St. George's Park was quiet. It was too quiet.
Alex sat in the dining hall. He looked at his plate. It was full of steamed broccoli, plain chicken, and brown rice.
There was no sauce. There was no salt. It was fuel, not food.
Harry Kane sat opposite him. The England captain was cutting his chicken into perfect squares.
"Eat up," Harry said. "Fuel for the engine."
"It tastes like sadness," Alex whispered.
"Sadness wins tournaments," Harry replied. "Happiness is for teams that go home in the group stages."
Alex ate the broccoli. It crunched loudly in the silent room.
Jude Bellingham sat next to Alex. Jude was smiling. He had a mountain of pasta on his plate.
"Do not listen to him," Jude said. "Harry eats cardboard for breakfast. You need energy. Here."
Jude slid a tiny packet of pepper towards Alex.
"Contraband," Jude whispered. "Use it wisely."
Alex sprinkled the pepper on his chicken. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.
"Thanks," Alex said.
