Tomás was ready to grab this shot with both hands.
Just as Moyes was about to sort the groups for the scrimmage, United’s captain, Nemanja Vidic, stepped forward.
“I’ve been carrying a knee problem all season,” Vidic said, his voice flat.
“It flared up again just now. I don’t think I can risk full-contact training today.”
Tomás looked at Vidic, surprised.
Then he looked at Giggs and the rest of the old guard.
They looked pale.
Nobody had expected this.
Manchester United’s players had split into anti-Moyes and pro-Moyes camps.
The two sides wanted different things.
Those opposing Moyes—Giggs and the rest of the old guard—hoped to stay at the club after Moyes was gone.
Naturally, they weren’t going to push things too far.
They couldn’t let the fans or the board think they were sabotaging the team out of self-interest, deliberately losing matches to force the manager out.
Being a powerful figure at United and committing regicide in the street were two very different things.
Vidic already knew he couldn’t stay past Moyes’s tenure.
The captain had lined up a new club.
He had his reputation to think about, and no interest in a match that could damage his legacy at Old Trafford.
He wasn’t blind.
This next match was shaping up to be the final showdown between the old guard and Moyes.
Vidic disliked Moyes, and he could easily fall in line with the resistance.
But he had no interest in becoming the knife the old guard used to cut their king down.
Against Olympiacos, United’s starting center-back pairing was a liability.
With Phil and Evans injured, the only options were Smalling, Vidic, and Ferdinand.
Vidic was captain, but he wasn’t old guard.
If it came down to Vidic versus Ferdinand, Moyes would choose Vidic to start.
Vidic’s decision to sit out left Moyes with no other option, and left the old guard without their proxy.
Ferdinand had no choice but to become the frontline face of the resistance.
The old guard stared at Vidic with disdain.
Getting blinded by small gains while risking everything on a big gamble, scheming without committing—that wasn’t leadership.
Vidic kept his eyes down, entirely unbothered.
He had achieved everything he needed to at this club.
There was no reason to kill the king in the street for old times’ sake.
Moyes nodded after a beat.
He glanced at Van Persie.
Van Persie was technically anti-Moyes, but his case was different.
He just disliked Moyes’s tactical system and obsession with crosses.
Among the anti-Moyes crowd, Van Persie was a breath of fresh air.
He had picked up a knee injury in the first leg against Olympiacos.
“If the team needs me, I can push my recovery and play ahead of schedule,” Van Persie offered.
Moyes looked visibly relieved.
“Robin, Michael’s still out, so he won’t be part of this session.”
Carrick was playing through pain.
He had delayed surgery for the club’s sake, barely holding things together.
Short on numbers, every first-team player got a chance to play in the scrimmage.
Moyes temporarily pulled up a few youth players to fill out the sides: James Wilson, an eighteen-year-old U21 forward; Ekambini, a twenty-year-old U21 defensive midfielder; and Paddy McNair, a U21 center-back.
Unlike Tomás and Rashford, they would return to the U21s after training.
Both sides ran a 4-2-3-1.
Tomás’s direct opponents were Shinji Kagawa, Giggs, and Darren Fletcher.
His partners were Fellaini in defensive midfield and Rooney at attacking mid.
He was surrounded by legends.
For the stars, a session like this was a formality.
None of them believed Moyes would pick his lineup based on a scrimmage.
But for Tomás, Rashford, Wilson, Ekambini, and McNair, this was their first real match against the first team.
Outside of Tomás, none of the young players believed Moyes would pick a lineup off this either, but they all wanted to make the most of it.
Tomás checked his system panel.
His LV3 [Lion Heart] trait was his greatest source of confidence, a boost that complemented him perfectly.
Beyond that, his strength lay in passing and playmaking.
With a Passing attribute of 69, combined with [Lion Heart] and the elite ball intelligence the system provided, Tomás could be a master of the safe pass.
Even against U21 professionals, he rarely misplaced a pass when focused.
He also had his max-grade exclusive skill: [The Velvet Turn].
If all he could do was pass safely with his back to goal, he posed no threat.
But [The Velvet Turn] allowed his receiving and turning to be incredibly smooth, with a chance to completely wrong-foot the defender behind him.
He had tested it against Rothwell.
