Football Reborn: The Manager from the future

⚽ Football Reborn: The Manager from the Future

Chapter 46 – The First Invitation from the Elite

Three days after Iniesta's silent arrival, Tempo FC received an envelope.

Not an email. Not a call.

An envelope. Wax seal. Hand-delivered.

Ethan opened it carefully, eyebrows arching.

"From Madrid."

Chuva's face remained unreadable.

"Let me guess," Ethan said. "Real wants a friendly?"

Chuva shook his head.

"Real Madrid doesn't offer friendlies," he said. "They offer tests."

📨 The Invitation

The letter was handwritten in flawless calligraphy.

To the Architects of Tempo,

We, Real Madrid C.F., cordially invite you to a single-match exhibition at Santiago Bernabéu Stadium.

We are not curious. We are not skeptical. We are watching.

Prove to us this is football — or fade into memory.

- RMCF, Directive Board

The team gathered in the meeting room as Ethan read it aloud.

Silence followed.

Then Seraph raised a hand.

"Will this be hostile?"

Ethan grinned. "Like walking into a lion's den with jazz shoes on."

Abasi cracked his knuckles.

"I've always liked a little noise."

Ronaldo Jr. looked straight at Chuva.

"Are we ready?"

Chuva didn't answer.

He picked up a marker and wrote one word on the board:

YES.

🧠 Preparation or Poetry?

In the week leading to the match, Ethan expected drills.

Film study. Tactical shaping. Counter strategies.

But Chuva, as always, defied expectation.

The team trained blindfolded.

They played 5v5s without goals.

They painted their cleats and danced in rhythm with musicians.

At one point, they trained barefoot.

"Why?" Ronaldo Jr. asked.

Chuva smiled.

"To remember the feeling of football before the thinking of football."

Iniesta nodded approvingly from the sidelines.

🗞️ The Media Circus

Once the match was public, the world went into frenzy.

"TEMPO FC vs REAL: ART VS EMPIRE."

"CHUVA TAKES ON THE TITANS."

"DOES FOOTBALL NEED SAVING?"

ESPN launched a daily segment titled "Countdown to Chaos."

Madrid's head coach, Javier Mendez, went on record:

"They're artists? We'll give them a gallery… of red cards."

The comment went viral.

Fans laughed.

But Chuva simply smiled when asked.

"If they use violence, we'll use volume."

🎓 Chuva's Final Lesson

The day before departure, Chuva called a team circle.

In the middle of the field, beneath the Harmonia moonlight.

"No formation will save you," he began.

"No referee will protect you."

"No crowd will cheer for you."

He paused.

"But your rhythm will carry you."

He looked at each one of them.

"Play for joy. Not judgment. Play for each other. Not the camera. Play for… now."

Seraph closed her eyes.

Her internal systems registered a 12% rise in something she had no name for.

Emotion?

Maybe.

✈️ Arrival in Madrid

The private jet touched down into a media swarm.

Thousands waited at Barajas Airport.

Half cheering. Half jeering.

"Pretenders!"

"Return to futsal!"

"Chuva Out!"

The team ignored it all.

Except Ronaldo Jr., who stared out the window at the Bernabéu glowing in the night.

His father had built empires there.

Now he would try to burn one down.

🏟️ A Different Tunnel

On match day, the players walked into the famed tunnel of the Santiago Bernabéu.

Walls lined with history.

Di Stefano. Zidane. Ronaldo. Ramos.

Now… them.

Iniesta walked beside Seraph.

"Are you scared?" she asked him.

He chuckled.

"Every time I wasn't scared, I played poorly."

She processed that for 0.3 seconds.

Then nodded.

"Then I am… perfectly prepared."

🔊 The Crowd Roars

90,000 people.

The Madrid crowd was merciless.

Whistles. Booing. Thunderous chants.

The announcer called out:

"And now, the experimental side from nowhere — Tempo FC!"

Bitter laughs. Mocking claps.

The team jogged out, teal kits glowing under the lights.

But they weren't alone.

A single corner of the stadium had painted faces.

Young, hopeful. Freestyle fans. Samba dancers. Jazz musicians.

Believers.

They held up a banner:

"Let them play."

⚪ The Madrid Lineup

Real didn't hold back.

Star-studded. Seasoned.

Veterans. Champions.

And their coach — Javier Mendez — smiled like a man ready for slaughter.

He turned to his team and said:

"Hit them hard early. They dance? We break their legs."

⚽ The Opening Whistle

The ball rolled.

The game began.

And for 30 seconds, Madrid pressed like a tsunami.

Tempo nearly drowned.

Long balls. Hard tackles. Screaming fans.

Then, Seraph touched the ball.

Just once.

With a pirouette turn so smooth, it silenced the nearest 10,000 fans.

Then passed — no, sang — the ball into space.

And the music started.