Friday introduced a new ritual: the Squad List.
At Crestwood, the starting XI was usually obvious. Ethan, Mason, and Callum began as starters. Here at West Brom, the sheet posted on the noticeboard in the corridor caused real anxiety.
Ethan pushed through the crowd of boys to get a glimpse.
WBA U18 vs. LEICESTER CITY U18 Saturday, 11:00 AM KO
Starting XI: ... CM: Tyrell Johnson CM: Sam Baker CAM: Josh Davis ...
Ethan scanned down. He wasn't starting. A lump of disappointment formed in his throat as he lowered his eyes to the bottom of the page.
Substitutes: ... E. Matthews H. Williams
He let out a breath. He was in the squad. He wasn't in the stands.
"Bench buddies," Harvey said, arriving at his elbow with a wry grin. "Better than being cut, I suppose. Leicester are tough. They're technical. We'll probably spend an hour chasing shadows before we get on."
Saturday morning was a blur of nervous energy. The preparation felt almost clinical. They monitored pre-match meals for carbs and checked hydration levels. The warm-up was a choreographed routine led by a fitness coach, rather than a casual kick-about.
Ethan sat on the bench, wrapped in a thick training jacket, watching the first half unfold.
Harvey was right. Leicester City played smoothly. They moved the ball with a fluidity that made the West Brom midfield appear stiff. Tyrell, despite his physical presence, struggled. He would win the ball with a solid tackle but then give it away with a poor pass or a bad decision. The game flowed around him.
"See that?" Gareth, the manager, muttered to his assistant, loud enough for the bench to hear. "Tyrell's chasing the ball, not the space. We're getting overrun."
By halftime, West Brom was fortunate to be only 1-0 down. The changing room felt tense. Gareth didn't yell. He just moved magnets on a tactical board with sharp precision. "We are reacting," he said coldly. "We are not dictating. Midfield, you're holding onto the ball too long. Pass and move. Pass and move."
He made no changes at halftime. Ethan sat back on the bench, his legs bouncing. 50 minutes passed. Then 55.
In the 60th minute, Gareth turned. "Matthews. Williams. Get ready. You're on."
Ethan's heart raced. He shed his tracksuit, revealing the navy kit. He quickly warmed up with a sprint down the touchline, the cool air filling his lungs.
"Matthews," Gareth said, grabbing his shoulder before he stepped onto the pitch. "Tyrell gives us strength, but we need some brains. Link the play. Find Harvey. Don't get caught in a wrestling match. Play football."
The fourth official raised the board. Tyrell came off, sweating heavily and wearing an expression of frustration. He didn't high-five Ethan, he stormed past, grabbing a water bottle and throwing it to the ground.
Ethan stepped onto the pitch.
The difference in perspective was startling. From the bench, the game seemed fast. From the center circle, it looked like warp speed.
His first touch was a simple layoff, but the Leicester midfielder closed in on him immediately, a blur of blue. Ethan felt a shoulder barge into his back, harder than anything he'd felt in the U16 league. He stumbled but maintained his balance, passing the ball to the right-back.
Quicker, he told himself. Everything has to be quicker.
For ten minutes, he struggled to find the rhythm. The game was a physical grind. Slowly, Ethan started to see the patterns. He stopped trying to match the older boys in athleticism and began using his biggest advantage, his vision.
He noticed that Leicester's left-back loved to push high, leaving a gap behind.
In the 75th minute, Ethan dropped deep, almost to the center-back line, picking up the ball in a pocket of space. The Leicester midfield pressed up, expecting a safe pass.
Ethan looked up. He saw Harvey, fresh and fast, positioned on the shoulder of the last defender on the right wing.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He sent a long, diagonal ball. It wasn't a lucky hoof. It was a guided pass, aimed to spin away from the recovering defender and into Harvey's stride.
"Go on!" the bench shouted.
Harvey seized it. He burst into the box, cut inside the center-back, and delivered a low cross. The West Brom striker met it at the near post, flicking it past the keeper.
1-1.
Ethan didn't run to celebrate. He stood in the midfield, hands on his hips, breathing hard. A deep sense of satisfaction settled in his chest. He hadn't touched the ball in the final third, but he had set up the goal from sixty yards away.
The game ended in a draw. It wasn't a win, but against a team like Leicester, it was a respectable result.
In the changing room, the mood was lighter. Gareth walked through, shaking hands. He stopped at Ethan's locker.
"That diagonal," the coach said, unzipping his jacket. "That's why we signed you. You saw the space before they did. Keep it up."
It was brief, professional, and exactly what Ethan needed to hear.
As he packed his bag, Harvey nudged him. "Told you," the winger grinned. "You set me up perfectly. We're going to have fun this season."
Ethan smiled as he zipped up his bag. His body ached, his ankle was still sore from training, and he felt exhausted. But as he walked out to the shuttle bus, checking his phone to send the match report to Callum and Mason, he realized something important.
He wasn't just a trialist anymore. He wasn't just a number. He was a player who could change a game at this level. He belonged.