A Manager's Code

Early July 2000 – Meadow Lane, Recruitment Module – ACTIVE

James didn't sleep. Not really. By the time the birds began chirping outside Meadow Lane, he was still scrolling through the scouting interface. The transfer budget remained visible in the top-right corner: £4,000,000, with a possible £1.5–2M to be added through player sales.

Search Parameters:

Position – Forward | Age – 17 to 23 | Role – Pace-driven, Pressing | Estimated Value – Low to Medium

The system returned a list of over 80 names. James filtered them by aggression, acceleration, and tactical versatility. Only a few survived the second sweep. Finally, he picked a high-potential player from Brazil. 

Name: Adriano 

Age: 18 

Nationality: Brazilian 

Current Club: Flamengo 

Profile Notes: Towering striker with a powerful left foot, quick burst over short distances, and elite finishing instincts in tight spaces. Shows maturity beyond his age. Estimated cost: ~£1,300,000.

Psychological Notes: Dependent on his Father. It would be best to bring him along to reinforce morale and confidence.

He leaned back. "Adriano is a gamble but could tear this league apart if played right."

He closed the system. First light was breaking across Meadow Lane.

Now came the hard part: landing them.

Two Days Later – On a flight to Brazil

James reclined slightly in his seat, reviewing the printed contract sheets while Tommy fiddled with the in-flight entertainment.

"So," Tommy began, flicking past a Portuguese soap opera, "you reckon Kaká watches football or just plays it like he's composing a symphony?"

James smirked. "He probably dreams in triangles and through balls, but boy, can he run. He has a lot of potential."

Just then, Alina, sitting across the aisle, leaned in and raised an eyebrow. "You two thought you'd sneak off on an all-expenses-paid football scouting trip to Brazil without me?"

Tommy grinned. "Technically, it's club business. Professionally sanctioned. Fully budgeted."

"Professionally sanctioned my foot," Alina muttered. "If I find even one surfboard or tropical drink in your luggage, I'm reporting both of you to Eleanor."

James laughed. "I own the club, you know. Relax. There are no coconuts. Just contracts and talent."

The Following Day – São Paulo FC Offices

It was quieter here, but no less intense. James adjusted the collar of his shirt as he, Tommy, and Alina waited in the club lounge.

Tommy glanced at the trophy case. "You think Kaká knows what lasagna is?"

Alina crossed her arms. "Do you know what feijoada is?"

James grinned. "We should probably stop pitching our transfers with food."

The door opened, and Kaká entered with a calm, composed air that belied his age. He was still just 18, but his presence filled the room.

"Ricardo," James greeted, offering a handshake. Thanks for seeing us. I heard you speak English."

Kaká smiled politely. "Notts County. I heard your Offer, and yes, my father had me learn for the future."

James took a deep breath. "You're one of the most exciting midfielders we've seen. You've got vision, confidence, and maturity that don't come around often. We want you to grow with us — not behind closed doors, but in front of thousands."

Tommy grinned. "Also, we've got a club chef who'll cook you anything you miss from home. Except feijoada. Still working on that."

Kaká chuckled.

"We understand the risks," James continued. "But we believe in your future. And we're ready to invest in it."

Kaká nodded. "I'll speak to my father. But… I like your honesty and the pitch about good food."

The Next Morning – Flamengo Training Ground, Rio de Janeiro

Inside Flamengo's training complex, they were greeted not by a club official but by Almir Leite Ribeiro, Adriano's father.

"You are here for my son, yes?" Almir asked warmly, his eyes sharp but kind.

James extended a hand. "We are. Thank you for meeting with us."

Almir led them to a shaded bench overlooking the training field. "He's getting stronger, more confident… but he's still my boy. I don't want him lost in some foreign land too soon."

James nodded, understanding. "We don't see him as a transfer. We see him as a future. We believe in Adriano, and we're not asking him to do it alone."

Alina leaned forward. "Which is why we want you to come with him. We'll arrange a place for both of you. Even bring you into the club structure if you're open to it."

