**6:00 AM – Old Trafford, Dawn**
The first light of morning painted the stadium's concrete bones in pale gold as Ethan stepped onto the pitch alone. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and the faint metallic tang of the sprinkler system that had just shut off. His shoes left dark prints in the dew-soaked turf as he walked to the center circle, the silence so complete he could hear pigeons rustling in the Stretford End rafters.
His phone vibrated in his pocket - two messages arriving seconds apart:
**Premier League Official Notice:**
*"Emergency hearing convened for 10:00 today. Glazer family suspended from all football operations pending investigation. - Richard Masters"*
Then, from an unknown number:
*"Check the home tunnel. Door #7."*
---
### **THE TUNNEL DISCOVERY**
The player tunnel exhaled cold air as Ethan pushed through the heavy doors. The space smelled of disinfectant and the fresh paint applied for the new season. Taped at eye-level on the home dressing room door was a single sheet of United letterhead.
The document was simple but earth-shattering:
*"We, the undersigned players of Manchester United, stand with Ethan Cross. No Glazers. No compromise. No football until this is resolved."*
Beneath were thirty-two signatures in various inks - from Rashford's neat cursive to Sancho's stylized autograph. At the bottom, in Bruno's unmistakable handwriting:
*"The players have spoken. Now fight for us like we'll fight for you."*
Ethan's fingers trembled as he traced the grooves of Bruno's pen marks. The paper was still slightly warm from the printer.
---
### **10:00 AM – Premier League Headquarters, London**
The hearing room smelled of wood polish and nervous sweat. The Glazers' legal team occupied three tables, their bespoke suits and leather briefcases costing more than most club's youth academies. Ethan sat alone at a small table, the Monaco documents arranged before him like chess pieces.
Premier League CEO Richard Masters adjusted his glasses as he read the final verdict. "After reviewing the evidence of financial malfeasance, sporting sabotage, and violation of multiple ownership articles..." He paused, the silence stretching taut. "The Glazer family is hereby suspended from all football operations. The club will be placed into a forced sale process effective immediately."
Joel Glazer's face turned the purple of a bruising peach. "This isn't over," he hissed, his custom loafers squeaking as he stood.
Ethan met his glare. "Yeah, Joel. It is." The gavel's crack echoed like a rifle shot.
---
### **1:00 PM – Carrington Training Ground**
The entire first-team squad stood assembled in full training kits, their boots crunching on the gravel courtyard. The morning mist had burned away to reveal weak winter sunlight. Rashford stepped forward, his voice carrying in the quiet:
"What now, boss?"
Ethan looked at them - really looked. At the academy kids with wide eyes, at the veterans like Varane who'd seen everything but still showed up, at Bruno standing with arms crossed but nodding slowly.
"Now," Ethan said, the word hanging in the crisp air, "we rebuild. Properly. From the youth pitches to the transfer policy to the fucking tea lady's budget."
A chuckle rippled through the group. McTominay grinned. "Does that mean we're getting proper WiFi in the dressing room?"
"First priority," Ethan promised.
---