1: Chapter 1 Hartlepool United on the brink of collapse

Late June 2006, Hartlepool was shrouded in a gloomy sky.

Victoria Park, the home ground of Hartlepool United, was enveloped in an atmosphere of despair.

Lin Feng stood by the dusty window of the office.

Outside the window, rain slanted down, and a group of emotional players and local reporters completely blocked the club's already narrow exit.

"Unscrupulous owner, return our hard-earned money!"

"The shame of Hartlepool!" The glaring banners stood out in the rain, and the reporters' flashlights occasionally flickered, trying to capture every dramatic moment.

The club was on the verge of bankruptcy.

This thought constantly impacted Lin Feng's nerves. According to the information he had just received, the club's total debt amounted to 708,000 pounds.

Of this, 378,000 pounds were overdue wages to players and coaching staff, a sum that had been delayed for three months and was the direct fuse for the players' anger.

In addition, there were 200,000 pounds in overdue stadium rent to the city council, and 130,000 pounds owed to various suppliers. Each sum felt like a straw breaking the camel's back.

What was worse, he, Lin Feng, had just transmigrated an hour ago and become the new owner of this League Two club.

He was nominally taking over a mess that the previous damned gambler had left with almost nothing.

The despair, helplessness, and regret left by his predecessor still lingered in his mind like maggots, threatening to devour his sanity.

Just as Lin Feng was trying to process this sudden change and sort through the chaotic memories, a slight dizzy spell came over him.

Immediately after, a futuristic, holographic screen interface abruptly unfolded before his eyes.

[World-Class Club Development Platform system activating...]

[Host identity confirmed: Lin Feng.]

[Club bound: Hartlepool United Football Club.]

[Detecting club in extreme crisis, rating: On the verge of dissolution.]

[Newbie gift package being issued...]

A series of notification sounds rang in Lin Feng's mind, making him feel absurd.

[Congratulations to the Host for acquiring one "One-Time Perfect Prediction Card (Major Sporting Event)".]

[Card description: Can perfectly predict the final outcome and key processes of one designated major sporting event.]

[Special reminder: The 2006 Germany World Cup final is detected to be imminent, and the card's validity period is automatically locked to this event.]

As soon as the voice fell, a scene appeared clearly in Lin Feng's mind: the Olympic Stadium in Berlin, brightly lit and the focus of global attention.

Zidane, the legendary core of the France team, suddenly, in extra time, powerfully head-butted Italy defender Materazzi's chest with his shining bald head! Red card!

Zidane's lonely back as he brushed past the World Cup trophy, and the Italy team's celebration as they finally lifted the cup... The visual impact was so strong that Lin Feng's heart skipped a beat. If this was real...

"Knock, knock, knock." The office door was knocked, interrupting Lin Feng's thoughts.

"Come in." Lin Feng composed himself.

The door opened, and a gray-haired, gaunt middle-aged man walked in.

He was the club's old accountant, John Stone, a loyal supporter who had worked at Hartlepool United for nearly twenty years.

At this moment, his wrinkled face was filled with the same bleak despair as the weather outside the window.

"Boss..." Mr. Stone's voice was a little hoarse, with a barely perceptible tremor. He held a thick stack of documents in his hand.

"This is... this is the club's latest debt list, every item has been verified. And... and the final payment reminder from the bank. If we can't repay at least thirty percent of the outstanding wages and some bank loans within three days, they will initiate forced liquidation procedures."

He gently placed the documents on the desk in front of Lin Feng, the stack of papers making him feel a little breathless.

Lin Feng picked up the list and examined each item. Every line of numbers was carving away at the century-old club's decaying body.

"I understand." Lin Feng put down the list, his tone unusually calm, "Give me ten days."

Mr. Stone suddenly looked up, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes. Ten days? What could ten days do in the face of this huge debt of over 700,000 pounds?

Had this young new owner been completely overwhelmed by this mess and started talking nonsense?

But in Lin Feng's eyes, he saw a calmness and undeniable confidence that transcended his age.

This composure caused a ripple in his heart, which had already sunk to rock bottom.

"Alright... Alright, boss." Mr. Stone opened his mouth but ultimately chose to believe, or rather, he had no other choice.

No sooner had Mr. Stone left than the office door opened again. This time, it was the team's head coach, a Scottish old man named John McDonald, whom the players usually called Old John.

Old John had been in the lower Leagues of England for many years, rich in experience, but his tactical philosophy was slightly conservative, a typical local coach.

"Mr. Lin," Old John's face was also grim, filled with deep worry.

"You've seen the situation outside. The players are very unstable. Because of the overdue wages, they have refused to train normally."

"If this continues, let alone being unable to play the next warm-up match against Middlesbrough's youth team, I'm afraid the team will fall apart soon."

Lin Feng nodded, indicating that he understood. He looked at the worried old coach before him, already having a preliminary judgment.

Old John still had feelings for the club; his ability might not be enough to lead the team to create miracles.

But as a "puppet" during a transitional period, executing some tactical arrangements, he should still be competent.

"I will find a way to resolve the training issue. The warm-up match will proceed as scheduled; it cannot be canceled," Lin Feng said.

Old John hesitated, then finally sighed, nodded, and turned to leave the office.

He really couldn't understand what confidence this young Chinese owner had to say such things.

The office returned to quiet, with only the rustling of rain against the windowpane and the faint distant clamor.

Lin Feng's gaze once again turned to the window, his eyes becoming incredibly determined.

The "divine prophecy" of the World Cup final was his only lifeline at the moment, and his only chance to turn the tide and bring this club back from the brink!

But, all beginnings are difficult. To make a fortune from this prophecy, he first needed start-up capital.

Start-up capital sufficient to leverage huge returns in the legal gambling market.

He began to rummage through the predecessor's belongings. The office was small and sparsely furnished; the former owner was clearly not a person who cared about quality of life.

Apart from some irrelevant club documents and a few cheap ballpoint pens, there was nothing else in the drawer.

Lin Feng didn't give up and fumbled in the pocket of the cheap suit jacket his predecessor had hung on the hanger.

Finally, his fingertips touched a hard object.

He pulled it out to see a watch.

A Rolex, Oyster Perpetual Datejust, gold and steel model. Although not a top limited edition, its condition was still good, and the dial still glowed faintly in the dim light.

Lin Feng had a slight understanding of luxury goods; this watch would likely fetch around ten thousand pounds at a pawn shop or secondhand market.

Ten thousand pounds!

This amount was merely a drop in the bucket for the club's debt of over 700,000 pounds.

But for Lin Feng at this moment, it was his only gamble, his last resort to stage a miraculous comeback!

He tightly gripped the Rolex in his hand, the cold metallic touch making him even more alert. A look of resolute determination flashed in his eyes.

Either he would fail completely, the club would dissolve, and he would bear the infamy.

Or he would soar to the sky, and from this high-stakes gamble, he would carve out a future for himself and for this struggling club!

Lin Feng took a deep breath, pushed open the office door, and walked straight out.

He ignored the reporters and players still clamoring outside, and he ignored their angry, disdainful, or confused gazes, walking straight through the crowd towards the parking lot.

He had only one destination—the nearest pawn shop in Hartlepool.