Unknown PoV:
The pain pulsed through my skull, a relentless throb that felt as though it were splitting me in two, drowning out any coherent thought. Blinking against the harsh, fluorescent light of the room, I struggled to adjust to the stark brightness that felt both foreign and invasive. With every step, the floor beneath me seemed unsteady, my limbs heavy and uncooperative. I forced myself to move, eventually reaching the door to the adjoining bathroom, hoping the cool tiles would offer some relief from the chaos inside my head.
Just as I was teetering on the edge of a humiliating fall, I managed to grasp the cool, porcelain edge of the sink, its surface slick beneath my trembling fingers. With every ounce of strength I could muster, I pushed myself upright, my heart racing in a mixture of fear and confusion. As I steadied my breath, I looked up into the mirror positioned just opposite me and was met with a pair of deep, unfamiliar brown eyes staring back. The shock threatened to send me reeling backwards, but the solid grip I had on the sink anchored me in place. Slowly, reality set in, and I realized that those bewildering eyes belonged to me, reflecting back a stranger in a moment of disarray.
Once I managed to gather my bearings, I began to scrutinize the stranger who was gazing back at me. His skin was withered pale, telling tales of years gone by, marked with fine lines and deep creases that etched around his eyes and mouth—evidence of a man who had spent a fair amount of time wearing a smile, even through hardship. His hair was a short, neatly kept shade of brown, meticulously trimmed, which added to the air of care he seemed to take in his appearance. The same could be said for his beard, neatly attached and equally brown, framing his face with a refined touch. All in all, he looked to be in his late thirties to early forties, exuding a sense of youthful vitality despite the signs of age. His physique was well-maintained; not overly muscular, but fit and strong, suggesting a life filled with activity and perhaps a commitment to health.
With bated breath, I cautiously lifted a trembling hand towards my face, heart racing as I scrutinized the figure in the mirror. The stranger mirrored my every movement, an uncanny reflection that sent chills down my spine. I tried to outsmart him with a few spontaneous hand gestures, hoping to catch him off guard, but each action was met with perfect replication. It was a haunting dance, each flick of my fingers and tilt of my head flawlessly echoed back at me. Only when my fingers gingerly traced the contours of my features — the arch of my brow, the curve of my lips — did a wave of horror wash over me. The chilling realization struck like a lightning bolt: the stranger staring back was not an unknown intruder he was me...
The stark realization hit me like a jolt of electricity, propelling me out of the bathroom with a sense of urgency that only adrenaline could summon. My heart raced as I surveyed the room, desperately searching for any clue that might explain anything. In contrast to my heightened state, the apartment appeared almost unnervingly normal. The sparse furnishings cast an air of desolation: a lone, faded couch sat against one wall, while a sleek, wall-mounted TV hung silently above it, its screen dark and lifeless. A solitary picture of a vibrant flower pot adorned the walls, bringing a touch of colour to the otherwise muted space. The only other feature was the unmade bed I had just stumbled out of, its rumpled sheets a stark reminder of the disarray I felt swirling in my mind.
I collapsed backwards onto the couch, my legs devoid of any strength to keep me standing. Shakingly, I reached for the television remote in hopes of shedding light on where I was. Once the television came on, I quickly wished I hadn't bothered.
"Word coming in today is that after negotiations having fallen through with their first choice managerial candidates Thomas Tuchel and Ruben Amorim, Manchester United have announced the temporary appointment of David Gordon, their previous under-eighteen coach."
The name was completely unfamiliar. The face appearing on the screen, however, wasn't; it was the same face that greeted me in the bathroom mirror, the same one that I wore as my own. As if waking up in an unfamiliar apartment with a new body wasn't bad enough being announced as Manchester United manager just put the cherry on top of what already was a nightmarish situation.
Before the impending panic attack could fully take hold, I was jolted by an unfamiliar ringtone, a jarring sound echoing through the strange, dimly lit apartment. As I navigated the unfamiliar surroundings, my eyes landed on an old Samsung phone perched on the bedside table, its screen illuminated with the name "Jason Wilcox." A wave of anxiety washed over me, causing me to freeze for a brief moment. Ghosting my potential new boss felt like a catastrophic mistake, and so, steeling myself, I picked up the phone.
When I finally managed to utter a shaky "Hello," it startled me—my voice, deeper and richer than I'd expected, masked the jittery nerves threatening to spill over.
I was greeted back by a soft, confident voice: "Hello, Dave. It's Jason. I'm calling about what we discussed yesterday." It took a minute for me to understand what he was saying, but once I did, I nearly collapsed with nerves. deciding to fake it until I made it, I only responded with an "Oh yeah, well, what about it?"
For what felt like an eternity, there was silence on the phone, and I worried I had already messed up. Just then, I heard a soft chuckle that eased my nerves as Jason replied, "Still not much of a talker, huh Dave? You're the gaffer now. You'll need to get used to small talk, especially with your presser tomorrow."
I stumbled through my words, attempting to articulate something that remotely resembled "Presser." Thankfully, Jason let out a light chuckle in response, easing my nerves. "Don't worry about it," he reassured me. "It's only going to be broadcast on MUTV, so you won't have to face any tough questions or probing journalists. Just focus on conveying what all the fans are eager to hear. Later in the day, once you've had a chance to settle in at Carrington, we can discuss the specifics of the job we need you to 'tackle'."
He let out a hearty chuckle through the phone line, the sound warm yet laced with a hint of mischief. "Get it? 'Tackle'," he said, his tone playful. I felt a tightness in my chest, unable to muster even a forced laugh in response. He sighed softly, the noise echoing a mix of concern and amusement. "Anyway, make sure to get some rest," he urged, his voice taking on a more serious note. "You probably won't get much of it in the coming months."
Once again, he chuckled as if the weight of the conversation had lightened before concluding with a casual, "Anyways, I'll see you tomorrow." Before I could gather my thoughts or reply, he hung up abruptly, leaving me staring at my phone, feeling utterly frozen in place.
Once I managed to regain my movement, I began to search through "my" phone and discovered some things about my new life. I had no family and no particularly close friends, mostly just colleagues I had worked with while managing the Manchester United youth team. I was an ex-footballer—nothing special, mostly at the Championship level—but I had suffered recurring hamstring issues that led to my early retirement. I had only been coaching for seven years, and I was now thirty-five years old.
Now that I had learned a bit more about my new life, I decided to follow Jason's advice and get some sleep, despite the uncomfortable feeling of resting in someone else's bed. Sleep came to me almost immediately after my head hit the pillow, but unfortunately, that wasn't the end of the horrifying events of the day.
A library—at least, I think it was a library. It appeared endless with no visible end to the room, and the shelves filled with books reached far higher than any human could reach.
As I stepped closer, I noticed a common theme among the various books lining the shelves—all of them were focused on football. They explored different aspects of the sport: the human side, the physicality, and the tactical elements. A few titles that caught my attention included "Jose Mourinho's Guide to Organizing a Defence" and "Klopp's Art of Gegenpressing." However, the book that stood out to me the most was one left on the only desk in the entire library, seemingly waiting for me: "Football Management for Dummies."
In my past life, I played Sunday league football for most of my life, starting from when I was a kid. I also watched nearly every Manchester United game, regardless of how poorly they performed. This gave me some technical knowledge about football; however, it did not adequately prepare me for the role of a manager. Despite my initial offense at the title of the book, I pulled out a chair—wincing a bit at the rough screeching sound of the old wooden chair being dragged across the equally old wooden floor—and turned to the first page...