I stared at the page for a full minute, my brain struggling to process the information. It was a brutal, unflinching assessment of my entire existence.
My life, quantified on a page. The managerial attributes were… okay. Tactical Knowledge 14, Scouting Knowledge 13. That was from all the years of playing FM, of reading books, of listening to podcasts.
That was my secret, obsessive education. But Player Management 6? Motivation 5? That stung. It was true, though. I could barely motivate myself to clean my own flat, let alone a team of twenty players.
But the numbers that really hit me were the last two. CA: 38. In Football Manager terms, that was non-league level. A player with 38 CA would struggle to get a game for Wrexham, my digital darlings. That was my current worth in the world. A nobody. A background character.
And then I saw it. PA: 165.
Potential Ability. 165.
In the world of Football Manager, a PA of 165 was a guaranteed Premier League star. It was a player you built your entire team around. A player who could win you titles, who could become a legend. It was a number that promised greatness. And it was attached to my name.
For all my low current ability, for all my failings and my dead-end job, this… this thing … believed I had the potential to be world-class.
A laugh escaped my lips, a strange, hysterical sound. Me? A world-class manager? I was the guy who had to psych himself up to tell a teenager he couldn't buy a lottery ticket. The idea was ludicrous.
And yet… the number was there. A promise. A challenge.
I took a deep breath and focused on the second menu option. 'System News & Updates'. The page changed again.
> SYSTEM NEWS & UPDATES
> - [SYSTEM] Welcome, Gaffer Walsh! Your journey to managerial greatness has begun. This system will provide you with the tools to see the game as it truly is. Your success is your own.
> - [DAILY REWARD] You have a new reward available! Sign in to claim your daily bonus.
Daily reward?
It was a classic webnovel and mobile game trope. A way to keep you hooked, to make you come back every day. I felt a flicker of amusement. My life was now a game, complete with a daily login bonus. I focused on the notification.
[DAILY REWARD] Claim 10 XP?
I thought 'yes', and a small, satisfying chime echoed in my mind.
[SYSTEM] 10 XP gained!
I immediately flipped back to my Personal Profile. The line now read: Experience (XP): 10/100 .
A progress bar, a tiny sliver of it now filled in. It was an insignificant amount, but it was progress. It was tangible. My brain, conditioned by thousands of hours of gaming, lit up with a small dopamine hit.
This was insane. Utterly, completely insane. But it was also the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me.
I spent the next hour just sitting there, the notebook in my lap, my mind racing. I tried to make sense of it.
The old man. The notebook. The system. Was it magic? Alien technology?
A highly advanced piece of augmented reality tech that had somehow bonded with my consciousness?
The 'how' was beyond me. All I knew was the 'what'. I could see the hidden language of football, written on the world around me.
I got up and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, the most British of all crisis responses. As the kettle boiled, I looked out the kitchen window.
My neighbour from across the hall, Mr. Henderson, a retired postman in his seventies, was tending to his window box. No panel. Nothing. Of course, he was a rugby man, always complaining about footballers diving.
Then, Raj came out of his room, yawning. He was wearing an old, faded Manchester United shirt. The moment I saw him, the panel appeared.
> Name : Raj Patel
> Age : 27
> Position : N/A
> Current Ability (CA) : 12/200
> Potential Ability (PA) : 12/200
> Key Attributes :
> - Football Knowledge : 11
> - Loyalty : 16
> - Pace : 3
"Alright, mate?" he mumbled, scratching his stomach. "You're up early. Or late. I can never tell with your shifts."
"Just… couldn't sleep," I said, my voice strained. CA 12. PA 12. Sorry, Raj. No hidden footballing talent there. But Loyalty 16? That made me smile. He was a good mate.
"You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, peering at me as he spooned instant coffee into a mug.
"I'm fine. Just a weird dream."
How could I ever explain this to him?
He, more than anyone, would understand the mechanics of it, the sheer, glorious data of it all. But he'd think I'd lost my mind.
And maybe I had. The system had to be a secret. My secret. If I told anyone, they'd either laugh at me or have me committed. The secrecy was part of the package.
Raj left for his shift, and I was alone again with my thoughts and my impossible new reality. The fear was still there, a low hum of anxiety in the back of my mind. But the curiosity was winning.
The PA of 165 on my profile page was a beacon. It was a dare. For my entire adult life, I had been a spectator, an armchair general, a digital god with no real-world power.
I had told myself I was smarter than the managers on TV, that I saw things they didn't. It was a comfortable lie, a way to make myself feel better about my own inertia.
But what if it wasn't a lie? What if I really could see things others couldn't? And now, I had the tool to prove it.
I looked at the notebook, then at my PC. My Wrexham save was still open, my meticulously crafted squad of digital superstars waiting for their next match. It had been my escape for so long. But it felt different now. It felt like a training ground. A simulator for the real thing.
I closed the laptop. The game was over. A new one was just beginning.
I was still just Danny Walsh, the bloke from the 24/7 Local. I was still broke, still living in a flat that smelled of kebabs, still a nobody. But today, for the first time, I had a progress bar. I had 10 XP. And I had a potential I never knew existed.
"Okay," I whispered to the empty room. "Okay, Gaffer Walsh. Let's see what you've got."
My first thought was simple. I needed more XP. And the system had already shown me how to get it. I had to go where the football was. I had to test this thing, to see its limits, to prove to myself, once and for all, that I wasn't going crazy.
I grabbed my jacket and the notebook. My hands were steady now. The fear was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp sense of purpose. I was stepping out of the simulation and into the real world. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a chance to win.