Michael Sterling stood at the entrance of the Barnsley training complex. except, it didn't look like the Barnsley training complex anymore.
Gone were the peeling paint and the vending machine that only dispensed lukewarm Fanta. In its place stood a sleek, glass-fronted building with the Champions League logo discreetly (or not so discreetly) etched onto the sliding doors.
"It smells like money," Arthur Milton whispered, inhaling deeply. He was wearing a new suit. It was purple, naturally, but the fabric didn't itch. "And lavender. Is that lavender?"
"It's the smell of a Dynasty, Arthur," Michael grinned, adjusting his sunglasses. "Kenji spent two million pounds on the ventilation system alone. Apparently, elite players can't breathe Yorkshire air unless it's filtered through diamonds."
"Does it filter out Diego's sweat?"
"Nothing filters out Diego's sweat," Michael sighed. "That is a biological weapon."
