Saturday, September 25th. 2:00 PM. The Medical Room, Crestwood Park.
Mason Turner sat on the treatment table, dressed in a club tracksuit instead of his playing kit. He glared at Terry, the physio.
His left ankle was a mess of purple, yellow, and black. It was swollen so much it looked like a grapefruit. His ribs were tightly wrapped.
"Give me the boots, Terry," Mason demanded in a low voice.
"I hid them," Terry replied calmly, writing on a clipboard. "Even if you find them, they won't fit over that balloon you call an ankle. You have serious ligament damage and a bruised rib. You're out for at least three weeks. Doctor's orders."
The Gaffer walked in, looking stressed. Crestwood was set to play Swindon Town, a team fighting for promotion.
"Don't look at me like that, Mason," the Gaffer sighed, raising his hands. "If I play you today, you'll be done for the season. We already lost Callum. I'm not losing my captain too."
"Toby can't organize a defense, boss," Mason argued, sliding off the table. He winced and grabbed the wall for support.
"Sit down," the Gaffer commanded. "You're watching from the stands today. That's final."
Mason stared at the floor, feeling helpless. He hated being a spectator.
Ten minutes later, he limped up the stairs to the main stand. He found his seat next to the director's box.
In the aisle seat, his left leg locked straight out and secured in a heavy black brace, sat Callum Reid. A pair of crutches rested beside him.
"Nice of you to join the casualty ward," Callum smiled weakly, looking exhausted with painkillers making his eyes glassy.
Mason slumped into his seat. "Terry stole my boots."
"Good," Callum replied, adjusting his leg. "If you played today, I would have hobbled down there to hit you with a crutch. Now sit down and suffer with me."
2:30 PM. The Etihad Stadium, Manchester.
Premier League. Matchday 6.
Manchester City vs. West Bromwich Albion.
While Mason and Callum shivered in a damp League Two stand, Ethan Matthews stood in the midst of it all.
The Etihad tunnel was sleek and modern, intimidating.
West Brom were the sacrifice. City were the reigning champions, an unstoppable team of possession and precision.
Julian Vance had spent all week figuring out how to stop them.
"They don't play a normal formation," Vance said, tapping the digital board. "They play a 3-2-4-1 when they have the ball. Their full-backs step into midfield, creating a box of four players in the center. They will outnumber you. Ethan, Bouba... you will be chasing shadows. Don't break the line."
Ethan glanced across the tunnel.
There was Joao Mendes, the Portuguese playmaker who could see passes before the players even made their runs.
At the front of the line stood Lars Nilsson, the 6-foot-4, 200-pound Nordic striker. He looked less like a footballer and more like a machine.
"He's massive," Lucas Vega whispered to Ethan, staring at Nilsson's legs. "Is he even human?"
"We'll find out," Ethan said, adjusting his shin pads. The String Don't Break.
Kickoff.
10th Minute. The Etihad.
It was like playing football in a washing machine.
Manchester City had 85% possession, moving the ball with terrifying speed. Pass, move, pass, move. Ethan sprinted continuously, shifting side to side to block passing lanes. Mendes floated in the half-spaces, impossible to mark.
"Tighter!" Ethan screamed at Bouba Diop, pointing at Mendes.
Before Diop could react, Mendes received the ball, turned swiftly, and slid a disguised pass through the West Brom defense.
Lars Nilsson didn't even have to break stride. He launched the ball into the roof of the net.
GOAL.
Man City 1 - 0 West Brom.
Ethan put his hands on his hips. In just ten minutes, the machine had already struck.
15th Minute. Crestwood Park.
Swindon Town was dominating. Without Mason's physical presence at the back and Callum's support up front, Crestwood was pinned deep in their own penalty area.
Mason gripped the plastic armrest of his seat so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Step up!" Mason shouted instinctively, his voice lost in the crowd. "You're too deep!"
Callum leaned back, wincing as he shifted his weight. "We're terrified, Mase. You can see it in their eyes."
A Swindon winger cut inside and curled a shot into the top corner.
GOAL.
Crestwood 0 - 1 Swindon.
