The email arrived on Monday morning, hitting the inboxes of every scholar with a dull thud.
SUBJECT: 6-Week Performance Review Individual Appointments
This was the first official check-in. In the academy, you didn't just play football; you were assessed. Every pass, every sprint, every calorie consumed, and every grade was tracked, gathered, and evaluated.
Ethan sat in the waiting area outside the Academy Director's office on a Thursday afternoon. He wore his club tracksuit, zipped up to the chin. Next to him sat Harvey, nervously bouncing his leg.
"I heard Jonesy got a 'Red' grading," Harvey whispered, his eyes wide. "They put him on probation. One more bad review and he's out." "Jonesy showed up late three times," Ethan replied, trying to sound calm. "And he failed a math test." "Yeah, but still," Harvey shivered. "Ruthless."
The door opened. A second-year scholar walked out, looking pale. "Matthews," a voice called from inside.
Ethan stood up, grabbed his water bottle, and walked in.
The office was sleek and had glass walls, overlooking the rain-soaked training pitches. Behind a large desk sat Mark, the Head of Recruitment who had signed him. Next to him was Gareth, the U18 manager, arms crossed, staring at a laptop. On the wall was a large screen showing a paused video of Ethan.
"Sit down, Ethan," Mark said, his tone professional but kind.
Ethan took a seat, feeling small in the chair.
"Right," Mark began, tapping the laptop. "Six weeks in. Two competitive starts. Two draws. One assist. On paper, that's a solid start." He clicked a button, and the screen changed to a complex graphic.
It was a spider chart, showing Ethan's stats compared to the "Academy Standard." "Let's focus on the positives," Gareth said, leaning forward. "Technical, Tactical, Psychological." He pointed to three spikes on the chart above the average line. "Your vision is top-notch for this age group," Gareth stated. "That pass against Liverpool? That's why you're here. Your decision-making under pressure is in the top 5% of the squad. You don't panic."
Ethan felt warmth spread in his chest. "However," Mark interjected, making that warmth fade instantly.
He clicked the mouse. A new graphic appeared, this time a bar chart showing physical metrics: Sprint Speed, Distance Covered, and Duel Success Rate. Ethan's bars for 'Distance Covered' were high, but 'Sprint Speed' was average. As for 'Duel Success Rate'? It was a tiny red bar.
"32%," Gareth read out loud. "That's your win rate in physical duels. Shoulders, tackles, aerials. The academy average is 55%. Tyrell is at 78%." Gareth looked at Ethan over the top of the screen. "You are technically the best player on the pitch, Ethan. But physically? You are a passenger. Against Villa, you spent the first twenty minutes on the floor. Against Liverpool, you faded after 60 minutes because you were working twice as hard just to stay upright."
"I know," Ethan said quietly. "I'm working on it. I'm doing extra sessions with Mike."
"We know," Mark said gently. "We see the effort. But the Championship is a physical league. If we put you in the U21s right now, or the first team, they would break you. Literally."
Mark slid a piece of paper across the desk. It was a new schedule. "We are putting you on a 'Red' physical development plan," Mark explained. "This means three extra gym sessions a week. It means a 3,500 calories a day diet plan. We need you to gain four kilos of muscle by Christmas. Can you do that?"
"Yes," Ethan replied immediately. "It will be hard," Gareth warned. "Your legs will feel heavy. Your touch might suffer a bit as your body adjusts. But if you don't build the strength, the talent is useless."
Mark typed something into the laptop. "Overall Grading: Amber-Green. You are ahead of schedule tactically but behind physically. We are very pleased with your progress, Ethan, but the next three months are about your body, not your skills."
He closed the laptop. "One last thing. School." He picked up a report from Mrs. Clarke. "Mr. Davies at your old school sent over your records. You were an A-student. Here, you're a B-student. You seem tired in lessons." "The schedule is..." Ethan began. "The schedule is the schedule," Mark interrupted gently. "We need smart players. Get your grades back up to As. We don't want to have to bench you for a maths test."
The meeting ended. Ethan walked out of the office, clutching the paper with his new "Red" physical plan.
Harvey waited for him. "Well? Did you survive?" "Amber-Green," Ethan said, glancing at the chart. "But I basically have to live in the gym until Christmas." Harvey let out a low whistle. "Better than Jonesy. Come on. Lunch. You've got to eat... what? 3,500 calories? You better start now."
Ethan walked to the canteen. He loaded his tray with two chicken breasts, a mound of pasta, extra vegetables, a yogurt, and a banana. It looked like a mountain.
He sat down and took a bite. He wasn't hungry, but he chewed anyway. He thought about the radar chart and the 32% duel success rate.
He took out his phone and texted the group chat.
Review done. Tactics: A. Physical: D-. I have to gain 4 kg by Christmas.
A reply came almost instantly from Mason. D-? Pathetic. Eat a steak.
Then Callum replied. 4kg? That's just one of Mason's legs. You'll be fine. Just don't lose the magic touch.
Ethan smiled, shoveling another forkful of pasta into his mouth. The review was over. The honeymoon period was officially over. He had a target, a plan, and a mountain of food to tackle. The hard work was just beginning.