The tactical briefing room emptied in a matter of seconds. The players filed out in relative silence, the weight of the new 4-4-2 Diamond system and the ruthless clarity of their instructions occupying their minds. There were no hushed complaints or confused glances; for the first ti in three years, every man in the squad knew exactly what would get him benched and exactly what was expected of him on the pitch.
Marcus Vale remained at the front of the room, watching them leave. Once the final player—a deep-in-thought Donny van de Beek—stepped through the doors, Marcus's posture imdiately shifted.
The rigid, commanding presence of the tactical dictator evaporated. He slumped his shoulders, slid his hands deep into the pockets of his club tracksuit, and let out a long, lazy exhale. The easy-going, slightly sleepy mask returned to his face.
He wandered out of the briefing room and navigated the winding corridors toward the executive wing. He didn't head for his own manager's office; instead, he bypassed the coaching suites entirely and walked straight into the temporary corporate hub established by Alexander Vance.
Vance was seated behind his desk, surrounded by three glowing monitors displaying complex financial spreadsheets, contract amortization tables, and global scouting databases. He was on a headset, speaking rapid, fluent French to soone on the continent. Seeing Marcus enter, Vance held up a finger, spoke two final sentences of corporate jargon, and ended the call.
"The tactical download is complete?" Vance asked, taking off the headset.
"Ah, yes," Marcus said breezily. He didn't sit in the plush leather guest chair. Instead, he wandered over to a wide windowsill, hopped up backward, and sat on the ledge, his legs dangling slightly. He pulled the small red tactical magnet from his pocket and began flipping it over his knuckles. "They are processing the variables. A few bruised egos, but the logic was too tight for them to argue."
"Good," Vance said, tapping his keyboard to bring up a new set of docunts. "Because while you fix the tactical structure on the pitch, we need to fix the financial structure off it. The Glazers and Ed Woodward have left us a completely bloated, inefficient wage bill. We need to finalize our targets for the January transfer window, but to do that, we have to establish the outgoings."
Marcus tilted his head, watching the magnet spin. "Tell ."
"I had a call with Mino Raiola this morning," Vance stated, his tone flat and purely transactional.
Marcus stopped spinning the magnet. Even in his lazy posture, his eyes sharpened slightly. Paul Pogba was the club's most expensive asset, a comrcial juggernaut, but also a constant source of tactical and dia instability. His contract was set to expire in exactly seven months, at the end of June 2022.
"And?" Marcus asked.
"Raiola was doing his usual dance," Vance explained, leaning back in his chair. "He talked about 'projects' and 'ambition,' but the bottom line was clear. They do not want to renew the contract under our new wage structure. They are looking for a massive signing-on fee as a free agent in the sumr. Raiola is trying to use the threat of leaving for free to leverage a panic offer from us now that Axiom's capital is in the building."
Most managers would panic at the prospect of losing an eighty-nine-million-pound player for nothing. They would urge the board to offer a new, astronomical contract to protect the asset's value.
Marcus just smiled. It was a cold, perfectly detached smile.
"Sell him," Marcus said simply.
Vance raised an eyebrow. "In January? Raiola will demand a massive cut, and the buying club won't offer a high fee knowing they can get him for free in July."
"I don't care," Marcus replied cheerfully, resuming the rhythmic flipping of the magnet. "His sprint recovery ti in defensive transitions ranks in the fourteenth percentile of Premier League midfielders. He walks back. I am not paying three hundred and fifty thousand pounds a week for a player who jogs while his center-backs are facing a three-on-two counter-attack. Sell him for ten million. Sell him for five."
Marcus paused, his tone dropping the cheerfulness for pure corporate efficiency. "If nobody wants to pay a fee, let him go for free in the winter transfer window. Cancel his contract early if you have to. At least we will not be forced to pay his exorbitant wage for the next six months. Taking that money off our books imdiately clears the financial runway for players who actually execute instructions. Cut the cord, Alex. Don't waste a single hour negotiating with Raiola."
Vance nodded, highlighting a line on his spreadsheet and turning it red. "Done. Asset to be liquidated. Before we move to the next outgoing, Ralf Rangnick's representatives reached out this morning. They know the interim manager role is off the table, but they offered his services as a Director of Football or a tactical consultant."
