Chapter 7: The Target
The week after Villa felt different.
Leo walked into Staplewood on Monday morning and the security guard with the grey moustache didn't check his name on a clipboard. He just nodded. "Morning, Leo."
Morning, Leo. Not "kid." Not "youth player." Leo.
The changing room was the same. The red and white shirts on pegs. The smell of deep heat and grass. But something had shifted. When Leo sat at his locker, Chris Marsden looked over and tossed him a towel.
"Media wants you after training. Local paper. Nothing big. Just say the usual shite."
Leo caught the towel. "What's the usual shite?"
Marsden grinned. "Delighted to score. Team performance matters most. Taking it one game at a time. You'll figure it out."
The system flickered on.
[Media Attention: +15%. Local Reputation: Rising.]
[Current User Rating: 70 (OVR).]
[Charm Points: 2,660.]
[Skill Tokens: 2 Available.]
Seventy. He was a seventy. Three weeks ago he'd been a 48. The climb was getting steeper, but he was still moving.
Training was sharper now. The other players didn't go easy on him anymore. Bridge bodied him off the ball. Lundekvam read his runs. Beattie challenged him in the air. But Leo held his own. The system fed him information, and his growing collection of talents made every session count.
[Training Performance: 8.3, 8.6, 8.4, 8.7, 8.5.]
[Stuart Gray Evaluation: +12% Positive. Disposition: Trusted.]
On Thursday, Gray pulled him aside after the session.
"Ipswich on Saturday. They're physical. They'll target you because you're young and because you scored on your debut. Don't react. Don't get drawn in. Just play your game."
Leo nodded. "I understand."
Gray studied him for a moment. "Do you? Because every defender in the league has seen your name now. They know you're quick. They know you can finish. They'll try to bully you out of the game. The question is whether you can handle it."
[Stuart Gray: Tactical Warning Received. Physicality Expected vs. Ipswich.]
"I can handle it," Leo said.
Gray didn't smile. But he didn't argue either.
---
Saturday, 22nd September 2001. St Mary's Stadium.
The weather had turned. Autumn was creeping in, the air colder, the sky a flat grey. Leo arrived at the stadium wrapped in a heavy coat, his breath fogging in the morning air.
The changing room was quiet. Focused. Ipswich were no giants, but they were a solid Premier League side. George Burley had built a team that punched above its weight. They'd finished fifth the previous season. They knew how to grind out results.
Leo pulled on his shirt. Number 27. His number now. The system populated the Ipswich lineup as he laced his boots.
Ipswich Town (4-4-2):
Matteo Sereni (GK) - 75
Chris Makin (RB) - 72
John McGreal (CB) - 74
Mark Venus (CB) - 73
Hermann Hreiðarsson (LB) - 76
Jermaine Wright (RM) - 74
Matt Holland (CM) - 78
Jim Magilton (CM) - 76
Martijn Reuser (LM) - 75
Marcus Stewart (ST) - 79
Alun Armstrong (ST) - 77
Holland. 78. The Ipswich captain, an Ireland international, a box-to-box midfielder who never stopped running. Hreiðarsson. 76. A giant of a left-back, six foot three, built like a Viking. This was going to be a battle.
Southampton's lineup flashed up.
Southampton (4-4-2):
Paul Jones (GK) - 71
Jason Dodd (RB) - 73
Claus Lundekvam (CB) - 74
Dean Richards (CB) - 76
Wayne Bridge (LB) - 76
Leo Carter (RM) - 70
Anders Svensson (CM) - 75
Matthew Oakley (CM) - 74
Chris Marsden (LM) - 72
James Beattie (ST) - 77
Kevin Davies (ST) - 74
Beattie was back. The main man. Leo glanced at him across the changing room. Beattie was taping his socks, his face blank. He hadn't said much to Leo all week. Not hostile. Just distant. A striker protecting his territory.
The teams walked out. The crowd was louder than the Villa match. 31,229 people, the announcer said. The international break was over. Football was back. People needed the escape.
The announcer's voice boomed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to St Mary's Stadium for this Barclaycard Premiership fixture between Southampton and Ipswich Town!"
The roar was instant.
"And here are your Southampton lineups!"
When the announcer reached Leo's name, the cheer was louder than last week. Not just polite. Genuine.
"Carter! Go on, lad! Another one today!"
"He's our wonderkid! He's our wonderkid!"
A group of teenage boys in the Northam Stand had a banner. Crude, painted on a bedsheet. CARTER 27 - THE FUTURE.
