

Maddox leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. "Woah, hehe. I love this delicate side of you, Elira. You’re taking care of me."

"Someone has to," she replied, her voice dropping an octave. The analytical tone vanished, replaced by something warmer. "I saw the highlights from the Hastings match. That finish by Whittaker... that was your influence, wasn’t it? You’re turning that team into something special. Congratulations on the qualification, Eric. The NextGen Ascension League is where the real eyes are. You’re going to be a very popular man very soon."

"I don’t care about being popular," Maddox said. "I just want to win."

"I know you do. That’s why we’re such a lovely match," she said. There was a brief silence on the line, the kind that carried more weight than words. "I miss our time together, Eric. The quiet ones where we don’t talk about anything, just cuddling and f*cking."

Maddox felt a flicker of warmth in his chest. "I miss them too. And I miss seeing you in your birthday suit. It’s been a long week, Elira. Between the training and the phone calls from my ex, I could use some ’sweet nothings’."

"Oh? Is the Touchline God feeling sentimental?" she teased.

"Maybe just a little. I’m looking forward to seeing you soon."

"Goodnight, Eric."

"Goodnight, Elira."

He hung up and stared at the dark screen of his phone. The contrast was staggering. On one side, he had a past that was trying to bury him under the weight of tradition and spite. On the other, he had a future that was opening up with the help of a woman who saw him for exactly who he was.

He opened his System interface. He needed to focus. The legal battle was a distraction, but the pitch was where his true power lay.

[SYSTEM ALERT: ASCENSION LEAGUE PREPARATION PHASE - 18 DAYS REMAINING]

He looked at the squad list. The transfer for Noah Perring was still in the "Negotiation" phase. Silvergate was playing hardball with the 10000 Terra offered to them, trying to squeeze another 100,000 Terra out of the deal. They probably guessed that Maddox was desperate for a playmaker.

"They think they have the leverage," Maddox whispered.

He tapped into the Silvergate club finances through the System’s scouting network. He saw the red ink and the missed payments to their stadium maintenance crew. They weren’t playing hardball because they were strong; they were doing it because they were drowning.

He typed a message to the Northcastle representative for transfers.

"Rescind the current offer for Noah Perring. Wait forty-eight hours. Then offer 75,000 Terra. Take it or leave it. They’ll fold. Bunch of desperate bast*rds."

He closed the interface and walked to the window. The lights of Northcastle were twinkling below.

***

Monday morning arrived with the sound of a whistle.

Maddox was on the pitch before the sun was fully up. He had set out the cones for a new drill, one he had designed specifically to address the "slow decision making" he had seen in Declan Whittaker and the other midfielders.

It was called the "Shadow Box." Players were placed in a tight square with four different colored gates. They would receive the ball in the center, and a coach would flash a color.

The player had half a second to process the color and pass through the corresponding gate while being pressured by two defenders.

"Faster, Declan!" Maddox shouted as the winger hesitated for a heartbeat. "Don’t look at the gates! See them with your mind!"

Declan wiped sweat from his eyes and reset. He received the ball, saw the yellow flash, and flicked the ball with his heel through the gate before the defender could close in.

"Better!" Maddox called out.

He checked his tablet. The "Bond Level" with the squad was stabilizing at a high level. The players were no longer just following instructions; they were anticipating them.

During a water break, Teddy Johnson approached him. "Silvergate called. They’ve accepted the 75,000 Terra. Noah Perring will be here for a medical on Wednesday."

Maddox nodded, his face showing no surprise. "Good. Tell Sophia to prepare a specialized integration program for him. I want him in the tactical sessions by Friday."

"You’re moving fast, Eric," Teddy said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Most managers would still be celebrating the Hastings win."

"Celebrating is for the fans, Teddy. We’re in the Ascension League now. If we stand still, we’re dead."

Maddox looked toward the gates of the training ground. A black car was pulling up. A man in a sharp, grey suit stepped out, carrying a leather briefcase.

"Is that a scout?" Teddy asked.

"No," Maddox said, his eyes narrowing.

Julian Vane, the legal advisor Elira had promised, walked across the grass with the confidence of a man who owned the ground he walked on. He didn’t look like a lawyer; he looked like a general.

Maddox met him at the touchline.

"Mr. Maddox," Vane said, offering a hand. "I’ve reviewed the Marrowgate filings. They’re aggressive, predictable, and riddled with procedural arrogance."

"Can you handle them?" Maddox asked.

Vane smiled, a cold, clinical expression. "Handle them? Mr. Maddox, by the time I’m finished with the Marrowgate legal team, they’ll be lucky if they still have the rights to their own family crest. We’re not just going to respond to the separation. We’re going to countersue for character defamation and bad-faith litigation."

Maddox felt a grim sense of satisfaction. "I like the sound of that."

"I thought you might," Vane said. "Now, let’s find somewhere private. I need you to tell me everything about your time with the Marrowgates. Don’t leave out any details, no matter how small. Especially the ones involving Rosana’s business interests."

As they walked toward the office, Maddox looked back at the pitch. The players were back at it, the sound of boots on leather echoing through the morning air.