Marcus waved his hand lazily. "Tell Ralf I appreciate his pressing theories from 2015, but we don't need a consultant. I am the consultant."
Vance smirked slightly, clearing the email from his screen. "Noted. Moving on. We have formal inquiries regarding Jesse Lingard."
"Who?" Marcus asked lazily.
"West Ham and Newcastle United," Vance read from the screen. "West Ham wants him back after his successful loan spell there last season. Newcastle has new ownership and is desperate for imdiate Premier League quality to avoid relegation. They are willing to overpay."
"Sell him to whichever one pays more," Marcus instructed without a second of hesitation.
"Both are offering around fifteen million," Vance noted. "But Lingard is an academy graduate. He's popular in the dressing room. Are you certain you don't want to use him for depth in the diamond?"
"Alex, we are running a high-performance athletic institution, not a nostalgia museum," Marcus said, his breezy tone completely at odds with his ruthless instructions. "He is twenty-eight years old. He wants guaranteed starting minutes that I will never give him. Sell him. It doesn't matter how much, just remove the bloated wage bill. Our data models rely on squad efficiency. We cannot have hundred-thousand-pound-a-week players sitting in the stands."
Vance struck another na off the list. "Agreed. Now, regarding Donny van de Beek and Amad Diallo. Both are severely lacking minutes. We have half a dozen loan offers on the table for Donny—Everton, Crystal Palace, and a few clubs in Spain. We also have Championship clubs asking to take Amad on loan for six months."
Marcus hopped off the windowsill, walking over to Vance's desk. He leaned over it, placing both hands flat on the polished wood.
"Reject all offers for Donny," Marcus ordered, the lazy deanor vanishing entirely. "I need him. He is starting on Sunday as the left-sided Number 8. He understands spatial awareness and one-touch passing better than anyone else in our midfield. The previous regi ruined his confidence because they didn't understand how to use a positional player. I will fix him. He stays."
"Noted. Loan offers for Donny are rejected," Vance said, typing quickly. "And Amad?"
"Accept the loan for Amad," Marcus nodded, standing back up and returning his hands to his pockets. "He has elite technical ability, but he needs physical conditioning. The Championship is a brutal, physical league. Let him go to Sunderland or whoever will guarantee him ninety minutes every week. Let him get kicked for six months. He will co back in the sumr ready for the Premier League."
"That leaves one major outgoing variable," Vance said, looking up from his monitors. "Anthony Martial."
Marcus paused. He tilted his head, his eyes half-closing as his mind rapidly calculated the tactical permutations.
"We have concrete offers," Vance revealed. "Sevilla wants him on loan with an option to buy. Juventus has made a preliminary inquiry as they are looking for versatile forwards. He is on massive wages, Marcus. Our scouting data flags him as one of the most inefficient players in the squad based on his goal-to-wage ratio."
"Stall them," Marcus decided softly.
"Stall them?" Vance repeated, surprised. "You just ruthlessly cut Pogba and Lingard, but you want to hold onto Martial?"
"I gave Anthony a very specific role today," Marcus explained, pacing slowly across the office floor. "He is playing as the Number 9, but operating as a false pivot to link up the midfield diamond. He possesses elite close control and his back-to-goal hold-up play is statistically very strong when he actually applies himself."
Marcus stopped pacing and looked at Vance. "I need to know if he was failing because Solskjær's system was broken, or if he is failing because his ntality is broken. If he follows my instructions on Sunday, he becos a vital piece of the tactical setup. If he walks around the pitch and ignores the triggers..." Marcus offered a cold smile. "...then we answer Sevilla's phone calls in January. Stall all offers until the winter transfer window officially opens. Let him prove his worth."
"Understood," Vance said, categorizing Martial's file under 'Pending Evaluation.' "That covers the primary outgoings. We will have cleared over seven hundred thousand pounds in weekly wages by January if we execute these exits. Axiom capital is already unlocked. Let's talk about the incoming hitlist. You said the squad depth is insufficient for a nine-month campaign."
