◎ [35 hours, 9 minutes, and 7 seconds!] ◎
“On the first day of your annual leave, the new boss buys your company and asks you to return to the office to take a photo with him. How would you feel?”
The answer would most likely involve a colorful greeting to the boss’s entire family.
But for the “King of Professionals” like Ferguson, what was a little overtime? He loved work, and he loved overtime even more.
And so, he rushed toward Old Trafford at top speed.
During the drive, the old man received another call from David Gill.
Thinking it might be the lovely young man calling, he answered the phone with immense affection: “Is that Tang? I’m already on my way.”
“…Fergie, that voice is terrifying!” Gill couldn’t help but roast him. “You should really let your kids hear the way you sound right now; their jaws would hit the floor.”
Realizing the caller was his old colleague, Ferguson’s expression shifted instantly.
“I’m driving, so make it quick! If I get caught by a camera, I’m giving the ticket to you.”
Gill certainly didn’t want to distract him while driving, but there were things he had agreed to quite boldly in front of the boss that he still needed to run by his old friend.
“About the signings… the boss has some minor opinions. But I must say, his attitude is excellent. He has no intention of forcing anything on you. In fact, he respects you a lot and cares deeply about your feelings. But he is a twenty-one-year-old who just spent a fortune to acquire the club; I don’t think I could just pour cold water on him immediately.”
Ferguson had known him for so many years that he knew exactly what crap Gill was about to spout from the very first sentence.
As expected!
However, Sir Alex Ferguson didn’t get angry because he agreed with Gill’s assessment.
Think about it: a young billionaire spends 5 billion euros to buy a football club—how could he not have his own expectations and ideas?
It was perfectly normal to want a say in transfers. In fact, the fact that he hadn’t turned the club into a total autocracy right after the takeover, like Massimo Moratti, was already very rational.
“Who does he like? Let’s hear it,” Ferguson said with interest.
Which club a fan supports and which players they like can actually reflect that fan’s personality and traits. For instance, Arsenal fans tend to be more sentimental and loyal.
Sir Alex had always believed in this theory. He believed that once he knew what kind of players the young Chairman liked, he could catch a glimpse of his character and way of doing things.
“You won’t believe it. The player he wants most is actually Tottenham’s Modrić. Haha, Tottenham’s Modrić!”
Gill had wanted to laugh the moment he heard the name. Now, speaking to Ferguson, how could he hold it back?
Ferguson ignored Gill’s mocking laughter.
He knew exactly why the man was laughing. In 2009, after the arduous process of signing Berbatov from Tottenham, Ferguson had grandly declared that he would never do business with the Spurs Chairman, Levy, again.
Yet here it was, only 2012, and his new boss was interested in a Tottenham player…
“Modrić…” Ferguson repeated the name.
He was certainly no stranger to it. Modrić was already on his transfer shortlist. In fact, just a few days before the season ended, Rio Ferdinand had sneakily come to his office to recommend the Croatian.
Modrić was a good player, a truly excellent midfielder, but Ferguson knew very well that signing him would be extremely difficult.
That damned bald Jewish man simply did not want to sell his best players to Premier League rivals.
Carrick, Berbatov—which one hadn’t been an ordeal?
If they were to bid for Modrić, it would definitely be rejected by that bald head unless they offered a massive premium.
“It will be difficult,” Ferguson summarized. “I don’t want to get fleeced by that man.”
“So you do like him?” Gill caught the main point.
Ferguson explained, “He is an exceptionally talented midfielder. I do like him; in fact, some of our players have recommended him to me. But as I said, doing business with Levy is trouble—serious trouble. We can try a bid, but I don’t want to be taken for a ride by him.”
“But our young Chairman doesn’t care,” Gill said with a smile. “I know it will annoy you, but he seems to truly adore the player. He doesn’t mind paying extra, and he even hopes we can get him juggling the ball at Old Trafford within twenty-four hours.”
Ferguson: “…Say that again?”
“Twenty-four hours. You heard me right. Man, he even said that twenty-four hours was enough time for him to buy Manchester United.”
Ferguson fell silent.
After this takeover was finalized, some fans described it like this: “Germany blitzed Poland, Tang blitzed Manchester United.”
In short, it was that fast.
For such an efficient young man to want Gill to bring Modrić to Manchester United within twenty-four hours…
Ferguson mulled it over and suddenly laughed. “Well then, get to work. I hope to see the Croatian juggling at Old Trafford by tomorrow.”
Gill: “…You’re not against it?”
Sir Alex said firmly, “Why would I be? Oppose a young Chairman who is willing to spend money on me? I’ve been waiting for a day like this my whole life!”
Gill: “…”
Sir Alex continued, “Since you gave me the heads-up, I’ll give you a suggestion.”
“What?”
“When you bid to Levy, tell him he only has twenty-four hours to consider. Of course, a premium is inevitable. At the same time, remember to notify Modrić’s agent, or even his wife. I remember that poor Croatian signed a ten-year low-wage ‘slave contract’ with Spurs.”
Gill’s eyes lit up instantly.
While contacting a player privately was somewhat unethical, since they were making an official bid first, informing the agent wasn’t crossing the line, right? After all, they just didn’t want Tottenham to hide the offer.
“He only wants Modrić?” Sir Alex asked. He felt the young man had good taste.
“There’s a whole bunch more. But he has no intention of bypassing your authority.”
