Succeeding Sir Alex

Half a year earlier—just over 100 days before Sir Alex Ferguson's retirement.

In the early morning, Jin Taige was still deep in sleep when he felt a gentle push. A soft voice teased him:

"Dear Mr. Tiger, if you don't get up soon, you'll miss one of Manchester's rare sunny days."

Slowly, the so-called Tiger King opened his sleepy eyes, adjusting to the morning light. As his vision cleared, he turned to look at the person who had woken him. His eyes widened in surprise.

Standing beside his bed was a tall blonde woman, wearing an apron and smiling warmly at him. The morning sunlight streaming through the window framed her figure, giving her an almost ethereal glow.

Tiger King blinked, still groggy. 'Am I dreaming?' he thought.

Tiger King sat up abruptly, his heart pounding. He carefully scanned his surroundings, taking in every detail. The room before him was elegantly decorated in a classic European style, with refined furnishings he had never seen before. A grand golden chandelier hung above his head, casting a soft glow over the space. The combination of goose-yellow curtains and pristine white wallpaper gave the room a dreamy, almost surreal ambiance.

Yet, the touch of the quilt in his hands, the crisp clarity of his vision—everything felt too real.

He glanced down and realized he was completely naked under the covers.

His grip on the quilt tightened. This wasn't a dream. This was real!

"What's going on?" Tiger King muttered, closing his eyes again, struggling to process everything in front of him. He couldn't believe it—none of it made sense.

Seeing his distressed expression, the tall blonde gently patted his shoulder, her face filled with concern. "Tiger, are you feeling unwell?"

Tiger King slowly opened his eyes and looked at her. "Where is this?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.

The blonde gave him a puzzled look. "This is our home," she replied matter-of-factly. "Tiger, what's wrong with you? Did you have a nightmare?"

"It's nothing… just a headache," Tiger King murmured before lying back down. He closed his eyes again, his mind clouded with uncertainty.

The blonde looked at him with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, just a headache. I need to rest a bit," Tiger King replied, rubbing his temples.

She gave him a warm smile. "You've probably been working too hard lately. Just take it easy. I'll take the kids out for a bit. There's breakfast in the kitchen—warm it up when you wake up."

With that, she tucked the quilt around him, then quietly left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

A moment later, Tiger King heard the faint sound of the front door closing. She must have gone out. He slowly sat up, then got out of bed. Walking across the room completely naked, he approached the mirror. When he saw his reflection, he froze in shock.

'Who is the person in the mirror?'

Tiger King stared in disbelief at the reflection before him.

The man in the mirror stood about 1.8 meters tall, with a strong, well-built physique. His facial features were distinctly Asian, yet his hair was golden blonde, and there were subtle hints of European and American traits in his appearance.

"What the…?" he muttered, stepping closer, his hands instinctively reaching up to touch his face.

This wasn't the face he remembered. Who was this man staring back at him?

Fortunately, no one else was in the room—otherwise, his hysterical reaction would have surely startled them.

Tiger King took a deep breath, then suddenly jumped in place, testing his body. His movements felt strong and natural, yet foreign at the same time.

Overwhelmed, he collapsed backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.

Wait… no.

This isn't my bed.

This isn't my room.

And… this isn't my body.

Regardless, the shock was too much. He laid down on the bed with his eyes closed, regardless of the ownership issue, struggling to recall his own affairs.

Tiger King squeezed his temples, trying to piece together his last memories.

Last night… he had been drinking with a few friends and fellow fans, passionately discussing the state of football. The main topic? Liverpool's managerial transition.

Jürgen Klopp had stepped down, and Arne Slot had taken over. Yet, against all odds, Liverpool remained at the top of both the Premier League and Champions League standings. Slot had seamlessly taken on the role, leading the team to another dominant season.

Meanwhile, Manchester United was in shambles.

Succeeding legendary managers was never easy—United had learned that the hard way after Ferguson's departure. Arsenal had gone through similar struggles post-Wenger. But somehow, Liverpool had made it work.

Slot's latest triumph over Aston Villa was another statement win, reinforcing Liverpool's position as serious contenders for silverware.

Drunk and frustrated at United's misfortunes, Jin Taige had slammed his glass on the table and shouted, "As a Manchester United fan, I admit that Mourinho, Erik, Moyes, and Amorim are all great coaches. But they simply cannot seamlessly transition into a club like United—one built on a tradition of off-the-ball movement, continuous tactical evolution, and ever-shifting lineups!"

"What else can we do?" one of Tiger King's buddies sighed, shaking his head. "At this point, Amorim is the best option for Manchester United. We have to trust him to rebuild the squad. If we sack another manager, the entire reconstruction process will be a mess again."

Tiger King downed another glass of wine and leaned back proudly. "Listen, when Sir Alex Ferguson would leave, if I could have taken over Manchester United myself, I promise you, I'd bring back the glory days of the Red Devils!"

The group erupted in laughter.

"Oh, sure!" A tall, lanky friend with glasses clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "Guess it's time for you to put those fifteen years of playing Championship Manager and Football Manager to good use!"

"Hahahaha!" Everyone laughed.

The table roared with amusement, but Tiger King simply stood up and confidently responded, "Don't believe it, if I do, I will definitely dominate Europe ..."

If only they knew how true his words were going to be.

That memory was crystal clear. But what had happened after that?

And more importantly…

How did he wake up in this unfamiliar body?

Tiger King furrowed his brows, trying to recall more details about himself—about Jin Taige, the Chinese man he was supposed to be.

But no matter how hard he tried… he couldn't.

His home? Blank.

His parents? Their faces were missing.

His friends? Gone, just like a fading dream.

Apart from the general memory of being Jin Taige, everything else—the specific details of his past—had vanished.

A chill ran down his spine.

Who… am I now?

He beat his head hard hoping that it would help him remember something, but it was fruitless.

Slowly, the unfamiliar body's memories began seeping in.

His name was Tiger King.

Not Jin Taige.