Marcus walked back to the guest chair and slumped into it, throwing one leg over the armrest.
"It is entirely insufficient," Marcus agreed cheerfully. "The defense is too slow to play a high line, the fullbacks cannot cross, and the midfield lacks a true controller. We need surgical upgrades, not comrcial vanity signings."
Vance pulled up the global scouting database, a proprietary Axiom software that mapped millions of data points across every professional league in the world.
"Right-back," Marcus stated, starting the breakdown. "Aaron Wan-Bissaka is an elite one-on-one defensive specialist. But offensively, he is a black hole. When he receives the ball in the final third, possession dies. In the diamond formation, the fullbacks must provide the entirety of our attacking width. Aaron cannot do that. I need an attacking fullback."
"Target?" Vance asked.
"Kieran Trippier," Marcus answered instantly.
Vance typed the na, bringing up the player's profile. "Currently at Atlético Madrid. He won La Liga with Diego Sione last season. Why Trippier?"
"Because our Expected Goals from attacking corners is the lowest in the top six," Marcus explained lazily, tracing a curve in the air with his red magnet. "Trippier's dead-ball delivery is elite. If we put him over a free-kick or a corner, that is an extra ten goals a season for Cristiano, Victor, and Harry just from set-pieces. He pays for his own transfer fee in added goal value alone. He has imnse tactical discipline drilled into him by Sione, aning he won't get caught out of position in transition. Most importantly, he wants to return to the England for family reasons. Atlético is financially tight. We can secure him for under twenty million pounds in January. He instantly fixes our right flank."
Vance nodded, authorizing the preliminary scouting assignnt. "Agreed. Moving to the midfield. We are losing Pogba. Matic is aging and cannot play twice a week. We need a pivot."
"We need two profiles," Marcus corrected. "We need a physical destroyer, and we need an elite controller. For the destroyer, the target is Denis Zakaria."
Vance's keyboard clacked rapidly. "Borussia Mönchengladbach. Defensive midfielder. Swiss international."
"His contract expires in exactly six months," Marcus pointed out, his Urahara-like intellect highlighting the financial loophole. "Gladbach cannot afford to lose him for free in the sumr. They will be forced to accept a cut-price fee in January—likely under six million pounds. He is a physical monster, stands six-foot-three, has elite recovery pace, and his ball-winning data in the Bundesliga is phenonal. He is the perfect, low-cost tactical shield to rotate with McTominay."
"And the elite controller?" Vance asked, knowing a six-million-pound stop-gap wouldn't solve the core creative issue long-term.
Marcus's sleepy eyes opened fully, gleaming with sharp intensity. "Bruno Guimarães."
Vance pulled up the profile. "Olympique Lyonnais. Brazilian international. Twenty-four years old."
"He is the ultimate variable," Marcus said, his voice dropping into its serious, clinical register. "He is currently operating under the radar in Ligue 1, but his underlying data is terrifying. His progressive passing, his resistance to the high press, his ability to receive the ball on the half-turn while under pressure... he is exactly what this club has lacked since Michael Carrick retired. If we put Guimarães at the base of the diamond, the entire speed of our transition doubles."
"Lyon is notoriously difficult to negotiate with," Vance warned. "Jean-Michel Aulas will demand a massive fee, especially in the middle of the season if Manchester United cos knocking. Newcastle is also actively monitoring him."
"Then don't knock as Manchester United," Marcus commanded smoothly. "I want our interdiaries at Axiom's Swiss subsidiary to initiate the contact for both Guimarães and Zakaria."
Vance smiled at the corporate maneuvering. "Done. And for the record, Axiom's legal team has already run the post-Brexit Governing Body Endorsent calculator. Both Zakaria and Guimarães comfortably clear the required fifteen GBE points for a UK work permit due to their international caps and European minutes. Visas will be rubber-stamped within twenty-four hours of an agreent."
"Perfect. Do not get into a bidding war in the sumr when Real Madrid or Arsenal wake up and realize how good Guimarães is. We strike in January."
"Consider him our primary winter objective," Vance noted, marking the Brazilian's file with a red priority tag. "Now, what about the attack? You said Martial is on probation. If he fails the evaluation against Chelsea and Arsenal, what is the contingency?"
