The Joker (1)
The mixed zone was packed shoulder to shoulder with journalists. French local media, British reporters who still remembered his infamous reputation, and even the Korean press chasing the story’s Asian market appeal had all gathered, forming a massive wall of cameras.
The journalists’ eyes were a tangled mix of emotions. Praise for the player who had just rescued his team from the brink of defeat warred with deep skepticism about whether the problem child of Old Trafford could actually sustain this kind of form. The air in the mixed zone felt heavy.
Camera flashes rained down like a storm. One British reporter thrust his microphone forward and fired off a question.
The journalists’ eyes sharpened. It was a classic trap—starting with praise to loosen the mood, then dragging in his past private life and physical limits to provoke a spicy answer.
The old Grayson Lee would have glared, spat curses, or violently shoved the microphone aside before storming out of the mixed zone. But he didn’t even flinch.
“Running around the pitch like an idiot the entire match is something for track athletes to do.”
His low, rough voice carried a thick Manchester accent. There was none of the uncontrollable rage of the young troublemaker from before.
“Football is ultimately a sport where you score goals and get results.”
Grayson slowly scanned the reporters and continued in a calm tone.
“And today, I was the one who delivered that result. Next question.”
The reporter who had asked the question was momentarily stunned by the far calmer and bolder response than expected. The surrounding press corps frantically clicked their shutters, capturing Grayson’s image.
Right after the interview ended, Grayson’s comments and his debut performance spread like wildfire through the global football community via the media.
France’s largest sports magazine, Le Café, ran a massive feature on his full interview under that headline.
Britain’s The Moon and ABC Sports also cautiously assessed his chances of a revival with titles like ‘The Prince of Old Trafford Files His Survival Report. But Stamina Remains a Homework Assignment.’
The football communities were no exception. The armchair experts armed with mice and keyboards instead of pens and paper tore into each other in a war of opinions.
↳ Stop it, which United fan is even riding for Grayson, you idiot
His past antics at Manchester United, his scandalous private life, and his once-brilliant playing style were all dragged back into the spotlight. The name Grayson Lee was once again making football fans’ hearts race around the world.
Was this a true revival, or just a temporary flash? The endless debate burned through the night.
The next morning, at Toulouse FC’s club house.
The atmosphere on the training ground had subtly shifted. The players and coaching staff who had openly treated Grayson Lee like a has-been and quietly ostracized him just days earlier now looked at him with a mixture of wariness and awe they had never shown before.
When Grayson pulled his football boots from his bag and walked through the locker room, a few of the younger players nervously glanced at him and quietly stepped aside to make way. They had seen the overwhelming performance he delivered yesterday. Mathis was still clearly conscious of him, but he didn’t dare start any trouble first.
Still, the mood hadn’t completely flipped. Among the coaches and players, doubt still outweighed expectation.
Would that genius still work against the fierce, heavy pressing of top teams? Or would his lacking stamina eventually become his downfall? The air inside Toulouse was stretched taut with tension.
At the same time, in the manager’s office on the upper floor of the club house.
The room was filled with a much heavier and more serious heat than the training ground. Head coach Clovis Merah, along with the senior coach, video analyst, and tactical coach, sat in a tight circle, staring intensely at the tactical board and monitors as they held a heated meeting. The monitor screens were filled with Grayson’s movements from yesterday and detailed statistical data.
The senior coach slammed his pen against the report in an excited tone.
“Boss, we have to start Grayson from the very next round! Look at yesterday’s data. In the forty-five minutes after he came on, our team’s forward pass success rate and chance creation metrics shot up dramatically. There isn’t a single player in our current squad who can exert this much psychological pressure on the opposition defense and open up space like he can.”
The tactical coach nodded in agreement.
“Exactly. Even considering the physical risk, it’s far more beneficial to start Grayson, seize the initiative, and take control of the game early. His performances also have an excellent effect on raising the morale of his teammates.”
The coaching staff’s opinion was firm. They believed Grayson Lee should immediately be made the tactical core of the team and placed in the starting lineup. For a Toulouse side that had been struggling even in the lower half of the table, the Grayson card felt like rain after a long drought. Their impatience was understandable.
However, Clovis Merah’s thoughts were different. Arms folded, he had been silently staring at the monitor. He slowly shook his head.
“No. I’m against starting Lee.”
At Merah’s heavy tone, the coaches all fell silent and turned to look at him. The manager let out a deep sigh, as if exhaling cigarette smoke, and continued.
“You’re all only looking at the flashy winner and the passes he made yesterday. But what caught my eye was his movement after the seventy-fifth minute. From that point on, Grayson was completely out of gas. The muscles supporting his plant foot were trembling slightly, and at moments when he needed to accelerate, he deliberately killed his own tempo out of fear of injury. That wasn’t him playing efficiently because of high football intelligence. It means his body is so broken that if he didn’t play that way, he’d be in the hospital immediately. He knows it instinctively.”
The temperature in the room dropped sharply at the manager’s words. Merah picked up one of the purple magnets on the tactical board and drew a firm line.
“A supercar with a broken engine can’t run the circuit for ninety minutes. If we start the current Grayson from the next round, his stamina will bottom out by the twenty-fifth minute of the first half. Push him too hard and the injury could recur, ruining the entire season. I won’t take that gamble.”
“Then, boss… how exactly do you plan to use Grayson Lee?”
At the senior coach’s question, Clovis Merah took a sip of coffee and spoke again.
“It would be a waste to let a talent like him rot on the bench. Even if the engine’s broken, a supercar is still a supercar.”
Merah picked up another purple magnet and casually placed it on the edge of the tactical board.
“Until the winter transfer window, Grayson Lee will be used strictly as a second-half joker card. For at least forty-five minutes, he will grind down the opponent in a muddy fight, eat away at their stamina, shatter the defensive line’s concentration, and create tiny cracks in their formation.”
The reason he set the clear deadline of the winter transfer window was obvious. Until then, Merah judged that Grayson’s physical condition made full ninety-minute appearances nearly impossible. However, considering the brutal rehabilitation and body-management pace he had recently shown, there was plenty of possibility that the story could change after winter.
“And the moment the opponent’s legs grow heavy, that’s when we throw Grayson Lee in.”
Low gasps rippled through the coaching staff, but Clovis Merah kept speaking.
“He may only be a half-player who can’t last ninety minutes, but in that half of time, he’s a player who can completely destroy an entire match.”