Leo felt his chest tighten. The Composure skill pulsed.
[Composure Activated. Pressure Stabilised.]
He took a breath. He was ready.
The whistle blew.
---
The first fifteen minutes were exactly what Gray had warned him about.
Ipswich targeted Leo from the opening whistle. Not with skill. With physicality. Hreiðarsson, the giant left-back, clattered into him on his first touch. A shoulder to the chest that sent Leo sprawling. The referee waved play on. No foul.
Leo got up, dusted himself off, and jogged back into position.
[Physicality Warning: Hreiðarsson - Aggression Level High.]
[Recommended Action: Avoid stationary challenges. Keep moving.]
The next time Leo got the ball, Hreiðarsson was on him again. A forearm to the back. Subtle. Off the ball. The linesman didn't see it.
Leo stumbled but stayed on his feet. He passed the ball inside to Oakley and kept moving.
The crowd noticed.
"Ref! That's twice now! Open your eyes!"
"Get him off the pitch if he's going to play rugby!"
A woman in the Itchen Stand was on her feet, furious. "That's a foul! Every single time!"
The system updated.
[Hreiðarsson: Fouls Committed - 3. Referee Attention Level: Low.]
[Charm Available: 2,660 Points.]
[Use Charm on Referee? Increase Attention Level by +35%. Cost: 60 Points.]
Leo hesitated. Using charm on the referee was risky. If it backfired, he'd get nothing. But if Hreiðarsson kept getting away with it, Leo would be battered out of the game.
He confirmed.
The points deducted. And a moment later, Hreiðarsson clattered into him again. This time, the referee's whistle cut through the air.
"Foul! Number three, Ipswich!"
The crowd cheered ironically.
"Finally! About time, ref!"
Hreiðarsson glared at the referee, then at Leo. "Stay down next time, little boy."
Leo said nothing. He just got up and took the free-kick.
[Charm Points: 2,600 Remaining.]
[Referee Bias: +8% Toward Southampton.]
---
The first real chance came in the twenty-third minute.
Southampton won a corner on the left. Svensson jogged over to take it. Leo positioned himself at the edge of the box, the system highlighting the gaps in Ipswich's zonal marking.
[Set Piece Analysis: Near Post Cluster. Far Post Space Identified.]
Svensson whipped the corner in, low and hard toward the near post. Beattie rose but Venus got there first, heading it clear. The ball looped toward the edge of the box.
Leo was already moving.
[Reading the Game Activated. Ball Trajectory Predicted.]
He met it on the volley. A clean strike, right foot, flying toward the top corner. Sereni flew across his goal and tipped it over the bar. World-class save.
The crowd groaned, then applauded.
"So close! Great effort, Carter!"
"Keep going, lad! It's coming!"
Leo jogged back, his heart pounding. The system updated.
[Match Rating: 6.8.]
[Shot on Target: 1.]
Beattie walked past him. "Good strike. Next time, leave it for me."
Leo looked at him. Beattie's face was blank. Not joking. Not angry. Just stating a fact.
Leo said nothing.
---
Ipswich scored first.
It came from a set piece. A free-kick on the right, swung in by Magilton. The ball curled toward the back post. Hreiðarsson rose above everyone, a giant among men, and headed it back across goal. Jones got a hand to it but could only palm it into the path of Armstrong.
The Ipswich striker didn't miss. One touch, right foot, into the empty net.
The away end erupted. A wall of blue and white behind the goal, jumping and singing.
"Armstrong! Armstrong! He scores when he wants!"
The announcer's voice was flat. "Goal for Ipswich Town. Scored by number eight, Alun Armstrong."
The home crowd fell silent. Then the frustration boiled over.
"Every set piece! Every bloody set piece!"
"Lundekvam! Where were you? He's six foot three and you let him have a free header!"
Leo stood on the halfway line, hands on his hips. He'd been on the pitch for twenty-four minutes and Ipswich were ahead.
[Match Momentum: Ipswich 71% - Southampton 29%.]
[Team Morale: Dropping. -4% Performance Penalty Applied.]
Southampton 0, Ipswich Town 1.
---
The rest of the first half was a grind. Ipswich sat back, happy to protect their lead. Southampton pushed forward but created nothing clear. Beattie had a header saved. Oakley fired over from distance. Leo touched the ball a few times, mostly under pressure from Hreiðarsson.
At half-time, Gray was calm but firm.
