The exhilaration of the derby, even a drawn one, lingered long after Ethan logged off. He felt a profound sense of accomplishment. His pre-season was over.
He had a team that was starting to gel, a trio of attacking wonderkids brimming with potential, and a clear understanding of the challenges ahead. The real season couldn't start soon enough.
He came downstairs feeling on top of the world, ready to tell his family about the epic 3-3 draw, but he was met with an unusual quiet.
His mother and sister were out, and his father was sitting alone at the kitchen table, a stack of bills and a calculator in front of him. He wasn't smiling.
"Hey, Dad. Everything okay?" Ethan asked, grabbing a glass of water.
His father looked up, his face etched with a weariness Ethan hadn't seen before. "Sit down, son. We need to talk."
Ethan's good mood instantly evaporated. He sat down, a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach.
"You know I'm proud of you, Ethan," his dad began, his voice soft but serious.
"You're a good kid, smart as a whip. And this game... it's clearly making you happy. I love to see that."
He gestured to the pile of papers on the table. "But this is the reality. The shop... it's not doing well. It's barely keeping its head above water. Your mother's part-time job helps, but it's not enough."
He looked his son square in the eye. "The truth is, Sarah is paying for almost everything. The mortgage, the bills, the food on this table. She works sixty hours a week at that law firm, comes home exhausted, and never complains. She's putting her own life on hold for us. For you."
Every word was a blow. Ethan felt a hot flush of shame creep up his neck.
He knew Sarah worked hard, but he had never truly understood the weight she was carrying.
"She's doing it so you can have a chance," his father continued. "So you can focus on your studies, go to university, and build a real future for yourself. But Ethan... you're eighteen now. It's time you started thinking about what that future looks like. This game is a wonderful hobby, but it's not a career. It doesn't pay the bills."
"I know, Dad," Ethan mumbled, staring at the table.
"I'm not asking you to give it up," his father said gently. "But I am asking you to step up. To take on some responsibility. To get a part-time job. Even just a few hours a week. Something to earn your own money, to help out, to show your sister that you appreciate what she's doing for you. It's time to start contributing to the real world, son. Not just the virtual one."
The conversation ended, but the weight of it settled heavily on Ethan's shoulders.
His father was right. He had been so consumed by his new life as a manager that he had been blind to the sacrifices being made right in front of him.
The thrill of signing a new player felt hollow compared to the quiet heroism of his sister paying the electricity bill.
The next day, with a heavy heart, he set out to find a job. He felt awkward and out of place. He walked into the first local supermarket, a small, family-run place.
"Excuse me," he said to the woman at the checkout. "Are you hiring?"
She gave him a quick, dismissive look. "Got any experience stocking shelves? Working a till?"
"Uh, no," Ethan admitted.
"Sorry, love. We need someone who can hit the ground running," she said, turning back to her customer.
It was the same story at the next two places. One manager laughed when he said he had no experience. Another just pointed to a "No Vacancies" sign taped to the door.
With each rejection, his frustration grew. How was he supposed to get experience if no one would give him a chance? The world of football management, where he was a respected 'gaffer', felt a million miles away. Here, he was just another unqualified kid.
Dejected, he sat on a park bench and called the one person he knew would understand.
"Job hunting is the worst," Leo said sympathetically after Ethan explained his morning. "It's like trying to get XP in a game where all the quests are locked until you're already at a high level."
"Exactly!" Ethan said, grateful for the analogy. "My dad's right, I need to do something, but it feels impossible."
"Hmm," Leo said, a thoughtful pause on the other end of the line.
"Wait a minute. My older brother, you remember Mark? Before he went to uni, he worked at that big CostMart on the main road."
"Yeah?"
"He said the manager there, a guy named Mr. Henderson, is always hiring people part-time, especially for weekend and evening shifts. He doesn't really care about experience as long as you're willing to work hard. He's a bit of a grump, but he's fair." Leo's voice grew more excited. "I could text Mark, get the manager's name right, and you could go in and say you know my brother. It might help!"
A spark of hope ignited in Ethan's chest. "You'd do that?"
"Of course, man! We're a team, right? Apex and Orion have to look out for each other off the pitch."
An hour later, armed with a name and a sliver of confidence, Ethan walked through the automatic doors of the huge, brightly lit CostMart. He asked for Mr. Henderson and was directed to a small, cluttered office at the back of the store.
Mr. Henderson was a large man with a bald head and a perpetually tired expression. He looked Ethan up and down. "What do you want?"
"Uh, sir," Ethan began nervously. "I was told you might be looking for part-time staff. I'm a friend of Leo, Mark's younger brother? Mark used to work here."
Mr. Henderson's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Mark was a good worker. Hard worker. You as reliable as him?"
"Yes, sir," Ethan said immediately. "I am. I'll do whatever you need."
The manager grunted, looking him over again. "Ever stacked a pallet of tinned beans at 10 p.m. on a Friday night?"
"No, sir, but I'm a fast learner."
"Ever had to clean up a smashed jar of pickles in aisle three while a customer complains that you're out of their favorite brand of yogurt?"
"Can't say I have, but I'm willing to."
Mr. Henderson was silent for a moment, just staring at him. Ethan's heart pounded. This was it. The final boss of his job hunt.
"You can start Saturday," the manager said abruptly. "Weekends and two evenings a week. Six till ten. Minimum wage. You'll be stocking shelves, facing up products, and doing whatever else I tell you to do. Don't be late. Don't slack off. And for God's sake, learn the difference between parsley and cilantro. Got it?"
Ethan couldn't believe it. A wave of relief so powerful it almost made him dizzy washed over him. "Got it. Yes, sir. Thank you. Thank you so much."
He walked out of the supermarket and into the sunshine, a huge, goofy grin on his face. He had a job. A real, paying job. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't managing a football club. But it was a start. It was his first step into the real world his father had talked about.