Sir Alex was very satisfied. “Let’s hear them.”
“Names you’ve heard of include Godín, Schweinsteiger, and De Bruyne. He also recommended Athletic Bilbao’s center-back, Javi Martínez, as well as two youth players.”
Youth players?
Ferguson was stunned. Which giant club chairman would worry about youth players?
As if knowing what he was thinking, Gill cleared his throat. “He likes FM—loves it. He said he scouted all the players he recommended himself.”
Ferguson: “…”
So, his yet-to-be-met young Chairman was treating reality like a video game?
No wonder everyone, including the Manchester United fans, was calling him a spendthrift.
However, Sir Alex was a man of action. He immediately began issuing orders. “De Bruyne… I have some impression of him. I recall he played well in the Bundesliga this season. Get me tapes of him. Godín, I like him a lot. Since the Chairman wants to buy him for me, I won’t stand on ceremony. Schweinsteiger… it seems no German has ever played for Manchester United in history. Get me tapes of him and that Martínez fellow as well. What positions are the two youth players?”
Since the boss liked playing FM, it was normal to enjoy digging up obscure young talents.
But giant clubs weren’t stupid. Ever since FM became famous, those “wonderkids” with high stats rarely escaped the notice of top scouts, and Ferguson had heard of them as well. He wanted to see what level of wonderkids this Chairman favored.
“One is named Kanté, currently in Ligue 2, playing as a defensive midfielder. Our young Chairman clearly holds high hopes for him; he said Kanté could surpass Makélélé in the future.”
Makélélé…
If he weren’t driving, Ferguson would have rolled his eyes.
“The other is in the Ajax youth academy, a kid born in ’99. He might be hard to poach.”
Ferguson understood. A kid born in ’99 was only twelve or thirteen; poaching him meant moving his entire family.
“Have the scouting department prepare the tapes as quickly as possible,” Ferguson said. “Once I’m done with the photo with the Chairman, I’m heading to Carrington.”
Gill smiled.
His seventy-year-old friend had clearly been reignited with passion by the arrival of the new Chairman.
Hearing that smile, Sir Alex felt a bit disgruntled. “David, how can you still laugh? Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours!”
Gill: “…”
This Scottish old man really wanted to land Modrić that badly!
“35 million?” Gill asked. “How does that number sound to you?”
“Like a total sucker’s price,” Ferguson said bluntly. “Try 30 million first. That Jewish fellow won’t be able to resist haggling with you.”
30 million—Gill had his target.
He immediately sent a notification to the transfer department, telling them to prepare the documents while finding the phone number for Modrić’s agent as quickly as possible.
Once the orders were given, he hurried out of the restroom and walked toward the media center.
His gaze cut through the crowd and locked onto the young man who was currently getting his makeup done.
That was his young Chairman, their young boss, and the dream of every Manchester United fan.
He couldn’t help but marvel at that young face.
How could he be so young?
How could he be so… wealthy…
Yes, even as the CEO of Manchester United, he couldn’t hide his envy for the young man before him at this moment.
He envied his age, his wealth, his power, and the throne that millions of Manchester United fans longed for.
The young man seemed to sense his gaze and looked up. Through the bright mirror, their eyes met.
In the next moment, Gill saw the young man’s smile, which lit up the entire room.
Young but not arrogant, wealthy but not haughty, and more importantly, holding power without abusing it.
After enduring the Glazer family for eight long years, Manchester United fans had welcomed such a young owner. Were they also clapping and cheering?
Thinking of this, Gill walked toward the young man.
He wanted to tell his young boss that he hadn’t forgotten everything he promised.
Within twenty-four hours, the Croatian would surely appear at Old Trafford.
Seeing Gill walk over, Tang Moumou silently breathed a sigh of relief.
After the CEO left, even though other staff members were present and the makeup artist was chatting with him, his heart rate had involuntarily sped up.
The silent Life Timer also felt as if it had been wound up, letting out tick-tock sounds.
Tang Moumou knew clearly that this was the sound coming from deep within his heart.
Perhaps it was because of an inner void, or perhaps it was the anxiety born from the feeling that he was wasting his time.
He wanted to do something, change something, prove something, and even more… leave something behind.
He looked at the Life Timer.
[35 hours, 9 minutes, and 7 seconds!]
Another hour was about to be shaved off his life.
“Tang,” Gill said as he reached the young man’s side, chuckling softly. “The transfer department is already in motion. Trust me, I will fulfill your wish. You’ll see Fergie soon, and the player you like will be juggling the ball at Old Trafford very shortly.”
As he finished speaking, he saw his young Chairman’s dark eyes suddenly light up.
[Author’s Note]
Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human has become quite famous on the Chinese internet.
I have never felt respect or curiosity for such a writer who repeatedly attempted suicide, nor have I wanted to flip through his words. Yet the circulation of the internet made me remember one sentence:
[I thought of dying this winter, but I received a set of mouse-gray fine-striped linen kimono. It’s a kimono suitable for summer, so I’ll live until the summer first.]
At the time, I thought: truly an incomprehensible Japanese man.
Since he understands that the beauty of the world is rare, why does he always obsess over the impermanence of death?
But one day in the future, I, a person who never thought about death, suddenly felt an emotion because of a long-awaited photo and a jersey that never appeared in my memory—
Perhaps dying like this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
—Extract from This is a Secret Diary