"They're sitting deep because they know we struggle to break teams down. We need to move the ball faster. Carter, you're getting space on the right but you're not using it. Hreiðarsson is slow on the turn. Run at him. Make him commit."
Leo nodded.
[Stuart Gray: Tactical Instruction Received. +7% Performance Boost When Dribbling vs. Hreiðarsson.]
The second half began.
---
The equaliser came in the fifty-second minute.
Southampton won a throw-in deep in Ipswich's half. Dodd launched it long toward Davies. The big striker flicked it on. Beattie chested it down and laid it off to Marsden on the left.
Marsden looked up. Leo was making a run into the right channel.
[Reading the Game Activated. Space Identified.]
[Vision (Level 3) Activated. Through Ball Opportunity Detected.]
Leo didn't have the ball. But he could see the pass before it was played. The gap between McGreal and Venus. The weight of the ball Marsden needed to hit.
He pointed. Marsden saw it and played the pass.
The ball curled into the channel. Leo was off.
[Acceleration Activated. +8% Speed Over First 10 Yards.]
He reached the ball before Hreiðarsson, took one touch to set himself, and looked up. Beattie was making a run to the near post. Davies was holding back at the penalty spot.
[Crossing Opportunity: 71%. Recommended: Low driven cross to near post.]
He hit it. Hard and low, skidding across the wet grass. The ball flashed through the six-yard box. Beattie lunged, got a toe to it, and poked it past Sereni.
The net bulged.
The stadium erupted.
Beattie ran toward the corner flag, arms outstretched, and Leo was right behind him. The big striker grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Good ball, kid. Good ball."
The announcer's voice was alive.
"Goal for Southampton! Scored by number nine, James Beattie! And we're level at St Mary's!"
The crowd was bouncing.
"Beattie! Beattie! He's one of our own!"
"Great cross, Carter! That's the way!"
[Assist Registered. Match Rating: 6.8 -> 7.5.]
[James Beattie: Relationship +8%.]
Southampton 1, Ipswich Town 1.
---
The game opened up. Ipswich had to come out now, chasing a winner. Southampton smelled blood.
Leo found more space. Hreiðarsson was tiring, his rating dropping.
[Hreiðarsson: OVR 76 -> 72. Fatigue: 51%.]
[Recommended Action: Target Hreiðarsson. Dribble at him.]
In the sixty-eighth minute, Leo got his chance.
Bridge won the ball on the left and switched play to the right. Leo was in acres of space. Hreiðarsson was ten yards away, backpedalling.
[Acceleration Activated.]
Leo ran at him. Not thinking. Just running. He dropped a shoulder, cut inside, and left Hreiðarsson stumbling.
[Charm Available: 2,600 Points.]
[Use Charm on Hreiðarsson? Success Chance: +51%. Cost: 50 Points.]
He confirmed. Hreiðarsson's recovery was a fraction too slow. The window was open.
Leo looked up. Beattie was marked. Davies was making a run to the back post. Svensson was arriving late at the edge of the box.
[Shooting Chance: 41%. Passing Option: Svensson - 74% Success, 38% Goal Probability.]
He passed. A simple, weighted ball to Svensson. The Swede took one touch and fired.
The shot was blocked by McGreal. The ball bounced loose.
And Leo was there.
[Poacher's Instinct Activated. +12% Success Chance.]
[Clinical Finisher Activated. +15% One-on-One Accuracy.]
[Finishing (Level 1) Activated. +5% Shot Accuracy.]
He didn't think. He just swung his right foot. The ball flew toward the near post. Sereni dove, a fraction too late. The ball hit the inside of the post and bounced into the net.
The world stopped.
Then the stadium exploded.
Leo stood frozen, arms out, his mouth open. The noise was beyond anything he'd ever heard. His teammates buried him in a pile of bodies. Beattie was screaming in his ear. Oakley was slapping his head. Bridge was laughing.
The announcer's voice was hoarse.
"Goal for Southampton! Scored by number twenty-seven, Leo Carter! The seventeen-year-old has done it again! Two goals in two Premier League matches!"
The crowd was delirious.
"Carter! Carter! He's one of our own!"
"The kid can't stop scoring! He's a machine!"
The bedsheet banner in the Northam Stand was waving wildly. CARTER 27 - THE FUTURE.
[Goal Scored. Match Rating: 7.5 -> 9.0.]
[Charm Points: 2,550 Remaining.]
[Stuart Gray Evaluation: +28% Positive.]
Southampton 2, Ipswich Town 1.