Almir blinked in surprise. "You would… bring me too?"

Tommy smiled. "We've seen the way he plays when he feels supported. We want to protect that."

James added, "We'll find a role for you—something meaningful. We want Adriano settled, focused, and happy."

There was a pause. Almir looked toward the training pitch where his son was running drills, then back to James.

"I've had clubs make offers," he said quietly. "But no one's offered me… respect."

Alina placed a hand over her heart. "We mean it."

Almir nodded slowly, voice thick with emotion. "Then we'll come. Both of us."

2 days later – Notts County Office

The fax machine clicked to a stop. The counteroffer was in.

Transfer Bid – Michael Carrick (West Ham United)

Initial Offer: £400,000

Final Agreed Fee: £500,000

James glanced at Tommy, who leaned against the doorframe, munching on a sausage roll.

"Half a mil for a Premier League prospect?" Tommy said. "A bit ambitious."

James smiled. "He's got the kind of brain you build a midfield around."

Tommy shrugged. "Well, I wore clean trainers. Let's go win him over."

The next morning – West Ham United Training Ground, East London

Tommy tugged on his jacket as they stepped out of the car. "You think he's the type who judges us by our shoes?"

James arched an eyebrow. "You wore trainers with ketchup stains."

"That's paprika from the crisps," Tommy muttered.

They walked into reception and were directed toward the staff meeting lounge. Through the glass, Michael Carrick sat quietly, arms folded, watching the training ground in motion.

"Looks like he already knows where every player's supposed to be," Tommy whispered.

"He probably does," James replied. "Which is why we're here."

Inside, Carrick stood to greet them.

"Michael," James offered a firm handshake. "Appreciate you taking the time."

Carrick nodded. "Didn't expect Notts County's head coach to show up himself."

James smiled. "Didn't want to send a fax when I could have a conversation."

Tommy leaned in. "Plus, he gets carsick, and this was the only way to keep him quiet."

Carrick cracked the faintest smile.

"We've been watching you," James continued. "Your movement off the ball. The way you scan space before the pass arrives. That's not something you teach. That's something you build around."

Carrick remained thoughtful. "I'm getting some minutes here. Nothing guaranteed yet."

"I'm offering you first-team football," James said. "We're not throwing you into chaos. We've got structure. Ambition. A plan. And we think you'd be central to it."

Tommy added, "Also, our stadium may be smaller, but our lasagna-to-player ratio is unmatched."

Carrick laughed softly. "You two make a good pitch."

James leaned forward. "We're serious about what we're building, Michael. I'm not promising it'll be easy. But I think you'll become the player you're meant to be — with us."

Carrick gave a slight nod. "Let me speak with my family and my agent."

"Of course," James said. "Take your time."

As they stood to leave, Tommy nudged James. "Think he noticed I wore my lucky socks?"

"No," James said, glancing back. "But I'm sure he smelled them."

Later that afternoon – Notts County Meeting Room

At Meadow Lane, the recruitment boardroom was abuzz with printouts, player dossiers, and Eleanor's meticulously organized folders. Alina leaned over the table, glancing at the Carrick agreement.

"So," she said, tapping her pen, "you've got Carrick locked in. Who else do you have in mind?"

James leaned back in his chair. "Based on my research, I've already sent Eleanor the final shortlist for the remaining positions — and the players we can move out to free up wages."

Tommy added, "He was up fiddling with scouting reports and match tapes all night. I swear the lad hasn't blinked since Tuesday."

James grinned. "Here's the shortlist: Phil Jagielka for center-back — young, tough, smart. Leighton Baines is a long-term left-back. A backup with potential, and Ben Foster as a backup keeper with serious upside."

Alina raised her brows. "All teenagers?"

"Cheap now, gold later," James replied. "We're closing the window with intent. I'd rather shape the future than rent the past."

He gathered the final sheets into a folder and stood.

"Once they arrive at Notts," he said, "I'll need to meet the squad properly. Time to set the tone."