Football System: Touchline God
Chapter 49: Charity Gala I

Chapter 49: Charity Gala I

Two Nights Earlier – The North England Charity Gala, Whitethorne Manor

The smell of expensive perfume mixed with the sharp scent of polished marble. Crystal glasses clinked together like tiny bells. Soft music floated through the air, but it could barely cover the sound of conversations from the nobles present.

Gideon Blackwater stood near the center of the grand ballroom. His black suit fit him like it was made by angels. Silver buttons caught the light from the massive chandelier above. When he smiled, people smiled back. When he frowned, they looked away.

He was not just rich. He was power itself.

"Lord Everleigh," Gideon said as a fat man walked over. The man’s face was red from too much wine. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air. "Should I call you Chancellor now?"

Everleigh laughed too loud. "Don’t say that yet. The vote is still weeks away."

"Money talks first," Gideon replied. He took a sip of his drink. The amber liquid burned warm down his throat. "And money never lies."

Around them, other powerful people moved like sharks in expensive clothes. Almost all present were involved with a football club, whether in the 4th division Knights League Two, 3rd division Duke’s League One, or the 2nd division Royal Championship.

But most kept their distance from Gideon.

Everyone knew why.

Blackwater Industries owned coal and steel mines across Northern England, and Ashford United—a Division 2 club well on its way to the Imperial Crown League through promotion.

Gideon Blackwater stood near the center of the room. His black suit was perfect. His shoes were polished to a mirror shine. When he walked, people noticed. When he talked, they listened.

Tonight, he was hunting.

Just like the Blackwater’s, the Marrowgate family were one of the most powerful third-tier Nobility of North London. Their money flowed like water through banks and businesses. They controlled one of the biggest football club in the Royal Championship. They were regional kings without crowns.

But Gideon wanted to be more than that.

His eyes swept the room like a wolf looking for prey. There, by the marble pillar, Lady Clara Winthrop held a champagne glass in her thin fingers. Her green dress caught the light from the chandelier above. Her face showed no emotions.

Clara owned the Winthrop Harriers. A small division three club that barely made money. But she also owned textile mills that stretched across the North. Mills that needed coal. Mills that needed steel.

Mills that needed Gideon.

He walked over. His footsteps were quiet on the marble floor. His smile was warm but his eyes were cold.

"Lady Winthrop," he said. His voice was smooth as silk. "You look beautiful tonight. The Harriers must be doing well."

Clara’s lips curved up just a little. "Sweet words, Mr. Blackwater. But I know you better than that. You don’t waste time on flattery."

"You’re right," Gideon said. He stepped closer. Close enough to smell her perfume. Close enough to see the tiny lines around her eyes. "Let’s talk business then."

Clara’s fingers tightened on her glass. "I’m listening."

"Your club is stuck in the third division. Bleeding money every season without profit. The Marrowgates control the flow of sponsorship deals here in the north. They’re choking you out."

Clara’s eyes flashed. "And you think you can save me?"

"I think we can save each other," Gideon said. His voice dropped to a whisper. "My coal mines need buyers. Your mills need coal. My steel plants need customers. Your factories need steel. We make a deal. You make money. Your club makes money."

"What’s the catch?"

Gideon’s smile grew wider. "Simple. When I challenge the Marrowgates, you stand with me. When they try to keep my club out of the top league, you vote against them."

Clara stared at him for a long moment. The music played on. People laughed and talked around them. But in their little circle, the air was thick with tension.

"The Marrowgates have been in power for almost a century," she said finally. "They crush anyone who stands against them."

"They crush people who fight alone," Gideon said. "I’m building an army. Lord Haversham is already asking questions. Baroness Lyle is tired of their oppression. You could be next."

Clara took a sip of champagne. The bubbles made tiny popping sounds. "You’re either very brave or very stupid."

"Sometimes they’re the same thing."

She laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. "Send me the numbers by Monday. I’ll think about it."

Clara walked away. Her heels clicked on the marble. Her dress swirled like green water. But Gideon could see the interest in her eyes.

"One down."

He turned and scanned the room again. There, near the windows, Lord Reginald Strathmore talked to a young man in a blue uniform. Strathmore was thin and tall. His hair was gray. His face was lined visible traces of fatigue.

Strathmore owned the Strathmore Stallions. A proud division 2 club with a long history. But history didn’t pay the bills. The Stallions were struggling. Their new manager was making mistakes despite massive fund injection. Their players were getting old.

Gideon walked over. His timing was perfect. The young man saw him coming and quickly walked away.

"Lord Strathmore," Gideon said. He nodded politely. "I heard about your manager troubles. Must be hard on the fans."

Strathmore’s jaw tightened. "We’ll sort it out. The Stallions always bounce back."

"Of course," Gideon said. His tone was gentle. Understanding. "But bouncing back takes money. The Marrowgates’ partnership with TV-rights dealers gives most of the profits to their friends. Your club gets scraps while their Lions eat steak."

Strathmore’s eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"

"Just facts," Gideon said. He swirled his drink. The amber liquid caught the light. "My club is climbing fast. Soon we’ll be in the top league. When we get there, I want things to be fair. I’m putting together a group. Haversham, Lyle, maybe Winthrop. We’re pooling our resources."

"To do what?"

"To break the Marrowgates’ stranglehold. Your Stallions join us, and you get first pick of my distribution contracts. Guaranteed funds to rebuild your team."

Strathmore snorted. "You’re dreaming if you think you can beat them. They’ve reeled in half of the league’s council."

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