Ethan didn't go looking for the article.
It found him anyway.
He was halfway through breakfast—plain oats, sliced banana, black coffee—when Jordan Graham slid into the chair opposite him and dropped his phone onto the table.
"Congratulations," Jordan said.
Ethan glanced down.
EFL ROUND-UP
'Orient's Young Winger Becoming Key Piece in Wellens' System'
Ethan frowned slightly. "Key piece feels generous."
Jordan shrugged. "That's how it starts. First you're 'useful.' Then you're 'important.' Then everyone has an opinion."
Craig Clay wandered past with his tray and stopped.
"Don't read the comments," he said. "Ever."
Ethan pushed the phone back across the table. "I'm not planning to."
That wasn't entirely true.
The system pulsed faintly.
[Media Narrative: Emerging]
[Risk: Identity Drift]
He finished his breakfast in silence.
Tuesday brought media duties.
Nothing major—local press, club channel, a short post-training interview near the pitch. Ethan stood under a gray sky, boots muddy, sweat cooling on his skin.
The interviewer smiled.
"Ethan, three straight starts now. How do you feel about becoming a regular?"
Ethan didn't answer immediately.
He chose his words carefully.
"I don't think about it like that," he said. "I just focus on doing what the manager asks. Starts don't mean much if performances drop."
The interviewer nodded.
"There's been talk of interest from higher up the leagues—"
"Well," Ethan interrupted gently, "that's not something I'm involved in. I'm here to help Leyton Orient."
Coach Wellens watched from a distance, arms folded.
The system registered the moment.
[Media Handling: Optimal]
[Manager Approval: Positive]
When it ended, Wellens approached.
"Good," he said. "You didn't bite."
Ethan nodded. "Didn't feel like the right time."
"Wellens allowed a thin smile. "It rarely is."
Wednesday's session was the hardest yet.
High-intensity transitions. Pressing drills. Full-pitch patterns repeated until legs burned and lungs screamed.
Ethan felt the difference now.
Challenges came faster. Instructions were shorter. Expectations clearer.
At one point, during a positional drill, he drifted five yards too narrow.
"Wellens' whistle cut through the air.**
"Cole," he called. "Where's your width?"
Ethan corrected immediately.
"Out there," Wellens said. "Stay honest."
The system logged it.
[Positional Discipline: Reinforced]
After training, Liam Foster approached him, towel around his neck.
"Enjoying being first choice?" Liam asked, tone unreadable.
Ethan met his gaze. "Enjoying competing."
Liam nodded once. "Good answer."
Not friendly.
Not hostile.
Just honest.
That evening, Ethan received a message while icing his ankle.
McKenna Grace:
Are you always this busy, or is it just football season?
Ethan smiled faintly.
Ethan Cole:
It's always football season.
A pause.
McKenna Grace:
I figured. Just thought I'd ask.
The system chimed softly.
[Boundary Recognition: Healthy]
[Connection Status: Stable]
Ethan hesitated, then typed.
Ethan Cole:
How about you? Ever get an off-season?
Several seconds passed.
McKenna Grace:
Not really. Just different kinds of noise.
Ethan leaned back.
Different worlds.
Same pressure.
Saturday arrived with clear skies and tension.
Leyton Orient hosted Wrexham.
Big crowd. Big expectation. Big noise.
Hollywood owners or not, Wrexham were physical, organized, and ruthless when given space. The away end was loud, confident.
Ethan stood in the tunnel, eyes forward, heart steady.
The system hummed quietly.
[Match Importance: Elevated]
[Exposure Level: High]
Jordan Graham nudged him.
"Ready for this?"
Ethan nodded. "Always."
From kickoff, the intensity was different.
Wrexham pressed with intent, forcing mistakes, snapping into tackles. Ethan felt two defenders tracking him now—not one.
In the fifteenth minute, he tried to burst down the wing and was flattened shoulder-to-shoulder. No foul. Just League Two reality.
He got up immediately.
The crowd roared approval.
Ethan adjusted.
Instead of pushing forward constantly, he recycled possession, dragged defenders out of shape, created space for others.
The system responded.
[Adaptation Successful]
[Game Intelligence: Active]
In the thirty-second minute, Orient nearly scored. Ethan slipped a pass inside to Smyth, whose shot rattled the post.
Close.
Very close.
The mistake came five minutes later.
A misplaced pass in midfield. Wrexham countered quickly. Shot saved. Corner conceded.
Ethan exhaled sharply.
The system flagged it.
[Error Logged – Non-Critical]
[Response Required]
At the corner, Ethan tracked back to the near post, winning the first header cleanly.
Redemption, immediate.
The score remained 0–0 at halftime.
In the dressing room, Wellens spoke firmly.
"They'll tire," he said. "Keep your discipline. Wide players—when the chance comes, be brave."
His eyes lingered on Ethan for half a second longer.
Permission.
Not command.
The chance came in the sixty-eighth minute.
Ball switched quickly from left to right. Ethan received it in space for the first time all game.
Defender closing fast.
This time, he didn't recycle.
He drove forward, cut inside, and struck low.
The keeper saved—but spilled.
Ruel Sotiriou reacted first.
Goal.
1–0.
The stadium erupted.
Ethan clenched his fists, breathing hard.
The system surged.
[Shot Contribution: Registered]
[Bravery Bonus: Applied]
[Confidence Threshold: Advanced]
In the director's box, McKenna Grace stood and clapped—unselfconscious, genuine.
Ethan didn't look again.
He didn't need to.
The final twenty minutes were brutal.
Wrexham threw bodies forward. Crosses flew in. Challenges came late.
Ethan tracked back relentlessly, legs burning, vision narrowing.
In the eighty-eighth minute, he made a sliding tackle near the corner flag, winning the ball cleanly and drawing a roar from the home crowd.
Final whistle.
1–0.
Win.
The dressing room buzzed.
Music. Laughter. Relief.
Wellens pulled Ethan aside quietly.
"That's the balance," he said. "When to be patient. When to be brave."
Ethan nodded. "Still learning."
"Well," Wellens replied, "keep learning."
The system confirmed it.
[Manager Trust: Significant Increase]
[Role Security: Improved]
That night, long after the noise faded, Ethan sat alone, city lights glowing faintly through his window.
His phone buzzed.
McKenna Grace:
That looked like a big one. Congratulations.
Ethan smiled and typed slowly.
Ethan Cole:
Thanks. Felt good to finally turn pressure into something positive.
A pause.
McKenna Grace:
You seem very… grounded. That's rare.
Ethan considered that.
Ethan Cole:
I don't really have a choice. Grounded keeps me playing.
Several seconds passed.
McKenna Grace:
Maybe one day I'll come to a game without hiding in the background.
Ethan's heart skipped—just slightly.
Ethan Cole:
Maybe one day I'll be good enough that no one notices who's watching.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
The system pulsed softly.
[Connection Progression: Natural]
[Romantic Development: Slow – Appropriate]
Ethan set the phone down.
The noise was louder now.
The expectations heavier.
But for the first time, he felt ready to carry them.
One match at a time.
End of Chapter 7
Author's Comment
Chapter 7 is where momentum meets pressure.
Ethan isn't just surviving anymore—he's influencing outcomes. But with visibility comes noise: media, teammates, opponents, and the quiet pull of another world watching from the stands.
The romance remains restrained by design. It's about timing, restraint, and parallel lives, not distraction.
Football is still the foundation.
Everything else is a test of balance.
📅 Update Schedule: 1 chapter daily
✍️ Target Length: 1,500+ words minimum
⚽ Journey: League Two grind → recognition → escalation
❤️ Romance: Slow-burn, realistic, earned