Monday Morning. 10:30 AM. Pitch 1.
The air was crisp, the kind of October morning that stung the lungs. Julian Vance stood in the center circle, his whistle clamped between his teeth. He watched the 11v11 training match with the intensity of a hawk circling its prey.
Ethan was on the "B Team" again, wearing a yellow bib. His heart raced, but his mind was surprisingly clear.
Pivot the back foot. Screen the gate. Deny the space.
The "A Team," the starters for Saturday's Championship match, was building an attack. The ball moved to the left-back.
Instinct urged Ethan to rush him. To press. To show energy.
"Don't." Mason's voice echoed in his head. You leave the gate open.
Ethan didn't run. He dropped his right shoulder, opening his hips toward the center of the pitch. He took two steps back, positioning himself perfectly in the passing lane to the "A Team" playmaker.
The left-back looked up. He wanted to make the vertical pass. He saw Ethan standing there—not tackling, just creating an obstacle.
The left-back hesitated. The window closed. He had to play a safe, square pass to the center-back.
Vance didn't blow the whistle. He just nodded once.
11:15 AM.
The session intensified. The "A Team" was frustrated. They needed to score to end the drill.
The veteran playmaker, a 29-year-old with over 200 Championship appearances, decided to take control. He dropped deep, picked up the ball, and drove straight at Ethan.
This was the test.
The playmaker feinted left.
Ethan didn't react. He kept his eyes on the hips.
The playmaker chopped the ball right and accelerated.
Ethan matched him. He used his "Red Plan" core strength to insert his body between the player and the ball. It wasn't a tackle; it was a barrier. The playmaker bounced off Ethan's shoulder.
Ethan gained possession. He looked up immediately.
He saw the winger making a run and hit the diagonal pass—clean, hard, flat. The winger collected it and scored.
"YES!" the B Team goalkeeper yelled.
Vance blew the whistle. "Drink break!"
As Ethan walked to the sideline, the veteran playmaker jogged past him. He didn't look angry. He looked surprised.
"You've been eating your porridge, kid," the veteran muttered, slapping Ethan on the back. "Strong."
12:30 PM. Julian Vance's Office.
The office smelled of espresso and deep heat. Vance sat behind a glass desk filled with tactical diagrams.
Ethan stood by the door, his hands behind his back. He was still sweating.
Vance looked up from his iPad.
"You watched the tape," Vance said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, boss. All six hours."
"And you practiced. I could tell. Your body shape on the transition was excellent. You forced them wide four times in twenty minutes."
Ethan felt a bubble of hope rise in his chest. This is it. The squad list.
Vance stood up and walked around the desk. He leaned against it, crossing his arms.
"You are a very talented young man, Ethan. You have the strength of a 20-year-old and the mind of a midfielder who wants to learn."
Vance paused.
"But you are not ready for Saturday."
The bubble burst. Ethan felt the air leave the room.
"Sir?"
"We are playing Leeds United away," Vance said, his voice calm and steady. "Elland Road. 30,000 people screaming for blood. It will be a battleground. I need players who have experience. I need men who know how to control a game for ten minutes without panicking."
Vance pointed at the screen behind him.
"You screened the pass well today. But twice, you lost focus on the second phase. You watched the pass you made instead of resetting. In the U21s, you can get away with that. Against Leeds, they will score."
Ethan swallowed hard. "I understand."
"Do you?" Vance looked at him sharply. "Because most kids would be sulking right now. They'd be thinking about their agent and their Instagram."
"I want to play, boss," Ethan said honestly. "But I know I'm 17."
"Exactly," Vance nodded. "You are 17. You have played one game for the U21s. Let's not skip steps."
Vance walked to the door and opened it.
"You won't be in the squad for Leeds. However..."
Ethan looked up.
"I am moving you permanently to the 'Transition Group.' You will train with us three times a week. You will travel with the U21s, but your locker is up here now. You are the 24th man. If someone gets injured or loses form, you are the next in line."
Vance extended a hand.
"Don't get comfortable. The locker can be taken away just as quickly as it was given."
Ethan shook the hand. It was a firm, dry grip. "I'll be ready, boss."
1:00 PM. The Car Park.
Ethan walked out to where his dad's car was waiting. He threw his bag in the trunk.
"Well?" Gary Matthews asked, looking at his son in the rearview mirror. "You look like you've been fired or promoted. I can't tell."
"Somewhere in between," Ethan sighed, buckling his seatbelt. "I didn't make the bench for Saturday."
"Ah," Gary said, starting the engine. "Disappointed?"
"Yeah," Ethan admitted. "I thought... after the session today... I thought I had him."
"He's a good manager then," Gary said. "Protecting you. Throwing you in at Elland Road would be a huge risk."
"I'm training with them permanently though," Ethan added. "Got a locker in the senior building."
Gary smiled, a genuine, wide grin. "That's it, son. That's your foot in the door. Now you just keep pushing it open."
Ethan's phone buzzed in his pocket. Then it buzzed again. And again.
The Group Chat.
Callum: IT'S HAPPENING.
Mason: Turn on the radio. TalkSport.
Callum: FA CUP DRAW. WE ARE BALL 64.
Ethan pulled his phone out.
"Dad, put the radio on. FA Cup draw."
Gary twisted the dial. The crackle of AM radio filled the car, followed by the familiar, excited voices of the presenters.
"Now, the 4th Qualifying Round draw..."
Ethan texted back: Listening now. Who do we want?
Mason: Anyone at home. Literally anyone at home.
Callum: I want a League team. Wait, League teams aren't in yet. I want Wrexham. Or Notts County. Someone huge.
"Ball 48," the announcer's voice boomed. "Torquay United."
"...Will play..."
The sound of the balls rattling in the velvet bag seemed to last forever.
"Ball 64..."
Ethan waited.
"...Crestwood United."
There was a pause in the car.
"Torquay?" Gary asked. "They're decent. Ex-League Two. Down on the coast."
Ethan checked the chat.
Callum: Torquay away?? That's like a five hour drive!
Mason: It's a tough draw. Hard team, long travel. No home crowd.
Callum: We are going to the seaside!
Mason: We are going to get battered.
Ethan typed quickly.
Tough draw. But you beat Kiddy away. You can beat Torquay.
He looked out the window as the rain started to fall again. He hadn't made the Senior Bench. His friends had drawn a tough away tie in the Cup.
The "fairytale" wasn't happening today. But as the car merged onto the motorway, heading back to Eastfield, Ethan realized that was okay. The grind was where he belonged now.
"Torquay," Gary laughed. "Hope their bus has a toilet."
"I hope Callum brings a pillow," Ethan smiled. "He's going to need it."