Rebuilding the Theatre

It was a crisp winter morning in Manchester, the kind where the air feels sharp and the sky holds the promise of rare sunlight. Six months remained before Sir Alex Ferguson's retirement, and the football world was already bracing for the end of an era. But for Jin Taige, this morning marked the beginning of something far more surreal.

Jin Taige was still deep in sleep when a gentle hand shook him awake. "Dear Mr. Tiger," a soft voice called, "if you don't get up now, you'll miss Manchester's rare sunny day."

Groggily, Jin Taige opened his eyes and blinked at the figure standing beside his bed. His heart skipped a beat. A tall, blonde woman in chef's attire stood there, smiling warmly at him. Her blue eyes sparkled with affection, and her presence was both comforting and utterly bewildering.

Jin Taige sat up abruptly, clutching the sheets to his chest. He looked around the room, his mind racing. The space was elegantly decorated in a European style, with a golden chandelier hanging above and walls adorned with tasteful, white wallpaper. The sunlight streaming through the goose-yellow curtains gave the room a warm, inviting glow. This was not his room. This was not his life.

"What's going on?" Jin Taige muttered, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. He could feel the softness of the quilt beneath his fingers, the coolness of the air on his skin. This was no dream.

The blonde woman tilted her head, her expression tinged with concern. "Tiger, are you feeling unwell?"

Jin Taige opened his eyes and stared at her. "Where… where am I?"

"This is our home," she replied, her voice gentle but puzzled. "Tiger, what's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

"I… I have a headache," Jin Taige lied, sinking back into the pillows. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion. "I just need to rest."

The woman nodded, her worry evident. "You've been working too hard lately. Stay in bed and rest. I'll take the kids out for a bit. There's breakfast in the kitchen—just warm it up when you're ready." She leaned down, kissed his forehead, and then left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Jin Taige lay there for a moment, his heart pounding. When he heard the faint sound of a door closing downstairs, he threw off the covers and got out of bed. He walked to the mirror on the far wall and froze.

The man staring back at him was not Jin Taige.

The reflection showed a man in his early thirties, with a strong, athletic build and an unmistakably Asian face. Yet, his hair was blonde, and his features bore traces of European ancestry. Jin Taige stumbled back, his mind reeling. "Who… who is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

He paced the room, his thoughts racing. He tried to recall the events of the previous night. He remembered drinking with friends, discussing football—Zinedine Zidane's sudden resignation from Real Madrid, Arsène Wenger's departure after 22 years at Arsenal, and Manchester United's struggles. He remembered boasting, half-jokingly, that if Sir Alex Ferguson could step down, he could take over Manchester United and restore the club's glory.

"If I were in charge," he had said, his voice slurred with alcohol, "I'd dominate Europe. Just watch."

His friends had laughed, teasing him about his years of playing Championship Manager and Football Manager. But now, as Jin Taige stood in this unfamiliar room, the laughter felt like a distant echo.

He sat back on the bed, clutching his head. "This can't be real," he muttered. But the memories flooding his mind told him otherwise. He remembered now—his name was Tiger King. He was an Englishman of mixed heritage, married to the blonde woman, Winna. They had two children: Joa, an 8-year-old boy, and Elisa, a 6-year-old girl. And his profession? He was the coach of Manchester United.

Jin Taige—no, Tiger King—let out a shaky breath. He had crossed into another world, another life. But how? And why?

As Tiger King dressed in the sportswear that filled the wardrobe, he pieced together more of his new identity. The house was modest but comfortable, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. It was located close to Old Trafford and Carrington Training Base, a practical choice for a football coach.

He wandered downstairs, his mind still spinning. The kitchen was tidy, with a plate of breakfast waiting for him. He ate mechanically, his thoughts elsewhere. Today was January 14, 2013. He had come from the summer of 2018, armed with knowledge of the next five years in football. It was a treasure trove of information, but also a heavy responsibility.

As he stood by the window, gazing out at the bustling streets of Manchester, Tiger King felt a strange sense of determination. He might not remember his past life, but he knew football. He knew the players, the tactics, the trends. And he knew one thing for certain: he had a chance to make a difference.

But there was more. As he delved deeper into Tiger King's memories, he made a startling discovery. Tiger King was part of Manchester United's famed "Class of '92," the golden generation that included legends like David Beckham, Ryan Giggs, and Paul Scholes. How had he ended up here, in this life, with this name?

Tiger King smiled faintly. It didn't matter. He was here now, and he had a job to do. The future of Manchester United was in his hands.

The journey ahead would not be easy. There would be challenges, setbacks, and moments of doubt. But as Tiger King looked out at the players, he felt a sense of purpose he had never known before.

This was his chance. This was his destiny.

And he was ready.