As the players stood on the training pitch at Carrington, they were finally face-to-face with their new boss.
Many of them had already seen Tiger King in passing—some returning early from vacation had caught glimpses of him in his sharp suit, speaking politely with staff and executives. At that time, his Asian features and composed demeanor had made him seem calm, humble, and reserved—a stark contrast to what they were seeing now.
Today, in full sportswear, he looked completely different. There was excitement in his body language, a cheerful energy that felt contagious. Some of the senior players exchanged glances—was this really the same man?
The uncertainty in the squad was obvious. A new manager always meant new expectations, new philosophies, and potential shake-ups. The squad had thrived under Sir Alex Ferguson, a man of strict discipline but undeniable care for his players.
Now, the question on everyone's mind was: Who was Tiger King?
Would he be a calm and methodical Wenger, a relentless and fiery Ferguson, or a charismatic and unpredictable Mourinho?
One thing was certain—the squad would soon find out.
As the squad gathered around Tiger King on the training pitch, the tension in the air was obvious. The younger players shifted awkwardly, while the veterans stood with arms crossed, trying to gauge their new manager.
Tiger, sensing the stiffness, clapped his hands together with a grin. "Alright, lads. I know what you're all thinking—who is this guy? What's he about? And most importantly, is he going to make us run until our legs fall off?"
A few chuckles rippled through the group, though some remained cautious. Tiger smirked. "Before we get into anything serious, I figured we'd have a quick catch-up. See what my fine gentlemen have been up to during their vacations." He turned to Wayne Rooney, a teasing glint in his eyes.
"Wazza… I don't know if I should say this, but you're looking a little younger than last season. What's your secret? New diet? More sleep?"
The squad erupted into laughter as Rooney rubbed his freshly transplanted hair and grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," he said. "It's a hair transplant, alright? Better than looking like Scholesy in a few years."
Scholes, who was standing behind Tiger, rolled his eyes. "Oi, at least my hair stayed the same my whole career. You, on the other hand, mate…"
Tiger laughed and patted Rooney on the shoulder. "I respect the effort, Wayne. Got to keep up with the modern trends, eh?"
Then, he turned his attention to Robin van Persie, who was stretching casually.
"Robin… Spain, huh? I read the tabloids. Sun, sea, and…" Tiger paused dramatically, smirking, "…bikini beauties?"
The squad whistled and jeered as Van Persie shook his head, grinning. "Gaffer, I was strictly there for rest and relaxation," he said, failing miserably to sound convincing.
"Oh, of course. Sunbathing purely for recovery purposes, I'm sure," Tiger teased. "Well, I hope you got your fair share of vitamin D, because we're about to undo all that relaxation."
Van Persie groaned. "Knew there'd be a catch."
Tiger then turned to Michael Carrick, standing quietly with his arms folded. "And then, of course, we have Mr. Professional. Carrick, let me guess—you didn't even take a holiday, did you?"
Carrick shrugged. "Was busy rehabbing my injuries, gaffer. Figured I'd get myself ready for the season."
Tiger nodded in approval. "That's why you're one of the best, Michael. No distractions, no nonsense—just football. I need that mindset in this team."
Then, his gaze shifted to Rio Ferdinand and Nemanja Vidic, standing side by side like twin pillars. "You two as well? No vacations? Just straight recovery?"
Vidic simply nodded, ever the serious warrior. Ferdinand, however, smirked. "Had a couple of beach days, boss, but nothing crazy."
Tiger raised an eyebrow. "Define 'nothing crazy.' Because with you, Rio, that could mean anything."
Ferdinand chuckled. "Let's just say I behaved better than Robin."
The squad roared with laughter again, and Van Persie threw his hands up. "Oh, come on! You're all on my case today."
Tiger let the laughter die down before clapping his hands together again. "Alright, lads, now that we've got the banter out of the way, let's get to business. Line up—we have new players who want to properly introduce themselves to every single one of you. We're going to be spending a lot of time together, so let's start this off right."
As the players formed a line, the squad's mood had completely shifted. The ice was broken, and the tension had melted away. Tiger King wasn't just a new gaffer—he was one of them.
And from this moment on, they were ready to go to battle for him.
As the players lined up, Tiger King took a step forward, his eyes scanning the mix of old and new faces. There was a sense of curiosity among the veterans, and perhaps some skepticism—after all, this was Manchester United, a club of champions. They weren't here to play second fiddle to unproven talent.
Tiger smiled, breaking the tension. "Alright, lads. Let's not stand here like we're at a school assembly. One by one, step forward—name, nationality, position. Keep it simple."
A quiet but determined figure took the first step forward.
"Hello everyone, my name is N'Golo Kanté. I am French, and I play in midfield."
There was a slight pause. Carrick glanced at Fletcher, both aware this young man was brought in to add steel to the midfield. But he was unknown—nobody had heard of Kanté back then. Could he handle the pressure of Old Trafford?
Next up was a tall, imposing presence. "I'm Alisson, Brazilian, goalkeeper."
De Gea raised an eyebrow, studying the new arrival. A Brazilian goalkeeper? The last high-profile one in England, Gomes, hadn't exactly inspired confidence. Still, competition was part of football.
A lean winger stepped up, his confidence evident.
"I'm Riyad Mahrez, Algerian, winger." Nani and Valencia exchanged glances. Another tricky winger? Giggs folded his arms, watching. 'We'll see if you can handle a full-back like Rafael in training, lad.'
A tall, strong center-back took a step forward, looking slightly reserved.
"Virgil van Dijk, Dutch, center-back."
The reaction was mixed. Rio Ferdinand narrowed his eyes—this kid was unknown outside of the Netherlands. Vidic, the rock of United's defense, simply nodded, his expression unreadable. Could he be a real replacement? Time would tell.
Another defender followed. "Marcos Alonso, Spanish, left-back."
Ferdinand muttered under his breath, "Hope he's got more in him than Buttner did." Phil Jones smirked.
"Toby Alderweireld, Belgian, center-back." Another untested center-back. United's defense had been built on warriors like Ferdinand and Vidic. Would these young defenders be ready for the intensity of English football? Smalling and Jones exchanged a look—this was their chance to step up as well.
A young English player stepped forward, looking confident. "Jesse Lingard, English, attacking midfield."
Rooney gave him a pat on the back. "You better be ready to work, Jess. No dancing in training unless you earn it."
Lastly, another French talent. "Anthony Martial, French, winger/forward."
Rooney, Van Persie, and Chicharito observed him closely. A forward who could also play wide—versatility was good, but was he ready? Van Persie whispered to Rooney, "This lad's got pace, but let's see if he can handle defenders like Kompany."
Giggs finally stepped forward, bringing the squad's attention back. "Alright, lads. That was good. Some of you have lifted trophies here. Some of you are here to prove you belong. But listen up—this is Manchester United. You earn your place. You fight for each other. You play to win. That's the only way we move forward."
The veterans clapped, their championship-winning experience evident. The newcomers took it in—this was the weight of expectations at United. The banter and smiles were there, but the message was clear: prove yourself or get left behind.