Team selection was posted on the board at 10:47 a.m.
Not 10:45. Not 11:00. Just late enough to let nerves simmer.
Ethan Cole stood a few steps back, arms folded, pretending to stretch while his eyes tracked the movement of bodies toward the whiteboard. Boots scuffed. Voices lowered. Someone laughed too loudly.
He didn't move until the small crowd thinned.
Then he stepped forward.
Starting XI
GK – Lawrence Vigouroux
RB – Tom James
CB – Omar Beckles
CB – Dan Happe
LB – Joe Widdowson
RM – Ethan Cole
CM – Craig Clay
CM – Hector Kyprianou
LM – Theo Archibald
ST – Paul Smyth
ST – Ruel Sotiriou
Ethan read it twice.
Then once more, slowly.
Right midfield. His name. Inked in.
The system chimed with a rare, deliberate clarity.
[Milestone Achieved]
[First League Start – Merit-Based]
[Expectation Modifier: Increased]
Jordan Graham slapped him on the back hard enough to rock him forward.
"Told you," he said. "Don't make me look like a liar."
Ethan smiled, small but genuine. "I won't."
He didn't feel relief.
He felt weight.
Saturday came fast.
Leyton Orient were at home this time, Brisbane Road buzzing in that familiar, gritty way. Not sold out, but alive—scarves, chatter, kids pressed against barriers hoping for autographs.
Ethan sat in the dressing room lacing his boots, listening to the rhythm of matchday sounds. Music thumped quietly from someone's speaker. The smell of liniment and damp grass hung in the air.
Tom James leaned over from the next seat.
"Different feeling when your name's on that board," he said.
Ethan nodded. "Harder to hide."
Tom smiled faintly. "Exactly."
Coach Richie Wellens gathered them in.
"Same principles," he said. "Work harder than them. Stay compact. Wide players—discipline first. Chances will come."
His eyes flicked briefly to Ethan.
No pressure.
Just expectation.
The first ten minutes were chaos.
Swindon Town pressed aggressively, their midfield snapping into tackles, forcing Orient backward. Ethan's first touch came under pressure—tight space, defender on his back.
He played it back.
Simple.
The second touch was a forward run without the ball, dragging his marker wide and opening space inside. Clay stepped into it, drove forward.
Ethan felt his breathing settle.
This was still football.
The system steadied.
[In-Game Status: Stable]
[Decision Accuracy: 92%]
In the twenty-third minute, Swindon broke quickly. Their winger cut inside, shot low—Vigouroux saved sharply. Ethan tracked back the full length of the pitch, sliding just enough to disrupt the rebound.
The crowd applauded.
Not loudly.
But appreciatively.
He noticed her in the thirty-first minute.
Not because she stood out.
But because she didn't try to.
McKenna Grace sat quietly in the director's box this time, hood down, hair tied back, wearing a Leyton Orient scarf that looked newly purchased. She wasn't filming. Wasn't waving.
Just watching.
Ethan's focus snapped back to the pitch immediately.
The system didn't miss it.
[External Attention: Present]
[Emotional Drift: Minimal]
Good.
The game remained tight. Physical. Scrappy.
In the forty-second minute, Ethan made his first mistake.
A heavy touch near the sideline. The ball skipped away on the damp turf. Swindon pounced, breaking quickly. A cross flashed through the box—cleared at the back post by Happe.
Ethan didn't react outwardly.
Inside, his stomach tightened.
The system flagged it.
[Minor Error Logged]
[Response Window: Active]
He corrected immediately—won his next duel, completed two safe passes, made a recovery run that forced a throw-in.
Response mattered more than perfection.
Halftime came at 0–0.
In the dressing room, Wellens spoke calmly.
"Still there for us," he said. "Wide areas will open late. Stay patient."
Ethan drank water slowly, heart rate still elevated.
Patience again.
Always patience.
The second half opened with more intensity.
Swindon scored first.
Fifty-fourth minute. A deflected shot from distance wrong-footed Vigouroux and crept in.
0–1.
Heads dipped momentarily.
Ethan clapped his hands once, sharply.
"Reset," he called.
It surprised him that the word came out.
But Clay nodded. Smyth raised a hand.
They pushed on.
Seventy-second minute.
Leyton Orient earned a free kick deep on the left. Archibald swung it in, Swindon half-cleared. The ball bounced loose near the edge of the box.
Ethan was already moving.
One touch to settle. Defender closing fast.
He didn't shoot.
He slipped a pass between two bodies into the channel.
Ruel Sotiriou latched onto it and finished low.
1–1.
The ground erupted.
Ethan didn't celebrate wildly. He jogged back, jaw set, heart hammering.
The system surged.
[Assist Registered]
[Clutch Decision Bonus: Applied]
[Confidence Trend: Rising]
In the stands, McKenna Grace stood and clapped—this time openly.
Ethan didn't look again.
He didn't need to.
The final fifteen minutes were about survival.
Ethan's legs burned. His lungs screamed. But he tracked every run, pressed when needed, slowed the game when possible.
In the eighty-ninth minute, Swindon nearly stole it—a header skimmed the bar.
Final whistle.
1–1.
Another draw.
But this one felt earned.
In the tunnel, Jordan Graham grinned.
"Welcome to the grind," he said.
Tom James nodded. "You didn't disappear. That's the key."
Coach Wellens pulled Ethan aside briefly.
"That's a solid first start," he said. "Recover well. We'll talk next week."
No praise.
But no doubts.
The system confirmed it.
[Manager Trust: Incremental Increase]
[Starting Probability: Sustained]
Later that evening, Ethan sat alone in his flat, ice pack on his knee, scrolling through messages.
Then one appeared.
McKenna Grace:
Thought you handled that pressure really well today. You stayed composed.
Ethan waited before replying.
Ethan Cole:
Thanks. Still a lot to improve, but I appreciate you noticing.
A pause.
McKenna Grace:
That's what makes it interesting. Watching someone build something instead of being handed it.
Ethan smiled faintly.
No flirting.
No rush.
Just understanding.
The system pulsed softly.
[Connection Status: Ongoing]
[Romantic Progression: Slow – Appropriate]
He put the phone down and leaned back.
Expectation was heavier than opportunity.
But it meant he was moving forward.
One match at a time.
End of Chapter 5
Author's Comment
Chapter 5 is about earning a place and carrying it.
Ethan's journey isn't explosive—it's incremental, demanding, and realistic. The romance remains intentionally understated. There's no fantasy leap, just two people noticing each other while staying rooted in their own worlds.
Football remains the spine of the story.
Everything else is pressure—or consequence.
📅 Update Schedule: 1 chapter daily
✍️ Target Length: 1,500+ words
⚽ Arc: League Two → higher divisions → legacy
❤️ Romance: Slow-burn, grounded, earned