"Why didn't you come to me if you needed money? I could've invested!"
"Exactly! I just opened a golf course in Inverness—I'd back you too!"
Those were the words ringing in Claire's ears after training, courtesy of Cristiano Ronaldo and Park Ji-sung, who'd followed him home like eager venture capitalists.
When Ronaldo casually mentioned he could drop €10 million into Claire's project, Claire nearly choked.
Two seasons at United, and the man already had that kind of liquidity? Claire sulked for days, his training energy sapped. As a consolation (or flex?), Ronaldo even gifted him a pair of sunglasses from his personal brand—CR7.
Claire blinked. "What's CR7?"
Rio Ferdinand, ever the explainer, sighed. "Cristiano Ronaldo. CR. Plus his number. Even his underwear has that logo—he gave the whole team a set."
Claire exhaled, defeated.
Still, things had improved since Claire and Lucy attended Ferdinand's dinner party. Rio had become oddly protective—extra drills together, even a gym membership.
"My gym. I hung our family photo with you there. Good for business—you're a low-profile celebrity, after all."
Claire was slowly accepting that every United player had a side hustle. Even Park, the quiet Korean, co-owned a luxury golf resort in Scotland with his mentor, Guus Hiddink.
A quick Google search revealed Park's course was Inverness' most popular.
"Whatever. They're veterans. I'll stick to my own grind."
——
The day arrived: Lille vs. United, Champions League rematch.
The squad flew to France a day early, settling into a five-star hotel in Lille. Claire, well-rested, briefly fantasized about a "French rendezvous" before reality hit—he wasn't in the matchday squad.
"Maybe it's for the best. You're the gaffer's secret weapon," Ferdinand offered in the locker room.
Claire forced a smile. Last time, Heinze's presence kept him out. Now? No excuse.
"Yeah… hope so."
Nearby, Park hummed cheerfully. "No play, full pay—can't complain."
"First time I've heard a player happy to be benched," Claire muttered.
As the teams lined up in the tunnel, Claire and Park lingered at the back. Ferdinand, ever the hierarchy adherent, slotted behind Rooney.
Park nudged Claire. "See? Talent matters, but so does seniority. You're the hot rookie, but you bowed your head. That's why Rio invited you, not Ronaldo."
"This isn't the Championship. Every role here is earned. My guess? The boss sees you as the ultimate wildcard—just wait till next season. But first, fix your stamina. No squad needs a 20-minute man."
Claire didn't respond. He just smiled, settling onto the bench as distant French chants carried his name.
——
The match was a slog.
Rooney's kickoff. Ronaldo's dribbles. Giggs' sprints. All neutered by Lille's defense.
United played uninspired, even arrogant. Claire watched, uneasy. "Pride before a fall."
Then it happened.
Lille's veterans—Wiltord and Abidal—outmaneuvered Neville and Ferdinand, slicing into United's box. The crowd erupted.
But Van der Sar turned godmode, parrying two point-blank shots before smothering the ball.
Claire groaned. "We're headed for a second leg."
Ferguson bellowed from the touchline, but United's urgency faded. Lille's coach strolled lazily, content with the stalemate.
0-0 at halftime. No flair. No drama. Just tactical gridlock.