The draw against Spain felt like a victory, and the mood in the England camp was upbeat. The following day focused on recovery and analysis. The coach replayed Ethan's assist on the big screen, a moment of instinct that saved them.
"This," the coach said, pausing the video, "is what I mean. Spain had the ball for 70% of the match, but we had the most crucial moment. One touch, one look, one perfect pass. That is top football."
The praise was bright but brief. The screen changed immediately. A new video began, showing a team in white and black, playing with relentless power. "Now, Germany," the coach said, his voice hardening. "Don't think this will be the same game. Spain wants to pass you to death. Germany wants to run you into the ground."
The clips showed a team that operated like a perfect machine. They were tall, strong, and organized. Their press was a coordinated, full-team sprint. "They are a machine," the coach warned. "Their midfielders will run all day. Mason, Jake—this is your kind of fight. Ethan, their number six is a monster. He's not going to try and out-pass you; he's going to try and break you. Be smart. Don't get into a fight you can't win."
Two days later, under the same bright lights, England faced the imposing German squad. The physical difference was clear from the tunnel. They were all bigger and stronger.
The game was, as expected, a war. Where the match against Spain had been a high-speed chess match, this was a brutal brawl. The ball spent most of its time in the air, with every 50/50 challenge resulting in a bone-jarring thud.
Ethan was a marked man. The German holding midfielder, a tall, blond player with the build of a boxer, shadowed his every move. He didn't just mark Ethan; he manhandled him, using his arms, shoulders, and hips to knock Ethan off balance, never giving him a yard of space or a moment of peace. Early on, a late, cynical tackle sent Ethan crashing to the ground, earning the German a yellow card and sending a clear message.
Ethan, frustrated and bruised, had to adjust. He couldn't turn. He couldn't create. So, he simplified. He became a wall, playing first-time passes to Marcus and the wingers, dragging his marker out of position to create space for others. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't the heroic performance he wanted, but it was what the team needed.
The game ended in a 0-0 stalemate, showing England's defensive grit. It looked destined for a draw, a hard-earned point against another European giant.
Then, in the 81st minute, Germany won a corner. The delivery was perfect, whipped into the six-yard box. Germany's towering center-back rose above everyone; his header was so powerful the keeper had no chance. 1-0 Germany.
In the final nine minutes, England pushed forward, but the German team was too organized, too disciplined. They stopped every attack with cold, efficient confidence. The final whistle blew. It was a 1-0 defeat.
The England players collapsed, dejected. As they walked off, Ethan's marker clapped him on the shoulder, a nod of professional respect after a tough 90-minute battle.
In the changing room, the coach stood before his tired squad. "Heads up. All of you," he commanded. "In the last four days, you have faced the two best teams in the world. You drew 1-1 with the masters of possession. You lost 1-0 on a set-piece to the masters of physical play. You did not get humiliated. You did not get outworked. You competed. You now know the level. This is the standard."
Ethan sat, unwrapping the tape from his aching ankles. He hadn't scored. He hadn't even had a shot. But he had survived. He had shown he could create against Spain's skill and fight against Germany's strength. He had learned more in these two games than in an entire season. As he packed his bag to go home, his mind was clear. The tournament was over. It was time to go home and decide about his future.