The week after the Marston Vale match brought Ethan back to the usual, demanding routine of everyday life. The thrill of victory and the quiet pressure of the scout's presence faded away, replaced by the monotony of a history lecture and the daunting sight of a stack of homework.
At Eastfield Secondary, Ethan could no longer walk the halls unnoticed. He was well-known, like a local celebrity in a school uniform. After his math class, his teacher, Mr. Davies, asked him to stay after.
"Ethan," he said, leaning against his desk. "I saw the result on Saturday. Good job. But I also saw your last test score." He pushed the paper across the desk; a "C+" was circled in red. "Look, I know you have talent. Everyone in this town knows it. But you're in Year 11 now. These grades matter. Football is a dream, and I genuinely hope it comes true for you, but a dream isn't a guarantee. Don't let this slip."
Even though he meant well, his words felt like another burden on Ethan's shoulders. It wasn't enough to be a great footballer; he also needed to be a good student. The balance was getting tougher every day.
Later that evening, looking for a break, he found his sister Sarah in the back garden, trying to teach their small dog how to play football. It was a chaotic and funny sight, as the dog was more interested in chewing the ball than chasing it. Ethan joined her, and for twenty joyful minutes, he wasn't Crestwood's number ten or a hopeful England player. He was just a big brother, laughing until it hurt as Sarah cheered wildly when the dog finally nudged the ball between two flowerpots.
Afterward, he met Callum and Mason at a small pizza place in town. The conversation quickly turned to the scout.
"I'm telling you, he was there for me," Callum said confidently between bites of pizza. "He saw that finish. Premier League, here I come."
Mason rolled his eyes. "He was there to watch the team, you idiot. One scout at one game doesn't mean anything. We have an entire season to play. Get your head out of the clouds."
"It's not the clouds, it's the future," Callum snapped back. "You have to believe it to make it happen."
Ethan remained quiet, listening to their argument. In a way, both were right. He felt drawn to Callum's ambition but also grounded by Mason's realism. He was caught between the two.
That night, lying in bed, Ethan stared at the ceiling. The joy he used to get from simply playing was now overshadowed by a heavier feeling: the weight of consequences. Every pass, every grade, every decision felt like it was shaping a future he was just starting to grasp. The dream was no longer soft and distant. It was becoming real, with clear edges and a weight he could feel even in the quiet of his own room. And he knew, with a mix of excitement and fear, that he couldn't let any part of it slip away.