The short, sharp, beautiful blast of the Christmas fixtures had left us breathless, victorious, and perched precariously in second place in the league.
The training ground fell into a quiet for the first time in 6 months, almost reverent hush as the players departed for a well-earned five-day break, a chance to reconnect with their families, to rest their weary bodies, to simply be teenagers again.
But for me, the silence was not a comfort; it was a canvas, a vast, empty space that my mind immediately began to fill with the intricate, beautiful, chaotic tapestry of what came next.
The upcoming fixtures, the tactical tweaks, the looming FA Youth Cup third round, and the small, nagging, but vitally important administrative details that were the invisible scaffolding of our success.
Top of that list was Antoine Semenyo. He was still only sixteen, a raw, brilliant, beautiful force of nature who was playing on a six-month trial contract that was due to expire at the end of January.
