The sun rose lazily over Burton, casting long shadows across the quiet town. For the first time in months, the people of Burton Albion carried a lightness in their step. Four wins in a row, their safety in League One assured—it was as if a collective weight had been lifted. But beneath the surface of celebration and relief, other concerns began to stir.
On the training pitch, the players were easing into a recovery session, their mood lighter than it had been in weeks. Stephen Quinn jogged alongside Jamie Allen, their conversation punctuated with laughter.
"So," Allen said, smirking, "what do you reckon the gaffer's got planned for the last match? Another secret weapon?"
Quinn shrugged, his grin wry. "Maybe. All I know is, I wouldn't bet against him. The man's got us playing like a team possessed."
Across the field, Lucas Akins and David Templeton were locked in a mock argument, the kind born from camaraderie.
"You seriously think that tackle was clean?" Templeton teased, nudging McFadzean as they stretched. "Mate, you nearly sent the poor lad into next week."
McFadzean rolled his eyes but chuckled. "Clean enough for the ref, wasn't it?"
The banter flowed easily, a stark contrast to the tense, desperate atmosphere that had plagued the team just weeks ago. Even Victor Kane, standing at the edge of the pitch with his arms crossed, allowed himself a rare smile. His players had earned this moment, and he wasn't about to take it away from them.
In the admin office, Rebecca Hill sat across from Arthur Wilkins, a steaming mug of tea between them. The club's financial officer looked weary, his brow furrowed as he pored over the latest reports.
"Alright, Arthur," Rebecca said, breaking the silence. "How bad is it?"
Wilkins sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his temples. "Bad enough. We're afloat for now, but barely. Four wins or not, the revenue just isn't enough to cover everything. Debts, maintenance, wages—it's all adding up."
Rebecca leaned back in her chair, frowning. "We've been cutting corners for months. What's the plan if things don't improve?"
Wilkins hesitated before responding. "We've got options, but none of them are ideal. Selling a key player could bring in some cash, but it would hurt morale. Sponsorships might help, if we can find someone willing to invest in a club that's been dodging relegation. Or…" He trailed off, his expression grim.
"Or?" Rebecca pressed.
"Or we find an investor. Someone to pump serious money into the club. Problem is, that kind of help doesn't come cheap."
The weight of his words hung in the air. Rebecca nodded slowly, knowing that while survival on the pitch was secure, the fight for the club's future was far from over.
At The Yellow Lion Pub, the usual crowd had gathered for their customary post-match pints. This time, the mood was celebratory but subdued, the weight of the season's struggles still lingering in the air.
"I'll tell you what," Martin said, raising his glass. "Four wins in a row. If you'd told me that a month ago, I'd have laughed you out of the pub."
Gary smirked, clinking his glass against Martin's. "And now? We're staying up. Feels good, doesn't it?"
Liam, always the optimist, leaned forward. "It's more than that, lads. Kane's changed everything. The way we're playing now—."
Martin nodded but glanced around the pub, his gaze lingering on the faded banners and chipped paint on the walls. "Hope's one thing," he said quietly. "But have you noticed the state of the stadium? The club's falling apart, even if the team's not. Makes you wonder how long we can keep this up."
The others fell silent, the weight of Martin's words settling over them. Despite their joy, the cracks in the foundation were hard to ignore.
That evening, Victor sat alone in his office, the Snake Tactics Manual open before him. The glowing text shifted faintly, as if alive, but Victor's focus was elsewhere. His mind wandered to the conversation he'd overheard between Rebecca and Wilkins earlier that day. The financial strain on the club was palpable, and while he'd done his part on the pitch, the problems off it were beyond his control.
He turned the page of the manual, revealing the skills he'd unlocked—Coil Maneuver, Fang Sequence—and the ones still grayed out, their potential waiting to be realized. But tonight, the glowing text felt like a reminder of the otherworldly advantage he carried. An advantage that, no matter how powerful, couldn't fix everything.
As he closed the manual, a knock at the door drew his attention. Rebecca stepped in, holding an envelope.
"This just arrived," she said, placing it on his desk. "Addressed to you. No name, just the club."
Victor raised an eyebrow, taking the envelope. It was thick, the handwriting on the front unfamiliar. He opened it cautiously, revealing a typed letter and what appeared to be a business card.
"What is it?" Rebecca asked, curious.
Victor scanned the letter, his expression unreadable. "Something… interesting," he said finally, slipping the card into his pocket. "I'll let you know if it's worth pursuing."
Rebecca nodded, leaving the room without pressing further. Alone again, Victor leaned back in his chair, the card's embossed logo lingering in his mind. He didn't trust coincidences, but for now, he would wait. The future of Burton Albion was still being written.