Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

The news of Manchester United meeting Cole Palmer's release clause was a tactical nuclear bomb that detonated in the middle of Liverpool's perfectly calm, post-victory world.

The club, the fans, and the players were all plunged into a hurricane of speculation.

Would he stay? Would he go?

Was their new, beautiful, championship-winning family about to lose one of its most important members?

For the players, the first training session after the news was a strange, tense affair.

"It's United," Andy Robertson said, his voice a low, angry growl as he stretched. "Of all the clubs, it had to be them. The enemy. It's a betrayal."

"It's not a betrayal, Robbo," Trent Alexander-Arnold countered, though his own voice lacked its usual cheerful spark. "It's a release clause. It's business. But... it's rubbish. Absolute rubbish."

They all kept glancing over at the locker room door, waiting for him to arrive, not knowing what to say, what to think.

Then, the man of the hour walked in.

Cole Palmer looked exactly the same as he did every other day. His expression was calm, his movements unhurried.

He walked to his locker, a quiet "Morning, lads" to the room, and began to get changed as if it were just another Tuesday.

The silence was deafening. No one knew what to say.

And then, Julián Álvarez, a man who had never met an awkward silence he didn't want to fill with a profoundly weird question, spoke.

"So," he began, his voice filled with a genuine, philosophical curiosity.

"A release clause. It is like a pre-approved divorce, yes? You are sad that they are leaving, but you cannot be angry, because you have already signed the papers agreeing to the sadness in the future. It is a very emotionally complex contractual situation."

The absurdity was so perfect, so purely Julián, that the tension didn't just break; it shattered into a million tiny pieces.

The room erupted in a wave of relieved, hysterical laughter.

Palmer himself, who was in the middle of pulling on his training shirt, just shook his head, a huge, genuine grin on his face.

"You're not wrong, Julián," he said. "It's complicated."

The ice was broken. The family was still a family.

The training session that followed was one of the most intense of the season. The uncertainty surrounding Palmer's future, combined with the looming threat of their next opponent, had lit a fire under the squad.

"Good!" Arne Slot roared from the sideline as the players went through a high-speed passing drill.

"Faster! Quicker! Against this next team, you will not have time to think! You will only have time to act!"

After the warm-up, he gathered them in the center circle. His expression was calm, but his eyes were burning with a fierce, analytical fire.

"Okay," he began. "Let's talk about Manchester City."

A hush fell over the group. This was the big one. The champions of England versus the champions of Europe.

"We are not going to try and out-possess them," Slot said, his voice sharp and clear.

"That is a fool's game. They are the masters of control. We are the masters of chaos. We will let them have the ball. We will be a coiled spring, a predator in the long grass. Our defensive shape must be perfect. And the moment, the very second we win the ball back," he said, his eyes locking onto his attackers, "we explode. Trent, Robbo, your first pass is not sideways. It is forward. Mo, Leon, Isak, you are not waiting for the ball. You are running into the space before the pass is even made. We will be a blur of red lightning. We will be a storm. They will not know what hit them."

The execution would require a level of physical and mental endurance that was almost superhuman.

For Leon, it was a new challenge. His game was built on intelligence, on finding the quiet spaces. Slot was asking him to become a bolt of lightning.

He spent the rest of the session in a state of pure, focused exertion. He practiced his 'Silken Dribble', his feet a blur of motion. He ran, and he ran, and he ran, pushing his body to its absolute limit. And at the end of the session, a familiar, satisfying notification flashed in his mind.

[Training Session Complete: 'High-Intensity Tactical Drill' bonus objective achieved.]

[+75 System Points awarded.]

Later, in the gym, as the team went through their cool-down and strength conditioning, Leon mentally opened the Skill Store. He had a healthy balance of 300 SP.

He looked at the skills. 'Power Shot' was tempting. 'Finesse Shot' was smart.

But he knew what he needed. For the Premier League, for Arne Slot's system, for the battle against the giants, he needed an engine that would never quit.

[Stamina Boost - Level 1]: Increases base stamina and recovery rate by 5%. Cost: 200 SP.

He bought it without a second's hesitation. He felt a quiet, steady hum of energy spread through him, a feeling of deeper reserves, of a well that would not run dry.

The next three days were a blur of tactical meetings, video analysis, and a city that was buzzing with an electric, almost unbearable, anticipation.

The "Manchester Derby of England," as one newspaper had dramatically dubbed it. The two best teams in the world were about to go to war.

The news about Palmer had been confirmed: he was leaving. He had said his goodbyes to the team in a quiet, emotional meeting, a moment of genuine, heartfelt sadness that had only strengthened their resolve. They weren't just playing for three points now; they were playing for the brother they had lost.

Leon drove home from the final training session, his mind a quiet, focused storm. He had done the work. He was ready.

That night, he slept a deep, dreamless, and profoundly peaceful sleep.

He woke up to the soft, grey light of a Liverpool morning filtering through his window.

For a moment, he just lay there, the silence of the house a peaceful, calming blanket. He could smell the faint, delicious aroma of his mother making coffee downstairs.

He looked at the clock. It was match day.

A slow, brilliant, and slightly terrifying smile spread across his face. He felt a familiar, powerful surge of adrenaline, a beautiful, addictive drug that was the reason he lived and breathed this game. He swung his legs out of bed.

The champions of England versus the champions of Europe. It was time to go to work.