Monday, 18:30 PM. The Hawthorns.
For an academy player, playing at the main stadium is a huge opportunity. The U21s were hosting Tottenham Hotspur, and the club had opened the West Stand for fans.
Ethan walked out of the tunnel for warm-ups. The grass at The Hawthorns felt like a carpet. The empty stands loomed above them, silent yet heavy with the club's history.
"Look up there," Tyrell whispered, pointing toward the Director's Box.
Ethan squinted. Sitting behind the glass with a steaming paper cup was Julian Vance, the First Team manager. Next to him was Rick Sterling, looking sharp in a navy overcoat and gesturing toward the pitch.
"The gaffer is here," Tyrell said, lowering his voice. "This isn't just a league game anymore. This is a job interview."
Ethan felt a rush of adrenaline. In the U18s, you played to learn. In the U21s, you played to be noticed.
7:00 PM. Kickoff.
Tottenham was at the top of the league for a reason. They played a high-line, aggressive 4-3-3 that felt like being trapped with a pack of wolves.
Ethan was starting as the Single Pivot, the '6'. He was the link between the defense and the attack, responsible for keeping the ball under intense pressure.
Every time Ethan got the ball, a Spurs midfielder was right behind him within seconds.
In the 15th minute, Ethan received a pass from the center-back. He checked his shoulder—he had a bit of space. He tried to turn.
Crunch.
The Spurs captain, a 20-year-old with three Premier League appearances, took the ball and Ethan's ankle in one swift move. The referee waved play on.
"Move it quicker, kid!" Marcus, the WBA striker, yelled from forty yards away. "You're killing us!"
Ethan scrambled up, his ankle throbbing. He glanced at the Director's Box. The First Team manager was taking notes.
35th Minute.
Ethan felt overwhelmed. Spurs were suffocating him. He was making "safe" passes—back to the keeper, sideways to the fullback. He wasn't losing the ball, but he wasn't contributing either.
Shaun Beale, the U21 manager, approached the edge of the technical area.
"Matthews!" Beale shouted. "Stop hiding! If you wanted a safe job, you should have stayed in the U18s! Take a risk or get off!"
Ethan wiped the sweat from his eyes. He realized he was playing scared, worried about making a mistake in front of the manager.
Forget the manager, Ethan thought. Play like you're in Eastfield.
The next time the ball came to him, Ethan didn't look back or sideways. He sensed the pressure coming and used his core strength to lean into the defender, creating a small pocket of space.
Instead of a safe pass, he sent a first-time "blind" pass through the center of the pitch. It was a 40-yard laser that went past the Spurs midfield.
It landed perfectly at Marcus's feet.
Marcus turned, drove forward, and took a shot that forced a spectacular save. The crowd in the West Stand let out a collective gasp.
Ethan didn't wait for applause. He moved into the next space, demanding the ball again.
Halftime. 0-0.
The dressing room felt clinical. Beale didn't yell; he just pointed at the screen where the video analyst showed the Spurs press.
"Ethan," Beale said, pointing at a still image. "That pass was the only time we looked like scoring. More of that. Don't be a spectator."
Tyrell sat next to Ethan, dumping ice water over his head. "You're getting hacked to pieces out there."
"They're fast," Ethan panted. "But they overcommit. If I can beat the first man, the whole pitch opens up."
72nd Minute.
The deadlock broke.
Spurs had a corner. Tyrell won the initial header, towering over the Spurs striker. The ball dropped to the edge of the box.
Ethan collected it. Two Spurs players immediately closed in on him, looking to reclaim the ball.
Ethan didn't panic. He made a quick "La Croqueta," shifting the ball from his right to his left foot and splitting the two defenders.
He was out.
He sprinted forty yards, the floodlights casting four shadows behind him. He looked up. Marcus was marked. The winger was covered.
Ethan looked at the goal. He was 25 yards out.
He didn't think about his brand. He didn't think about the Adidas shoot. He just recalled the countless times he hit the top corner in the park with Mason and Callum.
He struck it.
The ball didn't curve. It stayed low and hard, flying toward the bottom corner with violent topspin. The keeper dived, but the ball skipped off the wet grass, the "Hawthorns Skid," and into the net.
GOAL.
1-0 West Brom.
Ethan didn't dance. He didn't look for a camera. He just ran to the corner flag, where Tyrell greeted him with a bear hug that nearly knocked the wind out of him.
He looked up at the Director's Box. The first team manager wasn't taking notes anymore. He was talking to his assistant and pointing at the number 48.
Ethan's number.
Full Time. WBA U21 1 - 0 Tottenham U21.
The whistle blew. A massive win. Tottenham's unbeaten run was over.
As the players walked off, Ethan felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Marcus, the senior striker.
"Nice job, kid," Marcus said, his tone surprisingly warm. "That pass in the first half… keep doing that. We'll make a pro out of you yet."
Ethan walked down the tunnel. Rick Sterling was waiting by the dressing room door.
"Incredible, Ethan!" Rick grinned, his teeth shining in the tunnel lights. "The gaffer was really impressed. I've already sent a clip of the goal to my social media team. We'll have it live by 10 PM. The engagement will be huge."
"Thanks, Rick," Ethan replied, pulling off his jersey. He was covered in grass stains, and his ankle was swollen.
"We'll talk tomorrow," Rick said, checking his watch. "I've got a meeting with a hydration brand. They want an 'emerging talent' face. After tonight? You're the front-runner."
Ethan entered the dressing room. He sat on the bench and pulled out his phone.
The Group Chat:
Mason: I saw the goal on the live stream! The skid! You meant that!
Callum: U21s is easy for you. When are you coming back to play a real team like Dagenham?
Mia: Amazing goal, Ethan! We were all watching at the pub.
Ethan smiled. He felt the pressure of the permanent move. The stakes were higher, the hits were harder, and the watchers were more important.
But as he sat there with ice on his ankle, listening to Tyrell brag about his clean sheet, Ethan realized that no matter how big the stadium was, the game was still just a game.