The El Clásico had reached the sixty-minute mark with Barcelona leading 1-0 through a Messi goal that Liam had accurately predicted—not through any supernatural ability, but through thousands of hours of tactical analysis. "Classic inside cut," he muttered, noting it in his journal. "Madrid's right-back played too narrow."
Cristiano Ronaldo was becoming increasingly frustrated, gesturing angrily at teammates as another attack broke down. The camera lingered on his face, capturing that familiar mixture of intensity and irritation.
Liam reached for his beer, eyes never leaving the screen. This was the purest form of football—tactical chess at the highest level, Guardiola's positional play against Mourinho's strategic pragmatism.
Then it happened.
The television screen flickered once, twice. Liam frowned, tapping the remote. Before he could check the connection, the screen went black.
"Perfect timing," he grumbled, standing to check the cables.
But instead of remaining black, the screen illuminated with text that hadn't been there before. Not the standard broadcasting message or error code, but something else entirely:
```
[SYSTEM ACTIVATION]
Host: Liam Torres
Status: Initialized
Version: 1.0
[SUPERPOWER UNLOCKED]
NAME: WINDOW FIVE
DESCRIPTION: See exactly five minutes into the future.
LIMITATIONS: Cannot see future events that result from your direct interventions.
DURATION: 365 days until next ability allocation.
USAGE: Say or think "Window Five" to activate.
[WARNING]
Use of this ability may alter timeline trajectories.
System not responsible for paradoxical outcomes.
Confirm acceptance? (Think "YES" to confirm)
```
Liam blinked, setting down his beer carefully. He looked around the apartment, half-expecting to see someone filming him for some elaborate prank. The room remained empty.
"What the hell?" he whispered, reading the text again.
This wasn't possible. This was—
"I'm hallucinating," he said firmly. "Too much match analysis, too little sleep."
Yet the text remained, glowing softly on his television screen. Liam closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again. The message hadn't changed.
His analytical mind raced through possibilities: A virus on his TV's software? A hacked broadcast signal? Some kind of stroke that was causing him to hallucinate?
Or—and this thought sent a chill down his spine—what if it was real?
Being a football fan meant a lot of things. In his past life, reading Fanfiction was also one of them. Nothing else, the Chinese Fics he read always made him laugh, cringe or irritated.
There were too few good ones to read about the sport, and the ones that were usually didn't last long and carried inconsistencies a true lover of the game could spot from a mile away.
Though that wasn't the point. Regardless of the flaws, the wish fulfillment that came with it was always the driving force behind his reading. The systems, special abilities, reincarnation, transmigration, what if scenarios.
It was fun. Until it happened to him.
Hadn't he always wondered why he'd been reborn into this world? Why someone who'd been just a football fan in another life had awakened with the memories and knowledge of both worlds inside the body of a tactical prodigy? Perhaps this was the answer.
"This is insane," he said to the empty room. But even as he spoke, his mind whispered: *YES*.
The screen flickered again, and the match returned. Ronaldo was dribbling down the left wing, looking for an opening. Everything appeared normal.
Liam sat back down, heart pounding. Had he imagined the whole thing?
Then, almost instinctively, his mind formed the words: *Window Five*.
The world around him dimmed slightly, as though someone had adjusted a filter on reality. The match continued playing, but with subtle differences. Ronaldo cut inside, fired a shot that deflected off Piqué's outstretched leg, and curved into the top corner. The stadium erupted. 1-1.
Liam watched, transfixed, as the sequence played out. Then reality snapped back, and he was watching Ronaldo still on the wing, preparing to make his move.
His throat went dry. Five seconds later, exactly as he'd seen, Ronaldo cut inside.
"Shoot now," Liam whispered, leaning forward.
The Portuguese star fired, the ball deflected off Piqué's leg, and curved into the top corner. The stadium erupted. 1-1.
Exactly as he'd seen.
Liam's hands trembled as he reached for his notepad, scribbling furiously. This was real. He had just seen five minutes into the future and watched it come true exactly as predicted.
"Window Five," he thought again.
Once more, reality shifted. He saw Barcelona respond to the goal, pressing Madrid back. In the 69th minute, a quick one-two between Iniesta and Messi tore open Madrid's defense. Iniesta through on goal, a calm finish past Casillas. 2-1 Barcelona.
Reality snapped back.
Liam watched, barely breathing, as the exact sequence unfolded before his eyes. The pass, the run, the finish—all identical to his vision.
"It's real," he whispered, a strange euphoria rising within him. "It's actually real."
He tried again. "Window Five."
This time, he saw Madrid push for an equalizer. A corner in the 74th minute, Sergio Ramos rising highest, a powerful header. 2-2.
Back to the present. Liam watched the minutes tick by, knowing exactly what would happen. When Ramos headed home the equalizer, Liam didn't celebrate or react. He simply nodded, as if confirming what he already knew to be true.
Because he did know.
By the end of the match—a 2-2 draw, with no further goals in the final fifteen minutes—Liam had tested his ability multiple times. Each vision had proven accurate down to the smallest detail.
When the final whistle blew, Liam turned off the television and sat in silence, his mind racing with possibilities. He could see five minutes into the future. Not past that, not less than that—exactly five minutes.
And the warning made sense: he couldn't see future events that resulted from his direct interventions. If he changed something based on his knowledge, the future would change, rendering his vision inaccurate.
Liam stood and walked to the window, looking out at the Madrid skyline as night fell across the city. For the first time in over a year, he felt something beyond resignation and bitterness.
He felt purpose.
This ability—this "Window Five"—could change everything. Football was a game of moments, of split-second decisions. Five minutes was an eternity in a sport where matches turned on individual errors, tactical adjustments, and moments of brilliance.
"With this," he whispered, "I could revolutionize coaching." Liam's time being reborn had changed many things.
His time under Rafa had made him more than a fan. Now, the game was everything to him.
It was his dream and goal. To stand at the peak of coaching as the world's best. Beyond even the best coaches to ever Exist.
The day he was left behind, he tried to do so .... Before being slapped back to reality by ... Well, reality.
Nothing was easy, in fact it was outright difficult. No one would trust a rookie with no job experience to actually lead a team. Not even with a resume like his.
Even if he did, Liam knew that his position wouldn't last long.
He didn't know how good he would be if he was allowed to coach a team, but he was sure he couldn't become the next Mourinho.
Coaching wasn't as simple as I seemed. His time under benitez made sure of that. He had seen the man's frustration, helplessness, despair, annoyance. Once it was clear that he wasn't the Man for the team, he was kicked out.
That was a famous coach. Much less a rookie like him.
Just a few draws and losses would be enough to get him fired before he could properly organize himself.
His young age was vehemently against him in this regard.
The only way to get the chance to truly lay the foundation he wanted, was to have complete authority and Monopoly to do whatever he wanted, to buy players, to structure the team in his vision. And the only way to achieve that .... Was to get his own ... Club.
This alone was enough to make anyone else die of laughter. A data analyst out of a Job, buying a soccer club? That was absurd.
Liam would have thought the same way, if he didn't know what this ability he just gained represented. Five minutes foresight? It represented a path, a paved out road to endless wealth.
It was what he needed. Resources. Influence. A way back into the game.
In short, Money.
Liam returned to his laptop and opened a browser. He navigated to his online banking portal, checking his balance: €18,213.47—the dwindling remains of his Liverpool severance package.
It wasn't much. But with an ability to see five minutes into the future, it would be enough to start.
He opened another tab and typed: "Sports betting, live in-play."
As the search results populated his screen, Liam Torres smiled for the first time in months. The game had changed. And this time, he held the controller.