Mason closed his eyes and swore under his breath. The powerlessness was unbearable.
40th Minute. The Etihad.
West Brom survived the initial onslaught and settled into a deep, desperate defensive stance.
Ethan finally got a touch of the ball, intercepting a loose pass from a City defender.
Instantly, three sky-blue jerseys surrounded him. The counter-press was relentless.
Ethan shielded the ball, feeling a massive presence pushing into his back. It was Nilsson, tracking back to win the ball.
The Nordic striker leaned his weight onto Ethan, expecting him to collapse.
Ethan remembered St. George's Park and the mud at Gateshead.
He didn't try to out-muscle the giant. He lowered his center of gravity, got impossibly low, and used Nilsson's momentum against him, rolling the ball backward and spinning away.
Nilsson stumbled forward, swiping at thin air.
Ethan broke the press and launched a 40-yard pass to Jaden Kalu to start a counter-attack.
The Etihad crowd let out a surprised murmur.
Nilsson jogged back, looking at Ethan with raised eyebrows.
Halftime.
Man City 1 - 0 West Brom.
Crestwood 0 - 1 Swindon.
65th Minute. The Etihad.
The second half was a siege. City were probing, searching for the second goal to end the game.
Joao Mendes picked up the ball at the edge of the box. He faked a shot, sending Bouba Diop sliding.
Mendes prepared to shoot.
Ethan threw himself into the line of fire. Instead of sliding, he stood his ground and made himself as big as possible.
Mendes unleashed the shot.
It hit Ethan square in the stomach, forcing the air out in a violent rush.
He dropped to his knees, gasping, but the ball deflected safely out for a corner.
Mendes walked past him to take the corner. "Brave," the Portuguese star noted casually.
Ethan coughed and gave a thumbs-up. He got back on his feet. There was no time to rest.
75th Minute. Crestwood Park.
Crestwood had completely collapsed. The lack of leadership on the pitch was obvious.
A mix-up between the goalkeeper and the substitute center-back led to a comical blunder. The Swindon striker calmly rolled the ball into the empty net.
GOAL.
Crestwood 0 - 2 Swindon.
Mason stood up from his seat. He couldn't watch anymore.
"I'm going to the dressing room," Mason said, his voice shaking with anger.
"Mase, don't," Callum said, grabbing his sleeve. "You're not playing. Yelling at them won't fix this. They know they're messing up."
Mason looked at his injured friend. He then glanced at his swollen ankle.
Slowly, he sat back down. "I hate this, Cal. I hate not being able to fight."
"I know," Callum said softly, tapping his knee brace. "Welcome to the club."
Full Time.
Man City 1 - 0 West Brom.
The whistle blew at The Etihad. West Brom had lost but hadn't been humiliated. They had limited the treble winners to just one goal.
Ethan walked off the pitch, his lungs burning and his muscles screaming. He had covered 13.2 kilometers—a season high.
Lars Nilsson approached him, peeling off his sky-blue shirt.
"You have good balance," Nilsson said, his deep voice rumbling as he handed the shirt over. "Hard to knock over."
"Thanks," Ethan replied, handing back his sweaty West Brom shirt. "You hit hard."
Crestwood 0 - 3 Swindon. (Swindon scored a late third).
The whistle blew at Crestwood Park, and the home fans booed loudly.
Mason and Callum remained in the stands long after the stadium emptied, staring at the torn-up pitch in silence.
7:00 PM. The Train Back to Birmingham.
Ethan sat with a bag of ice on his ribs. He unzipped his bag and looked at the 'Nilsson 9' shirt.
He pulled out his phone.
Group Chat: The Eastfield Boys
Ethan: Lost 1-0. Felt like I spent 90 minutes inside a blender. But I survived.
Callum: We got battered 3-0. Mason almost ripped the plastic seat out of the stands.
Mason: It was pathetic. We didn't even try to tackle them. If I had my boots...
Ethan: If you had your boots, you'd be in a cast right now. Heal up, Mase. The season is long. We can't do this if our bodies break.
Mason: Easy for you to say. You've got cryotherapy. I've got a bag of frozen peas.
Ethan smiled.