He also had a Bronze-rank item: Shin Guards, reducing damage taken to his legs.
That was the sum total of his resources.
A midfielder whose raw attributes weren’t especially high, but who could perform well beyond what his numbers suggested.
He checked his title.
[Title]: Rookie on the Court.
Description: A newcomer on the pitch, hungry to improve.
A blank slate.
While wearing this title in a match, you have a chance to pick up special skills from opponents you defeat, or who defeat you.
Shinji Kagawa, Ryan Giggs, Darren Fletcher—players this famous had to have special skills, right?
Tomás hadn’t unlocked a single new skill since getting the title.
He figured the more skills an opponent had, the better his odds.
The young opponents in the U18s and U21s were nowhere near this caliber.
Titles didn’t boost his current strength, but they shaped his future strength.
Knowing this scrimmage doubled as Moyes’s test, Tomás wanted to be as sharp as possible.
The match kicked off.
Giggs’s side took possession.
Tomás’s job was to drop back and hold his position.
His Defense was poor, sitting at 20, with zero match experience behind it.
His assignment was simple: mark his man and don’t disrupt the defensive shape.
A deeply conservative role.
Right off the kickoff, Tomás locked onto Giggs.
The bigger threat, Kagawa, had been handed to Fellaini.
Asking Tomás to take on Kagawa was too much.
Tomás watched Giggs carefully.
Wonder if I could get a monster-hunt mission out of this.
To his disappointment, Giggs just looked at him and smiled.
There was no hostility.
He looked shy and nervous, but there was a hunger buried deep in his eyes he couldn’t hide.
“I know you’re nervous, excited, all of it right now,” Giggs said softly, jogging beside him.
“As a professional, staying calm matters more than anything. It’s good to want it, to hunger for the game. But you can’t let that override your judgment. Wanting it badly enough can make you stronger. It can also break you. Use the hunger. Fight the hunger. Don’t ever become its puppet. If this were a real match and you were marking me this tight, I could clip your elbow right now and get you a yellow card.”
Tomás quickly pulled his hand back.
“Playing this game well is an art,” Giggs continued.
“As the core of this midfield, you need to shout more, learn more, watch more, run more. Don’t just fixate on your man or the ball. You’re not eleven separate people out here, you’re one team, and you’re its brain. You need to read this pitch better than anyone else. You need more teammates, more opponents, to feel your presence. Understand?”
Tomás nodded, a little dazed.
“Understood.”
Giggs was genuinely teaching him the game.
“Go help out against Kagawa,” Giggs said.
“Fellaini can’t handle him alone.”
What?
Tomás didn’t hesitate.
He chose to trust Giggs, even though Giggs was technically his opponent and part of the anti-Moyes faction.
Sure enough, Kagawa received the ball, turned neatly, and slipped past Fellaini.
Luckily, Tomás got back in time.
He left Giggs to close down Kagawa, forcing him out wide instead of letting him cut through the middle.
Seeing Tomás’s timely recovery, Moyes nodded on the sideline.
“I was worried Tomás would just stand there, hands on his hips, watching it all happen behind him,” Round said.
“And once we lost the ball, just shrug and say, ‘Not my fault, all yours.'”
Moyes cracked a rare smile.
Tomás’s defensive technique was raw, but his defensive attitude, football IQ, and awareness were excellent.
He wasn’t a destroyer.
For someone like him, vision and the discipline to hold his position were plenty.
Nobody expected Pirlo or Xavi to defend like a destroyer either.
“Ryan, why? You got some kind of plan here?” Fletcher asked, jogging past Giggs.
Giggs smiled.
“Whatever else is going on, he’s one of the people Sir Alex personally values.”
Fletcher snorted.
One of our own?
Isn’t betrayal from your own people even worse?
You’ve never been this nice to your own brother.
“Ryan, don’t try to fool me. You’re no saint. You really won’t tell me?”
Giggs’s face darkened.
A few yards away, Tomás stopped.
Giggs’s entire head had started glowing gold in his vision.
A mission!
Ding.
Major story mission triggered: The Mentor with Hidden Intentions.
There is a mentor here with something up his sleeve.
Trigger the mission?
What?
A major story mission?
Giggs has ulterior motives?