Friday night, 7:00 PM, at the Palm Training Ground.
Premier League 2 matches lack the roar of a stadium. Instead, they have an odd, sterile intensity. The floodlights at West Brom's pitch were blindingly bright, lighting up the perfect hybrid turf.
Around 200 people filled the small stand. Scouts took notes, agents wore earpieces, and a few die-hard fans were present.
Ethan sat on the heated bench, bundled in a massive puffer coat, next to Tyrell.
"I can't feel my toes," Tyrell whispered.
"That's because you're nervous," Ethan replied, even though his heart was pounding hard against his ribs.
WBA U21 faced ASTON VILLA U21.
It was the "mini-derby." Villa sat at the top of the league. Their squad included players bought from European academies for millions. Their number 10, a French teenager named Dubois, seemed to play a different game altogether.
On the pitch, West Brom struggled.
Marcus, the 20-year-old striker, found himself isolated. The midfield was being overwhelmed. In the 20th minute, Dubois picked up the ball, slipped past two West Brom players, and curled a shot into the bottom corner.
0-1 Villa.
Beale, the U21 manager, stood on the sideline, arms crossed, chewing gum angrily. He didn't shout. At this level, shouting suggested a loss of control. He turned to his assistant and whispered something.
Ethan viewed the game differently now. He wasn't focusing on the ball; he was watching the spaces. The Villa midfield left gaps when they pressed. The half-spaces were open.
60th minute.
The score remained 0-1, but West Brom was struggling. They couldn't keep possession.
Beale turned to the bench, scanning the row of substitutes. He looked past the older players and focused on Ethan.
"Matthews. Tyrell. Get ready."
Ethan's stomach flipped. He pulled off the puffer coat. The cold air hit him like a slap.
"Listen to me," Beale said, gripping Ethan's shoulder while adjusting his shin pads. "They are killing us in transition. I don't want pretty passes. Disrupt. Win the second ball. Find Marcus. Don't get pushed around."
"Understood," Ethan replied.
He stood by the fourth official as the board went up.
ON: 48 (Matthews), 52 (Tyrell) OFF: 8, 6
Ethan stepped onto the pitch.
The pace was faster than training. The Villa players were big. As Ethan jogged into midfield, Dubois smirked at him, a 17-year-old debutant.
Welcome to the war, Ethan thought.
65th minute.
Ethan's first touch was a baptism of fire.
Tyrell won a header at the back with a magnificent leap that caught the scouts' attention. The ball dropped to Ethan.
Before the ball reached him, he scanned the field. He noticed the Villa midfielder closing in—a 6ft 2in powerhouse.
Ethan knew he couldn't hold him off; he didn't have Mason's strength.
So he didn't try.
As the ball came to him, Ethan opened his body as if to control it. The Villa player lunged for the tackle.
Ethan let the ball run through his legs.
The dummy worked perfectly. The Villa player tackled thin air. Ethan spun around him, gathered the ball on the other side, and pushed into the space.
"Go on!" Tyrell yelled from the defense.
Ethan advanced with the ball for ten yards. The Villa defense backed off. He spotted Marcus making a run.
Ethan played the pass. It was perfectly weighted, splitting the center-backs.
Marcus took it, controlled it, and fired a shot. The Villa keeper made a world-class save, tipping it onto the bar.
"Unlucky!" Marcus shouted, giving Ethan a thumbs-up.
Ethan felt a rush of excitement. I can do this.
82nd minute.
The game became a battle. Villa tried to kill the clock; West Brom desperately sought an equalizer.
Ethan was in the thick of it. He didn't play like an academy talent; he played like a Crestwood midfielder. He tugged on shirts, positioned himself between the man and the ball, and took an elbow to the ribs without complaint.
Then the moment arrived.
Villa cleared a corner. The ball dropped high and swirling into the center circle.
It was a 50-50 challenge. Ethan against Dubois.
Dubois was the star, the million-pound asset. He waited for the ball to drop so he could control it on his chest.
Ethan didn't wait.
He tapped into every Sunday morning spent at Eastfield Park. He thought of the muddy sprints with Callum and the "Red Plan."
Ethan launched himself, not just reaching for the ball but aiming for the space.
He won the header, crashing into Dubois in the process. It was a fair, tough challenge. Dubois crumpled.
The ball flew forward, right into the path of the West Brom winger.
"Play on!" the ref signaled.
West Brom was advancing, 3-v-2.
The winger sprinted down the line. Ethan didn't pause to admire his header. He rushed to get into the box.
The cross came in, sailing over Marcus's head.
It fell to the back post.
Ethan arrived just in time. He couldn't control it, so he threw himself at the ball with a sliding volley.
He didn't connect perfectly. It brushed off his shin.
But it bounced into the ground, over the diving keeper, and rolled into the corner of the net.
GOAL.
1-1.
Ethan lay on the ground for a moment, staring at the floodlights.
Then Marcus was on top of him, followed by Tyrell.
"You beauty!" Tyrell shouted, grabbing Ethan's face. "The shin! The golden shin!"
Ethan laughed, breathless. "It counts! It counts!"
Full Time. WBA U21 1 - 1 Aston Villa U21.
The whistle blew. It wasn't a win, but considering the game, it felt like one. West Brom had earned a point against the league leaders.
Beale walked onto the pitch. He shook hands with the Villa manager and then approached Ethan.
"Scrappy goal," Beale grunted.
"They all count," Ethan panted.
Beale cracked a rare smile. "You won the header against Dubois. That was the key moment. You wanted it more. Good debut, kid."
Ethan headed toward the tunnel. His ribs ached from the elbow, and his shin was bruised from the scuffed shot.
He felt amazing.
He spotted Rick Sterling by the tunnel entrance. Rick was on his phone, but he nodded at Ethan with a "money" hand gesture.
Ethan ignored him and focused on someone else waiting by the railing.
His dad.
Gary Matthews stood there in his old leather jacket, beaming with pride.
"Not bad," Gary said as Ethan approached. "A bit lucky with that finish, though."
"It was calculated, Dad," Ethan grinned.
"Rubbish," Gary laughed. "But you won that header in midfield. That was the best part. Proper aggression."
Ethan rested against the railing. "It felt fast, Dad. Really fast."
"You looked comfortable," Gary said. "That's what matters."
11:00 PM. Ethan's Bedroom.
Ethan lay on his bed. The adrenaline was finally fading, leaving him with the deep fatigue of a high-intensity debut.
He opened the group chat.
Ethan: Debuted for U21s. Scored the equalizer. Scuffed volley. 1-1.
The replies came pouring in.
Callum: SCUFFED?? A goal is a goal!! Get in!!
Mason: Against Villa? That's huge. Did you handle the physicality?
Ethan: Put their number 10 on his arse. Won the header that started the move.
Mason: That's my boy. The Crestwood school of tackling.
Callum: Crestwood 1-0. WBA 1-1. An unbeaten week for the boys.
Ethan smiled. He glanced at his boots in the corner—the orange Predators. They were scuffed now and bore a green streak of grass stain on the toe.
They looked better this way.
He closed his eyes. He hadn't been to Kidderminster. He hadn't played in the mud with Callum and Mason. But tonight, under the bright lights of the Palm Training Ground, he found his own fight—and he had won it.