"Carter... the long diagonal ball! Ohhhh! This pass... absolutely masterful..."
"Atlético on the counter! Carter! Destroys Khedira, slices them open with the one-two... he shoots!! IT'S IN! IT'S IN!"
"Carter! It's Carter again! Oh! The hat-trick! A hat-trick against Real Madrid!"
Click.
Pep Guardiola pressed the Enter key on his keyboard.
The frantic screaming of the Spanish commentator blaring from the computer speakers was instantly cut off.
The video feed froze on the exact frame where Shane struck the ball, the leather just beginning to deform as it left his boot.
"That is a genius. A top-tier genius. Perhaps... a genius on the same level as Leo."
Assistant manager Tito Vilanova murmured, standing beside Guardiola's desk.
As the world's foremost Lionel Messi admirer...
This time, Guardiola didn't immediately correct him.
It was true.
Even Leo Messi had not delivered a performance of this magnitude against Real Madrid before his eighteenth birthday.
"They play entirely different roles. A direct comparison isn't fair," Guardiola finally replied softly.
"Exactly," Vilanova agreed, his eyes shining. "Which means if we possessed both Carter and Leo... Barcelona's absolute peak could be extended for another ten years!"
Vilanova held up one hand, spreading his fingers. Realizing five wasn't enough, he raised the other hand too.
"Ten years!"
"And his developmental pedigree is incredibly clean. I don't think we need to over-analyze this. We need to make a move immediately. Our club has more than enough pull."
Historically...
The Iberian Peninsula had always been a fertile breeding ground for footballing prodigies.
Whether it was Spain or Portugal...
Every so often, a young phenom would organically emerge, sending every super-club in Europe into a feeding frenzy.
While this particular prodigy didn't possess native Iberian genetics, his footballing DNA was undeniably forged within the Spanish youth system.
He had started at CD Santa Ana, cut his teeth in the lower tiers of Spanish youth football, graduated to the Real Madrid academy, transferred to Atlético Madrid, and finally exploded onto the senior stage.
His background was spotless. His foundation was solid.
There was zero risk of this being one of those situations where an "emerging sixteen-year-old talent" from an obscure foreign league turned out to actually be twenty-four. Shane's age and developmental history were fully documented and publicly verified.
Which meant...
The probability of this kid being a fraud or a flash in the pan was microscopic.
Scoring a hat-trick against Real Madrid at seventeen years old sounded like pure fiction. But it had just happened on live television.
Four professional league matches.
Six assists. Four goals.
Directly involved in ten goals in 360 minutes of senior football!
What was that?
That was the definition of a genius.
A generational talent descending from the sky.
And most crucially... he was an underage genius. This meant Atlético Madrid was legally prohibited from binding him to a senior professional contract.
For years...
Spanish clubs had been lobbying the league and FIFA for reform, desperately begging for the relaxation of regulations regarding professional contracts for minors.
And historically...
Barcelona had been the most high-profile victim of these exact regulations.
How did Cesc Fàbregas end up at Arsenal?
Arsène Wenger, the notorious collector of teenage prodigies, had personally flown to Catalonia, knocked on his door, and legally abducted him.
A generational midfield talent, meticulously developed by La Masia... walking away for a measly hundred thousand euros in training compensation.
It hurt.
It hurt the club deeply.
Because of that trauma, Barcelona had been one of the primary drivers pushing for contractual reform in La Liga.
But those reforms had stalled in bureaucracy.
And now... Barcelona found themselves in the perfect position to exploit the exact same "system loophole" that had once robbed them.
The teenage sensation tearing up the Calderón...
Was exactly two weeks away from his eighteenth birthday.
But simultaneously...
There were only three days left before the La Liga winter transfer window slammed shut.
Guardiola rubbed his bald head in frustration.
"Three days... that is an incredibly tight window to maneuver..."
"Regardless, we have to try," Vilanova sighed.
Guardiola had actually noticed Shane a month ago, right after his debut.
But at the time, he had decided to take a "wait and see" approach.