---
The final twenty minutes were a war. Ipswich threw everything forward. Holland hit the post with a long-range strike. Stewart forced a diving save from Jones. Hreiðarsson had a header cleared off the line by Bridge.
Leo dropped deep, helping defend. The system guided him into passing lanes, blocking angles, doing the ugly work. His Stamina Management kept him moving when others were flagging.
[Stamina: 28%. Stamina Management Reducing Drain.]
[Match Rating: 9.0.]
In the eighty-seventh minute, Ipswich won a corner. Everyone piled into the box. Sereni, the goalkeeper, came up. A desperate final throw of the dice.
Magilton swung the corner in. The ball bounced around the six-yard box. A scramble of legs and bodies. Leo found himself on the goal line, next to the post.
The ball fell to Venus. The Ipswich defender swung his foot.
Leo threw himself at the shot. The ball hit his chest and bounced away. Oakley cleared it into the stands.
The crowd roared like it was a goal.
"Carter! What a block! That's defending!"
The final whistle blew seconds later.
The stadium erupted again. Leo collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. His teammates surrounded him, hugging him, slapping his back. The crowd was singing.
"He's one of our own, he's one of our own, Leo Carter, he's one of our own!"
Beattie walked over and offered a hand. Leo took it and pulled himself up.
"You're alright, kid," Beattie said. "You're alright."
The Ipswich players trudged off. Hreiðarsson walked past Leo and stopped.
"Good game, little boy." He said it without malice this time. Almost respectful. "You can take a hit. Not many your age can."
He offered a hand. Leo shook it.
"Thanks."
Hreiðarsson nodded and walked away.
The system pinged.
[Match Complete. Southampton 2 - 1 Ipswich Town.]
[Barclaycard Premiership: 3 Points.]
[Match Rating: 9.2 (Man of the Match).]
[Charm Points Earned: 300. Total: 2,850.]
[Skill Tokens Earned: 1. Total Available: 3.]
Then the one he'd been waiting for.
[Talent Absorption Available. Defeated Team: Ipswich Town.]
[Select Talent from the following pool:]
> Matt Holland (CM): [Endless Engine (Level 3)] - Significantly reduces stamina drain during matches.
> Hermann Hreiðarsson (LB): [Physical Presence (Level 2)] - Improved ability to win physical battles and aerial duels.
> Marcus Stewart (ST): [Off the Shoulder (Level 2)] - Improved timing of runs in behind the defence.
> Mark Venus (CB): [Long Passing (Level 2)] - Improved accuracy of long diagonal balls.
He read the list carefully. Holland's Endless Engine. Hreiðarsson's Physical Presence. Stewart's Off the Shoulder. Venus's Long Passing.
Endless Engine. Stamina. The thing that had been holding him back since day one. His Stamina Management skill was good, but this was a Level 3 talent. It would change everything.
He selected Holland's Endless Engine.
[Talent Absorbed: Endless Engine (Level 3).]
[Effect: Stamina drain reduced by 30%. Match fitness maintained for longer periods.]
[Active Talents: Poacher's Instinct (Lv1), Reading the Game (Lv1), Clinical Finisher (Lv2), Vision (Lv3), Endless Engine (Lv3).]
Five talents. Two of them at Level 3. He was becoming a complete player.
[User Rating: 70 -> 72 (OVR).]
Seventy-two. Two points from Endless Engine alone. His stamina issues, the thing that had plagued him since his first training session, were fading.
---
The changing room was chaos again. Music blasted. Players shouted. Gray stood in the corner, his face unreadable.
When Leo walked in, the room went quiet. Then Beattie started clapping. Slowly. Deliberately. The others joined in.
Gray walked over. "Carter. That was a man's performance. You took hits. You got up. You scored. You defended. That's what Premier League football is."
He held out his hand. Leo shook it.
"Thank you, gaffer."
Gray nodded. "Don't thank me. You earned it. But don't get comfortable. Arsenal away next week. Highbury. That's a different beast entirely."
He walked away. The music started again.
Leo sat at his locker, the noise washing over him. Arsenal away. Highbury. The Invincibles in waiting. Henry. Bergkamp. Vieira. Pires.
The system flickered.
[Next Match: Premier League - Arsenal vs. Southampton. 29th September 2001.]
[Venue: Highbury. Capacity: 38,419.]
[Arsenal Current League Position: 1st.]
Leo looked at the screen. Then he smiled. Not because he was confident. Because he was ready.
He had a week to prepare. A week to improve. A week to figure out how a 72-rated teenager was going to survive against the best team in England.