Monday, January 26th. 7:00 PM. The Palm Training Ground.
West Brom U21 vs. Southampton U21.
The floodlights hummed in the dark sky. It was raining again, a fine mist that made the ball glide across the surface like a hockey puck.
Ethan stood in the tunnel, adjusting his captain's armband.
Beale, the U21 manager, had tossed it to him before warm-up. "You're the senior man tonight," Beale said. "Lead them."
Southampton were a tougher team than Leicester. They were technically skilled and known for developing players like Ward-Prowse and Lallana. Their midfield was small, agile, and intricate.
Ethan surveyed his teammates. They looked nervous.
"Listen up," Ethan said, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls. "They want to play pretty football. We can't let them. If they touch the ball, you're right on their toes. If they pass it, you intercept it. We are aggressive, and we are ruthless. Let's go."
It wasn't a speech he had practiced. It was just what Volkan Demir would have said.
Kickoff.
Southampton attempted to play "tiki-taka." They moved the ball in neat triangles.
In the 12th minute, their Number 10 tried a cheeky flick over Ethan's head.
Ethan wasn't fooled. He read the body language, stepped back, chested the ball down, and smoothly swept a 40-yard diagonal pass to the left winger.
"Go on!" Ethan shouted, pointing forward.
The winger dashed down the line and crossed. Unfortunately, the striker missed the header.
Ethan didn't sulk. He sprinted 30 yards to win the second ball, pushing a Southampton midfielder off the pitch in the process.
"Strong, ref!" Ethan yelled before the whistle could blow. The referee waved play on.
25th Minute.
Ethan received the ball in the center circle. Three Southampton players were closing in around him—a "cage."
A month ago, he would have passed it back to the center-back. That felt safe.
Today, he dipped his shoulder. He faked a pass to the right, freezing two defenders. Then he charged straight through the gap in the middle.
He was like a battering ram. He held off a tug on his shirt and survived a slide tackle.
He hit the edge of the box and noticed the keeper cheating to the far post.
Ethan smashed it near post.
The ball zipped past the keeper's ear before he could even raise his hands.
GOAL. 1-0 West Brom.
Ethan stood still, arms out, looking confident.
60th Minute.
The game got intense. A Southampton defender tackled Tyrell, West Brom's young winger, late and rough. Tyrell rolled, clutching his ankle.
The Southampton player loomed over him, claiming he dived.
Ethan was there in seconds.
He didn't push the Southampton player. Instead, he simply stood in his space, chest to chest, looking down.
"Walk away," Ethan said calmly. "Before you regret it."
The Southampton player looked into Ethan's eyes. He sensed the First Team intensity and backed down.
Ethan helped Tyrell up. "You good?" "Yeah, thanks skip." "Good. Get in the box. I'm putting this free kick on your head."
Ethan whipped the free kick in. Tyrell didn't score, but he won a corner.
Full Time. West Brom U21 3 - 0 Southampton U21.
Ethan's stats: 1 goal, 2 pre-assists, 100% tackle success.
Beale walked over to him at the final whistle. "Vance is watching the stream," Beale said simply. "I think you're done here."
Tuesday Night. 7:45 PM. Crestwood Stadium.
Vanarama National League. Crestwood vs. Wealdstone.
This was a "six-pointer." 19th vs. 18th. A relegation battle in the mud.
The pitch was barely playable. The center circle was a brown bog.
Mason Turner stood in the tunnel. He looked older than 17. A bandage wrapped around his head covered a cut from training, and the captain's armband was taped securely to his bicep.
"Win," Mason growled. "Just win."
Callum stood behind him. He wasn't cracking jokes. He chewed gum furiously, staring at the floor.
The Match.
It wasn't football; it was warfare.
The ball spent 80% of the time in the air. Every header was a collision. Every tackle was a chance for injury.
In the 30th minute, Callum chased a lost cause into the corner. He got there just before the Wealdstone defender.
The defender slammed into him. Callum flew into the advertising hoardings.
The crowd screamed.
Callum didn't stay down. He bounced up, spat out a blade of grass, and shoved the defender back.
"Is that all you got?" Callum shouted, his voice cracking but defiant. "You hit like a girl!"
The ref booked the defender.
88th Minute. 0-0.
Crestwood won a corner.
"This is it!" The Gaffer screamed from the touchline. "Make it count!"
Callum took the corner and raised one arm.
Mason stood at the back post, held by two defenders.
Callum whipped it in with a flat, fast delivery.
Mason didn't jump. He bulldozed, fighting through the grapple to free his head.
He connected.
It wasn't a precision header; it was pure power. He headed it down into the mud. The ball bounced up, hit the crossbar, and scraped over the line.
GOAL.
1-0 Crestwood.
Mason didn't run. He just fell to his knees and roared at the sky, an exhausted scream of relief.
Callum sprinted over and jumped on his back. The whole team piled on.
Full Time. Crestwood 1 - 0 Wealdstone.
They were out of the relegation zone. Barely.
In the dressing room, the mood wasn't celebratory. It was the quiet feeling of survival.
Mason sat with an ice pack on his knee and another on his head.
"We live to fight another week," Mason whispered.
Callum sat next to him, his shin pads cracked. "I think I broke a rib," Callum said casually. "But that cross was perfect, wasn't it?"
"It was perfect," Mason replied with a smile.
Wednesday Morning. 8:30 AM. Julian Vance's Office.
Ethan walked in without knocking.
Vance was watching the replay of Ethan's goal against Southampton.
"You didn't ask for permission to enter," Vance remarked, pausing the video.
"You told me to stop asking for permission," Ethan replied.
Vance smiled, genuinely.
"I saw the game. You bullied them. You protected your winger. You scored a goal that said 'I am bored of this level.'"
Vance closed the laptop.
"The experiment is over. You have your confidence back."
"So I'm back in the squad?" Ethan asked.
"You are starting on Saturday," Vance stated.
Ethan blinked. "Starting?"
"Birmingham City away. Local derby. Saturday, 12:30 kickoff. It will be intense. It will be fast. Evans is suspended. Demir needs a partner."
Vance leaned forward.
"I don't want the security guard, Ethan. I want the kid who told the Southampton defender to back off. Bring me that player, and we win."
"I'll be ready," Ethan assured him.
"Get out," Vance said, dismissing him. "Go train."
Friday Evening. The Group Chat.
Ethan: I'm starting in the derby tomorrow. Birmingham away.
Mason: HUGE. We have a day off (game postponed due to waterlogged pitch). We're coming.
Callum: Tickets??
Ethan: Got you two in the away end. My dad is driving.
Callum: Let's go!! I'm going to heckle you if you misplace a pass.
Mason: Show them what you showed the U21s, Eth. Dominate.
Ethan set his phone down.
Starting a Derby. St Andrews. 30,000 Brummies screaming at him.
He looked in the mirror. He didn't see the nervous kid from the Ipswich game. He saw the captain of the U21s. He saw the partner of Volkan Demir.
He was ready to step onto the pitch.