He wanted to track the kid's developmental trajectory for a few months.
But his patience had backfired spectacularly.
The kid hadn't developed on a trajectory; he had strapped himself to a rocket and launched straight into the stratosphere.
His ascension completely defied the normal growth curve of a newly debuted rookie.
And that forced Guardiola to abandon his caution and prepare to strike.
Barcelona's tactical system was currently perfect.
The legendary midfield trident of Xavi, Andrés Iniesta, and Sergio Busquets was arguably the greatest in history. They likely had another two or three seasons of absolute dominance left in the tank.
But Guardiola had to start planning for the future. He needed to find Xavi's heir.
Father Time remained undefeated.
Xavi was thirty-two years old.
Physically, he was entering the twilight of his prime.
Barcelona simply couldn't afford to wait until Xavi's legs completely gave out before starting the search for a replacement.
Bringing Fàbregas back to the Camp Nou this season had been Guardiola's attempt at future-proofing.
But since his return, Fàbregas hadn't entirely clicked with the Barcelona system.
After spending his formative years tearing up the Premier League, Fàbregas seemed to have lost the innate, cellular rhythm required to play pure tiki-taka. He was too direct. Too English.
But now...
Shane Carter had arrived.
Having closely analyzed the tape from his last four matches...
Guardiola firmly believed...
That this kid was the perfect, ultimate successor for the Barcelona Number 8 role.
His passing and ball retention were elite, his stamina was monstrous, and his pitch coverage was vast.
Even more importantly...
His physical frame and athletic profile were significantly superior to Xavi's.
It was undeniable.
With a little bit of La Masia polish...
Grooming him to seamlessly inherit Xavi's throne was entirely feasible.
Guardiola had originally planned to wait until the summer transfer window to make an approach.
But looking at the landscape now...
If Barcelona didn't move immediately...
They were going to lose him forever.
Even though Guardiola knew pulling off a hijack in three days was a massive long shot...
If they didn't try, they had already lost.
Staring at the frozen image of Shane on his monitor...
Guardiola turned to Vilanova. "You're right. We have to move. Now."
If Arsène Wenger could legally seduce an underage Fàbregas...
Why couldn't Pep Guardiola seduce an underage Carter?
He picked up his office phone.
"Please connect me to Mr. Rosell."
Sandro Rosell.
The President of FC Barcelona.
...
Simultaneously.
North London.
Inside the Arsenal training center at London Colney.
Manager Arsène Wenger sat at his desk, his eyes glued to the television screen mounted on his wall.
His face was a mask of profound regret and frustration.
Damn it!
Absolute disaster!
The legendary French manager was currently drowning in a sea of regret.
In truth, a detailed scouting report on Shane Carter had landed on his desk over a month ago.
But at the time, Wenger had reasoned that a single good performance wasn't enough to justify an immediate approach.
Arsenal had dispatched their chief scouts to Madrid to monitor Shane's progress in person.
But before the scouts even had time to type up their follow-up reports and send them back to London...
Shane had already sent shockwaves across the entire footballing globe.
Unbelievable...
Wenger shook his head in sheer disbelief.
Due to the suffocating financial constraints of building the Emirates Stadium...
Arsenal had not directly purchased an established, world-class superstar in years. Their entire business model relied on identifying semi-finished prodigies, buying them cheap, and developing them in-house to maintain their status in the Premier League.
Operating on a shoestring budget while consistently securing top-four finishes in the most competitive league in the world...
Was a testament to Wenger's unparalleled eye for teenage talent.
But this time, even he hadn't anticipated it.
He had never seen a young player's valuation skyrocket this violently, this fast.
A hat-trick against Real Madrid.
Well, that was that.
You didn't need to be a scouting genius anymore.
Even a blind man could see it now.
This kid possessed the absolute, undeniable blueprint of a future Ballon d'Or winner.
Buying him now was a guaranteed lottery ticket.
But if Arsenal waited until he signed a senior professional contract with Atlético Madrid...
