Chapter 1: Planning for the Future.
Wayne Rooney waited until the evening before making the call. Training was done, the lights at Middlewood Road dimmed, and the noise around his appointment had finally quietened enough for him to think clearly. Two wins had changed the mood, but not the reality. An 18-point deduction still loomed over everything. Survival was unlikely. Development was essential.
He scrolled to the contact he hadn’t needed before but got it passed to him from the previous coaching staff.
Rúben Amorim.
The line connected quicker than Rooney expected.
“Wayne,” Amorim said warmly. “Congratulations. I’ve been watching.”
Rooney smiled. “I figured you might be. Appreciate it.”
They didn’t waste time. Both men understood why the call was happening.
“I’ll get straight to it,” Rooney said. “January’s coming. We’re rebuilding in a hurry, and we’re doing it properly. I wanted to see if there’s scope for loans until the end of the season.”
Amorim leaned back, already knowing the angle.
“You’re playing the five,” he said. “Back three, wing-backs, fluid midfield. Very familiar.”
“That’s the idea,” Rooney replied. “It suits the squad, and it suits development. Take Amass—he’s been outstanding.”
There was a pause. Not awkward. Thoughtful.
“I’ve been watching Harry very closely,” Amorim admitted. “Every match since he went to Sheffield and now recently with you.”
Rooney raised an eyebrow. “Even after those comments?”
Amorim sighed. “That’s something I wanted to address. I shouldn’t have said he was struggling. He wasn’t. He just needed games. That’s on me.”
Rooney appreciated the honesty.
“He’s flying,” Rooney said. “Thriving in the system. If we can do that with one, we can do it with another.”
“That’s exactly why I’m interested,” Amorim replied. “I want a proper link between Manchester United and Sheffield Wednesday. A real pathway. Not just loans that sit on benches.”
Rooney nodded, even though Amorim couldn’t see it.
“That’s non-negotiable for me.”
Amorim smiled. “Good. Because I have a few names.”
He didn’t rush them. He let them hang in the air.
“Chido Obi,” Amorim began. “Powerful, raw, still learning. He wouldn’t be guaranteed to start—but he’d get minutes.”
Rooney considered it. “That’s fair.”
“Shea Lacey,” Amorim continued. “Technically special. Needs trust.”
Rooney didn’t hesitate. “I love him. He plays as our ten, he plays big minutes. He’d be central to everything.”
Amorim chuckled. “I thought you’d say that.”
“Ayden Heaven,” Amorim said next. “Left-sided centre-back. Aggressive. Brave.”
Rooney leaned forward now. “He starts. Day one.”
That answer clearly pleased Amorim.
“And Tyler Fredericson,” he finished. “Versatile. Reliable. Probably the last option—but available.”
Rooney was honest. “He’d be depth for us. But I’d consider it.”
There was a brief silence before Amorim spoke again.
“Wayne, I like what you’re building,” he said. “The staff you’ve brought in—Phelan, Ramsay, Fortune—that’s serious football thinking. You’re not just firefighting.”
Rooney exhaled slowly. “We can’t afford to. Not anymore.”
“Then let’s do this properly,” Amorim replied. “I’ll speak to the club. Heaven and Lacey are very possible. Obi too, with the right expectations.”
Rooney smiled again, this time wider.
“I appreciate it. And—thanks for backing Amass.”
“He’s earned it,” Amorim said. “So have you. Two wins already? Not bad for a club in administration.”
The call ended, but the feeling lingered.
For the first time since taking the job, Rooney felt something shift—not just survival, but alignment. A system. A pipeline. A future.
Wednesday might be falling this season.
But they were no longer falling alone.
