Rafael Moretti had always known that nothing in life came easy, especially not when it came to football. At just 19, he had fought tooth and nail to get where he was. He wasn't the kind of guy who waited for things to happen; he made them happen. Every training session, every match with the U23s—it was all a step toward his dream, and he wasn't going to let anything stand in his way.
When he was called up to the first team, it felt surreal. Chelsea, his dream club, had finally given him a shot. It wasn't just any call-up, though—it was a chance to prove himself on the biggest stage. And when he made his Premier League debut against Brighton, it was like everything had led to this one moment.
It was the 85th minute. Chelsea was tied 1-1, and out of nowhere, Rafael was subbed on for Mason Mount. His heart pounded as he jogged onto the pitch, and for a second, he thought he might feel nerves. But no. There was no fear, no panic. Just pure readiness. Ready to show the world what he could do.
The ball came to him almost immediately. A throw-in from Hudson-Odoi, a quick turn away from a defender, and then—boom—he passed it to Kante. Kante did what he does best, charging forward, before slipping it right back to Rafael just outside the box. In that split second, Rafael scanned his surroundings. Two defenders were closing in fast. He didn't hesitate. He turned, lined up the shot, and fired. It was perfect. The ball curled into the side netting, and Chelsea fans went wild. Rafael couldn't help but smile—his first Premier League goal. His debut goal.
It felt like the start of something huge. The crowd's roar still ringing in his ears, he thought, This is it. This is my time.
But just a few days later, the unthinkable happened.
In Chelsea's next match against Leicester, Rafael was back in action, eager to build on that debut goal. It was the 72nd minute when the nightmare struck. A simple challenge. Nothing dangerous. Just a tangle of legs. But as soon as he hit the ground, something felt wrong. His knee exploded with pain, and for a second, he couldn't move.
The pain was sharp, almost unbearable. The medical staff rushed over to him, but he could already tell. He'd felt this kind of injury before, but never this bad. As they stretchered him off the pitch, he couldn't look up. His head was spinning. What had just happened?
The diagnosis came later that evening. ACL rupture. Meniscus damage. His heart sank. The words hit him harder than the tackle ever could. The doctors said it was bad. Too bad for a return at the top level.
His dream was over before it had even really begun.
Chelsea's dressing room was silent when he got back. Everyone could see how hard Rafael had worked to get to this point. He'd earned his spot in the first team, and then, just like that, it was taken away.
Graham Potter, the manager who had been so excited to give Rafael his debut, was visibly shaken when he spoke to the media. "It's devastating," he said. "Rafael had the kind of attitude and mentality you can't teach. He was going to be a huge part of this team. To see that taken away so suddenly… it's heartbreaking."
As the news spread, fans were in shock. His goal against Brighton was still fresh in their minds. It felt like the beginning of a long, successful career—one that would never come.
Even the older players, like N'Golo Kanté, took it hard. "Rafael is a special player," Kanté said quietly. "We've all seen how hard he worked. It's painful to see him go through this, but we're behind him all the way. He's strong. He'll get through this."
But even though everything seemed to be falling apart, Rafael wasn't giving up. A few days later, in a statement, he said, "Football has been my life, and this injury is a huge blow. But I'm not giving up. I've always fought for everything I've earned, and I'll fight again. I appreciate all the support I've gotten, and this isn't the end. It's just a different chapter now."
It wasn't the ending he had dreamed of. It wasn't the career he had imagined. But one thing was for sure—Rafael's journey wasn't over. His future in football might have been stolen away in the blink of an eye, but his spirit, his fight, and his determination would stay with him forever.
The Premier League might have lost a rising star, but Rafael Moretti wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
….
Rafael slowly blinked his eyes open, the soft hum of hospital machines filling the silence. He expected to see the sterile, white ceiling he'd come to know so well, the dull overhead lights casting an almost too-familiar glow across the room. But as his vision cleared, something was… off.
Instead of the ceiling, he was met with a blue screen floating in the air. It flickered, almost like a glitch in a video game, with bold white letters appearing one after another.
Rafael furrowed his brow, his heart rate picking up as he rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "What the hell…?" He muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. His brain struggled to process what was happening. "This… this is like something out of Solo Leveling or some shit."
Before he could say anything else, another line of text appeared on the screen:
'Do you wish to play football again?'
His eyes widened in surprise, and he let out a disbelieving laugh. "Well, duh," he muttered. "Who wouldn't want to play again?"
But then, as he stared at the screen, a strange sense of unease started to creep in. The next message popped up, each word making his pulse race faster.
'If you wish to play football again, you must accept this task.'
Rafael frowned, his mind racing. A task? What kind of task? His leg was still in a brace, the surgery fresh, and the doctors had already told him his chances of ever playing professionally again were slim. He didn't care about whatever this weird screen was; football was all he wanted. But this… it felt like a cruel joke.
He quickly typed back, almost sarcastically, "What do I need to do? Do I need to run a marathon or something?"
The response was immediate, chilling in its simplicity.
'Become a Manager and win a treble in five years.'
Rafael blinked, feeling his stomach drop. A treble? In five years? His mind raced with disbelief. "A treble? In five years? That's… that's impossible. Even established managers like Ancelotti or Luis Enrique haven't pulled that off. Hell, some of the best managers in the world can't even win one!"
The screen flickered again, as if the system was waiting for him to respond, before the words appeared once more:
'You will receive the help of a Manager System. Do you accept?'
He stared at the screen for a long moment, his mind still processing the insanity of it all. But, after a few seconds, the absurdity of the situation began to settle in. His body was still injured, and he was stuck in this hospital room with no real future ahead of him. What else could he do? Football had always been his dream, and if this was his chance—even in the weirdest way possible—he wasn't going to let it slip by.