It was over.
The kid would be completely out of Arsenal's price range—the release clause would be astronomical.
The only remaining path to acquiring him...
Was to intercept him before he signed that contract.
While the winter window was still open.
Seduce him, convince him to pack his bags, and fly him to London Colney.
Yes...
Exactly like he had done with Cesc Fàbregas.
Thinking about Fàbregas...
Wenger wanted to start cursing all over again.
...
Manchester.
Carrington Training Complex.
The manager of the Manchester United Red Devils, Sir Alex Ferguson, sat at his desk. Resting perfectly centered on his blotter was the scouting dossier for Shane Carter.
"The winter window might be too tight to finalize a deal, boss. But we could... open direct dialogue with his representatives now, and secure a pre-agreement for him to join us in the summer..."
Hearing his chief scout's suggestion, Ferguson's expression hardened.
"If we wait until summer, the competition will be absolute blood warfare!"
Ferguson growled.
Truthfully, Sir Alex was also an absolute master at buying unpolished gems and forging them into global icons.
Years ago, he had purchased a raw, frustratingly inconsistent teenager named Cristiano Ronaldo from Sporting CP.
When Ronaldo first arrived at Old Trafford, his performances were erratic.
He was infamously dubbed a "show pony."
The nickname wasn't just a critique of his flashy step-overs...
It was a sharp criticism that he prioritized aesthetics over actual, lethal end product.
But Ferguson had seen the dormant, terrifying potential of a global superstar buried inside the kid. He shielded him from the brutal British press, nurtured him, and exercised infinite patience.
And that patience eventually birthed the monstrous, Ballon d'Or-winning Ronaldo of the 2007-08 season.
Unfortunately...
That absolute peak version of Ronaldo only gave Manchester United two seasons before he started crying and screaming to join Real Madrid.
Ferguson stubbornly blocked the transfer for one grueling year.
But eventually, he couldn't hold him back anymore.
He had to swallow his pride, accept the world-record transfer fee, and watch the ultimate weapon he had meticulously forged pack his bags for Spain.
Ever since that day...
Manchester United had been desperately searching for a new, singular talisman.
In Ferguson's eyes...
Wayne Rooney, who had once been heralded as Ronaldo's equal, was undeniably world-class. But Rooney simply lacked that cold, ruthless, alpha-dog gravity required to be the absolute focal point of a European dynasty.
Furthermore...
If United relied solely on Rooney...
The club would constantly be held hostage to his contract demands.
Watching the tape of Shane Carter... Ferguson felt a visceral jolt in his chest. It was the exact same jolt he had felt the first time he watched a teenage Cristiano Ronaldo terrorize John O'Shea in a pre-season friendly.
But...
What genuinely shocked the Scotsman...
Was that Ronaldo had required three years of brutal Premier League conditioning to evolve into a killer.
This kid...
Had barely debuted...
And he was already strapped to a rocket, fully operational, and murdering Real Madrid.
It put Ferguson in an incredibly difficult, reactive position.
When he signed Ronaldo, his only real competition was Arsenal.
Ronaldo had actually toured the Arsenal training ground. He even had a personalized Arsenal shirt waiting for him. Wenger had spoken to him directly and had practically agreed to a ten-million-euro fee with Sporting.
Ferguson had to ruthlessly hijack the deal midway, vastly outbidding Wenger to secure his target.
But now?
If Manchester United wanted to sign Shane Carter...
They wouldn't just be fighting Arsenal.
Every single aristocratic super-club on the planet...
Was currently staring at the American with hungry, glowing eyes.
And then there were the newly minted, oil-backed nouveaux riches—like Manchester City and Paris Saint-Germain. They would undoubtedly arrive wielding blank cheques, desperate to buy the defining superstar of the next decade to legitimize their projects.
If Manchester United intended to win this war...
It was going to be a long, brutal, and incredibly expensive campaign.
But you always had to try.
Because...
What if the kid secretly dreamed of playing at the Theatre of Dreams?
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