A sharp pain tore through Ethan Carter's chest.
His breath hitched.
The scene around him blurred, and the thundering noise of the crowd faded into a distant, muted sound. His eyesight wandered, and the stadium lights appeared too bright, the rain too cold against his skin.
His knees buckled. His legs gave out beneath him.
Someone was shouting his name. His assistant, Markus Reinhardt, grabbed his arm, shaking him violently.
"Ethan! What's wrong?! Ethan—medics! Get the medics!"
Ethan wanted to answer. To say something. To tell Markus to calm down, that it was just exhaustion, that he would be fine.
But he couldn't speak.
The discomfort in his chest became excruciating as it contracted. He felt his heart being crushed by an iron hand.
The cheers from the stands—the sound of his name being chanted for the first time in his career—began to fade.
His body slumped forward, hitting the cold, wet grass. The rain continued to fall, soaking through his suit, chilling his skin.
Ethan tried to move, tried to fight against the suffocating darkness pulling him under.
But it was useless.
He could hear the frantic shouts of the medical staff rushing onto the pitch, feel hands pressing against his chest, trying to restart his failing heart.
The last thing he saw before everything went black—
The scoreboard flashing the final result.
Kaiserslautern 2 – Schwarzburg Leipzig 0.
Victory.
And then—
Nothing.
.
.
.
.
A sharp inhale.
A desperate gasp for air.
Ethan jerked awake, his body trembling, his lungs burning as though he had been drowning. His hands clawed at his chest, expecting to feel pain—expecting to feel something.
But there was nothing.
No rain. No cold grass. No stadium lights.
Only the dim glow of an old desk lamp, casting flickering shadows against the walls of a small, cluttered office.
His heart pounded in confusion. His breathing was uneven, his fingers still shaking as they pressed against his chest.
He was… alive?
No.
Something was wrong.
His body—it felt different.
His breathing slowed as he looked down at his hands.
They weren't his hands.
They were thinner. The fingers were longer, bonier, the skin slightly rough. His once broad, athletic frame felt weaker, like he had been trapped in a body that hadn't exercised in years.
The pulse of Ethan jumped.
In a desperate attempt to comprehend what was happening, his thoughts raced.
This wasn't his body.
And this wasn't Germany.
The air smelled of old leather, dust, and cheap coffee. The walls were lined with filing cabinets, stacked papers, and old team photos.
A sudden movement caught his eye. On the wooden desk in front of him sat a newspaper, slightly crumpled and yellowed.
The bold headline made his stomach drop.
"ETHAN CARTER DEAD – TRAGIC COLLAPSE AFTER HISTORIC WIN!"
His body went completely still.
What?
His hands, still trembling, grabbed the newspaper, his eyes frantically scanning the text.
"Bundesliga manager Ethan Carter, aged 41, tragically collapsed on the pitch after securing his first-ever win with FC Kaiserslautern. The football world mourns his passing."
He felt sick.
He was reading about his own death.
His fingers pressed into the paper, squeezing it so hard that it almost tore. It had to be a joke. A dream. A hallucination.
But it wasn't.
This was real.
His breathing grew ragged as he lowered the newspaper, his gaze locking onto something else on the desk.
A small nameplate.
Jake Wilson – Head Coach, Bradford City (Fifth-Tier League, England)
His entire body froze.
Jake Wilson?
Who the hell was Jake Wilson?
Before he could even begin to process, a soft ding echoed in the room.
A glowing blue screen materialized before his eyes.
[Ding! The Coaching System Has Activated.]
Ethan's breath hitched.
His body stiffened as his gaze locked onto the floating screen. The text was clear, crisp, and impossible to ignore.
[Welcome, Jake Wilson. Your mission is to rise from the bottom and become the greatest manager in football history.]
[Analyzing Current Team: Bradford City (Fifth-Tier League, England)]
[Tactical Insights Unlocked.]
Ethan—or rather, Jake Wilson—felt a chill crawl down his spine.
He swallowed hard.
His mind was screaming, demanding answers, but deep inside, a single terrifying realization settled in.
He had died.
And now—
He was somebody else.