The Las Vegas Strip glowed like a fever dream as the Manchester United team bus pulled into the Mandalay Bay resort. Neon lights, Elvis impersonators, and billboards for magic shows blurred past the tinted windows as Garnacho pressed his face against the glass.
"Is that a rollercoaster on top of a building?" he asked.
"Yes," Casemiro said without looking up from his Kindle. "And no, you can't ride it."
Ten Hag turned from his seat near the front. "No casinos. No clubs. No selfies with guys dressed as Spider-Man. We're here to play Real Betis, not lose our dignity."
Mbappé raised an eyebrow. "Define dignity."
Ethan Cross stood near the back, phone in one hand, and a bottle of Gatorade in the other. "Just remember—Vegas has cameras everywhere. One video of Bruno trying to pole dance and we're all going viral."
Bruno didn't even flinch. "I don't try. I succeed."
—
The next day's match was set for Allegiant Stadium—a shimmering alien spaceship of a venue that made Old Trafford look like it had arthritis.
The heat was brutal. Even the grass seemed confused about why football was being played in the desert. The players dripped sweat in the warm-up, and Ethan wondered if his spine was slowly evaporating.
Still, the energy was high.
This was the second game of the tour. A chance to build on the momentum from the LA Galaxy win. A chance for fringe players to stake their claim.
Ten Hag's starting lineup was half first-team, half experiment:
GK: Onana
DEF: Frimpong, Kim, Maguire (yes, really), Shaw
MID: Casemiro, Mainoo
ATT: Zaha, Mount, Pellistri
ST: Højlund
On the bench: Mbappé, Bruno, Rice, Garnacho, Martinez, plus half the academy.
"Why is Maguire starting?" Mbappé asked innocently.
Ten Hag didn't blink. "Because this is Vegas. Everyone deserves one gamble."
Maguire pretended not to hear.
Ethan whispered to Ellie, "You think Maguire knows blackjack odds?"
"He doesn't even know offside," she replied.
—
Kickoff.
The Real Betis fans had shown up in force, chanting and waving green flags. It felt oddly like a Europa League tie transplanted into a microwave.
The opening minutes were scrappy. Maguire nearly gave away a goal in the third minute, only to redeem himself with a perfectly timed sliding block seconds later.
Zaha looked sharp, taking on defenders with the swagger of a man who wanted redemption and possibly a second autobiography.
Then, in the 12th minute—boom.
Kobbie Mainoo, cool as a desert breeze, picked off a loose pass, turned past two Betis midfielders, and slipped a through ball to Højlund.
The Dane didn't hesitate. One touch, bang.
1–0 United.
Ethan jumped out of his seat. "That's my Viking!"
Mainoo was mobbed by the players.
Casemiro ruffled his hair like a proud uncle. "Now don't get cocky. That's my job."
—
But Real Betis weren't pushovers.
Before the half-hour mark, they equalized—a curling strike from the edge of the box after Frimpong got caught upfield.
1–1.
Ten Hag barked at the touchline like a man whose espresso had been diluted. "Discipline! Structure! We're not in Ibiza!"
By halftime, the score was level, the players were soaked in sweat, and Harry Maguire had somehow convinced a linesman to explain offside to him mid-match.
"Just checking," he mumbled.
—
Second half.
On came the cavalry.
Mbappé. Bruno. Rice. Garnacho. Martinez.
Within five minutes, the tempo tripled.
Bruno conducted. Rice patrolled. Mbappé hunted.
In the 61st minute, Mbappé danced into the box, dummied the keeper, then squared for Garnacho—who tapped in like he was placing a pizza order.
2–1 United.
And the floodgates opened.
Mount added a third with a low drive after good link-up from Zaha and Pellistri.
Then Bruno chipped a pass that Mbappé volleyed on the run—off the crossbar, onto the keeper's back, and in.
4–1. Comedy goal. Classic pre-season.
Ten Hag smiled, barely.
"I'll allow it," he muttered.
—
Full-time.
United 4 – Real Betis 1.
A solid win. Fitness ticking up. Fringe players making noise. Confidence growing.
The dressing room was loud.
Bruno did a mock Vegas card-dealer routine, flipping imaginary red cards to anyone who made a bad pass.
"Zaha—too many stepovers. Red card. Mount—one too many hair flicks. Red card. Maguire—existing. Triple red."
Zaha laughed. "Watch it, Portuguese Chris Rock."
Mainoo sat beside Højlund, quietly glowing.
Ethan stood in the doorway, arms folded.
"Alright," he said. "Dinner's on me. Just… no roulette. We've gambled enough this summer."
Mbappé fist-bumped him. "Then we're ordering five steaks each."
Ellie, entering with her phone, raised an eyebrow. "Mbappé just got offered an endorsement deal from a Vegas nightclub. Wants to know if he can DJ during the off-season."
Ethan blinked. "Tell him only if he plays ABBA remixes."
—
That night, the team gathered at an open-air rooftop restaurant with panoramic views of the Strip.
Laughter echoed as Rice roasted Bruno's music taste, Mainoo beat Shaw in a phone quiz about Man United legends, and even Maguire won a round of trivia by remembering who last scored for United in a pre-season tour in 2015.
Zaha sat beside Ethan, swirling a glass of lemonade.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" he asked.
Ethan nodded. "It does. But let's see how we feel after we face Inter Miami. Beckham's been texting me every hour."
"You going to say no to him?"
"I'm not afraid of David Beckham."
"Liar."
—
Later, Ethan found himself walking the edge of the hotel pool, shoes off, tie loosened, watching the city shimmer below.
Ellie joined him.
"Squad's gelling," she said.
"They are," he agreed. "It's not just star power. It's personality. Chemistry. Even Maguire's… not awful."
Ellie sipped her wine. "That's your headline right there: 'Maguire Not Awful Shocks Football World.'"
Ethan chuckled.
Then turned serious.
"We need to talk Greenwood. Before the next game."
Ellie's smile faded. "You want to go public?"
"Not yet. But the players are asking. Media's circling."
She nodded. "Alright. Tomorrow. Closed-door meeting. You, me, Erik. Let's figure it out."
Ethan looked out across the Vegas lights.
The Red Revival was gathering steam.
But now came the delicate part—deciding what belonged in the future.
And what should be left behind.