"Paulo Dybala," Marcus stated.
Vance looked genuinely surprised. "Dybala? He is the face of Juventus. Why would he leave mid-season?"
Marcus smiled, looking up at the ceiling. "Because I don't just study tactical setups, Alex. I study financial realities. Juventus is currently under investigation for capital gains irregularities. Their wage bill is suffocating them. Furthermore, they are desperately trying to scrape together seventy million euros to buy Dušan Vlahović from Fiorentina in January. They need cash, urgently."
Vance's eyes widened slightly as he connected the dots. "And Dybala's contract negotiations have completely stalled in Turin."
"Exactly," Marcus said cheerfully. "He is entering the final six months of his deal. Juventus either sells him to us in January for a reasonable fee to fund the Vlahović transfer, or they lose him for free in July. As for the tactical fit, Dybala is a natural second striker. He operates flawlessly in the half-spaces. If Anthony fails to follow instructions, Dybala slots perfectly into that false nine role in the diamond, linking up with Cristiano."
"It's a brilliant corporate leverage play," Vance admitted, typing furiously. "If Martial fails, we initiate contact with Juventus imdiately after the new year."
"Which leaves the defense," Marcus sighed, finally standing up from the armchair. He walked over to the large window overlooking the dark, foggy training pitches. "Maguire and Lindelöf are highly competent penalty-box defenders. When we sit in a deep mid-block, they are fine. But by next season, If I want this team play a high line. I want us compressing the pitch. To do that, I need center-backs with elite recovery pace. Neither Harry nor Victor have it."
"We signed Raphaël Varane," Vance pointed out.
"Varane is world-class, but his injury record is already becoming a variable I cannot rely on," Marcus countered. "I need a fast, aggressive, ball-playing center-back. I have two options. Manuel Akanji or Jules Koundé."
Vance pulled up both profiles side-by-side on the central monitor.
"Akanji is at Borussia Dortmund," Marcus analyzed, his back still turned to Vance as he looked out the window. "His contract is winding down, aning Dortmund might be forced to cash in. He is incredibly fast, physically dominant, and comfortable passing out from the back. Koundé is at Sevilla. He will be significantly more expensive—his release clause is nearly seventy million euros. But his data is flawless. He reads the ga like a veteran, and his recovery speed allows the defensive line to sit ten yards higher up the pitch."
"Chelsea almost triggered Koundé's release clause last sumr," Vance recalled. "They will likely return for him."
"Then we will beat them to it, or we will take Akanji," Marcus said, turning away from the window and pocketing the red magnet. "Monitor both situations. If Sevilla drops their asking price slightly, we take Koundé. If they refuse to negotiate mid-season, we secure Akanji."
Vance hit the final keystroke, consolidating the targets into a highly encrypted master file.
"The Winter Ledger is set," Vance summarized, looking at the comprehensive list. "Outgoings: Pogba, Lingard, Amad on loan. Martial pending. Incomings: Trippier, Zakaria, Guimarães. Contingency targets: Dybala, Koundé, or Akanji. It is an aggressive, ruthless overhaul for a mid-season window."
"It is a necessary overhaul," Marcus corrected, his tone breezy once again. He walked toward the office door. "The Glazers bought players to sell shirts. We are buying players to execute our system. Secure the capital, Alex."
"The capital is always secure," Vance replied, offering a brief corporate smile. "Focus on Stamford Bridge. Your Father expects a return on our imdiate investnt."
"Tell the Father to relax," Marcus said lazily, pulling his tracksuit collar up as he opened the door. "I already gave them the tactical blueprint. I'll see you tomorrow."
Marcus stepped out into the quiet corridor. The massive administrative machinery of Axiom Global Partners was now moving in the shadows, preparing to violently reshape the Manchester United squad.
But for Marcus, the January transfer window was a distant variable. As he walked out into the freezing Manchester fog, his terrifying intellect had already returned to the imdiate tactical battles on the pitch. He was visualizing the exact blade of grass where N'Golo Kanté would attempt to press Donny van de Beek, and the exact angle of the pass that would break the trap.
The pieces were set. The execution awaited.
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