With a long, drawn-out sigh, Rafael rubbed his temples before speaking aloud.
"Yeah, sure, whatever. Better than having to go to university or whatever. Let's see what this 'Manager System' is all about."
The screen flashed brightly, almost as if it was grinning back at him. A new line of text appeared:
'You have accepted the task. Your journey begins now.'
And with that, the blue screen began to fade, leaving Rafael in a stunned silence, the weight of the words hanging over him. The challenge had begun, and there was no turning back now.
….
Six months had passed since that surreal moment when Rafael first encountered the strange system. After months of grueling rehabilitation and uncertainty, he'd learned to adapt to this new reality, one where he wasn't just a former footballer anymore—he was also a student of something far more complicated, a manager-in-training, if you could even call it that.
At first, it had felt impossible. He'd woken up in that sterile hospital room, convinced that it was all some twisted joke. But as the weeks wore on, he couldn't deny the changes within himself. The system—the blue screen that had greeted him when he least expected it—had been persistent. Every day, every moment spent recovering, the system had been there, guiding him, pushing him to learn, study, and master the intricacies of football management. Tactical strategies, training regimens, team dynamics—he learned it all, sometimes with the simplicity of a game and other times with the harsh realities of real-world football.
The best part? He was good at it. Really good. It was like all the things he'd never been able to grasp as a player suddenly made sense to him. He had always known football, understood its rhythm, but now, he saw it from an entirely new perspective. It felt like a hidden talent had been unlocked, and with it, his hope for the future slowly began to return.
But even as his confidence grew, one thing remained constant: when would the system give him his first opportunity?
It wasn't until one quiet evening, as Rafael sat in his room, poring over tactics, that the familiar blue screen flickered into existence once again.
'Congratulations, Rafael. Your progress has been noted. You are now eligible for your first opportunity.'
Rafael blinked, almost certain he was imagining things. Eligible? For what? He rubbed his eyes and leaned forward, heart pounding. The next line appeared:
'Starter Pack Unlocked. Please check your inventory.'
Inventory? A new notification? Rafael clicked the prompt with hesitation, unsure of what to expect this time. What appeared next was a simple interface that seemed to materialize out of thin air, and the first item was highlighted in bold.
'Item 1: Job Offer – Reading FC. Head Coach Position.'
Rafael froze. Reading FC? His jaw dropped. A second division club, struggling to find their footing in the Championship. He didn't know whether to laugh or be terrified. This was real—a job offer. For a manager position. He was about to be handed the reins of a professional football team. The thought felt surreal. He'd only been learning for months, still unsure if he was truly ready. Was this too soon?
Before he could dwell on it, another notification popped up.
'Item 2: Coaching Qualifications – Certified.'
Rafael blinked rapidly. Certified? What the hell did that mean? He clicked the message and, to his shock, found a list of completed qualifications—everything from UEFA A to B licenses, coaching modules, and even advanced tactics, all perfectly arranged. It was as if he'd spent years in coaching courses. How did this even happen? he thought. This wasn't something he'd studied for, not consciously, at least. The system had simply… given it to him.
His heart raced as he scrolled down to the final item.
'Item 3: Power – The Mind of a Tactician.'
The description underneath made his pulse quicken:
The Mind of a Tactician: A unique ability that grants you an innate understanding of football strategies. It allows you to read your opponent's movements in real-time, anticipate their next move, and create counter-strategies effortlessly. This power enhances your decision-making, giving you an almost supernatural ability to adapt to any situation on the pitch.
Rafael sat back in his chair, stunned. What was this? He felt like he was holding a cheat code to football, an ability to predict the future. It sounded like something out of a dream, but the system had already proven itself too real for him to dismiss it.
The offer was right in front of him, the next step of his journey. His fingers hovered over the decision. He glanced at the job offer again, weighing the consequences. Reading FC. Head Coach. It was a risk. It could end in disaster. But then again, wasn't life always about risks? And he had something the others didn't—this system. This power. This opportunity.
He leaned forward and clicked the button without hesitation.
'Accept Offer: Reading FC – Head Coach Position?'
The screen flashed bright for a moment, then everything faded out. A rush of excitement flooded through him as he felt a sense of weight settle into his chest. His heart pounded. He was in. He had accepted.
As the screen disappeared, Rafael couldn't help but chuckle nervously. "Alright then… let's do this," he whispered to the empty room.
But before anything else… he had to tell his mum.
He walked down the hallway of their small flat, the soft thud of his footsteps echoing off the walls. The TV was on in the living room, playing some old Portuguese soap opera his mum never seemed to get tired of. She sat on the worn-out couch, a cup of tea in her hands, wrapped in the same oversized cardigan she always wore when she was worried.
"Hey, Mãe," Rafael said softly, standing in the doorway.
She looked up, immediately reading something different in his eyes. "What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."
He smiled faintly. "Not a ghost. Just… something big."
She set her tea down, attention fully on him now.
"I'm leaving," he said after a pause. "Reading offered me a job. As head coach."
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Reading? The football club?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I know it sounds insane, and I know it's fast, but… it's real. I need to go. This could be… everything."
For a moment, she just stared at him. Then, slowly, she stood and walked over, placing a hand on his cheek.
"You've always chased football like it was the only thing that mattered," she said softly. "If this is your way back in, even if it's different… then go. Just don't forget to call me."
Rafael grinned, eyes a little misty. "I won't."
She kissed his forehead and turned back toward the TV like it was no big deal. "Just make sure they don't fire you after the first game."
He laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
And with that, Rafael returned to his room, packed what little he had, and looked once more at the now-dark screen. The path ahead was unknown, but it was his.
His second chance had arrived—and this time, he wasn't planning to waste it.
The journey was just beginning.