The fluky own goal sent a wave of delirious, slightly confused joy through The Apex. On the pitch, the Apex players didn't care how the ball went in; they were just happy to be ahead.
"Don't care how they go in, lads, they all count!" Kenny McLean shouted, jogging back to the center circle with a grin.
David Kerrigan, whose run and cross had forced the error, looked particularly pleased with himself. "See? Told you I'd cause problems," he said to Josh Sargent.
"You caused their defender to have a panic attack, that's what you did," Sargent retorted, but he was smiling. "Good run, though. Do it again."
Luton Town's players were furious.
Their hulking center-back, the unfortunate scorer of the own goal, was screaming at his full-back for letting Kerrigan cut inside. The game, which had been a physical but controlled affair, was about to get spicy.
From the restart, Luton's physicality ramped up. Tackles flew in with extra venom.
Their manager was on the edge of his technical area, a whirlwind of furious energy, screaming at his team to press higher, to be more aggressive.
"Well, the opening goal has certainly lit a fire under this match!" the commentator noted.
"Luton Town are responding with immense physicality. The young Apex side will have to stand tall against this onslaught."
In the 38th minute, Viktor Kristensen, trying to hold up the ball, was unceremoniously flattened by the same center-back who had scored the own goal. The whistle blew for a foul.
"Oi, ref! Watch him! He's been doing that all game!" Grant Hanley bellowed, striding over to protect his young striker.
The Luton defender just sneered. "Welcome to League One, son. Maybe try the ballet next time."
Ethan watched from the sideline, his heart in his throat.
His team was bending, but they weren't breaking. Their defensive shape, drilled into them after the Ipswich game, was holding firm. They were absorbing the pressure.
He caught Emre Demir's eye. "Emre! Deeper! Make them come to you!"
Emre nodded, understanding instantly. He dropped into the space in front of his own midfield, becoming a release valve.
When Apex won the ball back, the first pass was always to him. He would take a touch, draw two or three frantic Luton players towards him like moths to a flame, and then lay off a simple, clever pass into the space they had just vacated.
It was subtle, intelligent, and it was draining the energy from Luton's aggressive press.
The half-time whistle blew with Apex United still clinging to their improbable 1-0 lead.
In the dressing room, the players were buzzing but exhausted.
"It's a war out there," Jonathan Rowe said, examining a fresh grass stain on his shorts.
"They're trying to bully us," Hanley added, his voice a low growl. "But we're holding our own."
Ethan let them talk for a moment before stepping in. "They are trying to bully you," he confirmed, his voice calm. "And that's a good thing. It means they're frustrated. It means our game plan is working. They can't break us down with football, so they're resorting to brute force."
He looked at his three young forwards. "Viktor, you're doing a brilliant job. You're taking a beating, but you're occupying their best defender. Keep doing it. David, Emre, your movement is creating all sorts of problems. The second half, they will get tired from all this chasing. The space will open up even more. Be ready for it."
"We are forty-five minutes away from a perfect start to the season," he finished.
"Don't let it slip. Stay focused, stay disciplined, and let them punch themselves out. We win this with our brains, not just our boots."
The second half started with a renewed intensity.
Luton came out of the gates flying, clearly having received a furious team talk from their manager. They forced an early corner.
The ball was whipped in. Angus Gunn, decisive and brave, came through a crowd of players to punch it clear.
The ball fell to a Luton midfielder, who hit a blistering volley from the edge of the box. It was heading for the top corner, but Jacob Sørensen, appearing from nowhere, launched himself in front of the shot, taking the full force of it in his chest and collapsing in a heap.
It was a heroic, selfless block. The kind of play that wins championships.
His teammates rushed to him, patting him on the back as he gasped for air. The Apex fans roared their approval.
"Incredible commitment from Jacob Sørensen!" the commentator yelled.
"He puts his body on the line for the cause! That is the kind of spirit Ethan Couch has instilled in this young team!"
The block seemed to take the wind out of Luton's sails. The Apex players, inspired by the sacrifice, found a second wind. They started passing the ball with more confidence, with Emre Demir at the heart of everything.
In the 50th minute, the moment of magic arrived.
Emre received the ball in the center circle, spun away from his marker, and drove forward. He slipped a pass to Kerrigan on the left.
Kerrigan drew the defender, then played a sharp pass back inside to Emre, who had continued his run. A perfect one-two.
Emre was now on the edge of the box. He feinted to shoot, sending a defender sliding past him, then calmly rolled the ball into the path of Viktor Kristensen, who had made a brilliant run across the last man.
One-on-one with the keeper.
This time, Viktor didn't hesitate. He took one touch and, with ice in his veins, coolly slotted the ball into the bottom corner.
2-0!
The stadium erupted. Viktor let out a primal scream of joy, his first competitive goal. He was mobbed by his teammates.
Ethan pumped both fists, a huge grin on his face. It was a goal of pure quality, a goal that vindicated his belief in his young front three.
They were two-nil up against the league favorites. It was perfect. It was a dream start.
He was about to shout an instruction to his players when the world flickered.
"...!"
The roar of the crowd stuttered, replaced by a deafening static hiss.
The brilliant green of the pitch dissolved into a mess of corrupted pixels.
The players, frozen in their celebration, dissolved into nothingness.
A single, terrifying word flashed in the void in front of him, written in a stark, red, system-error font.
[ERROR!]
[ERROR!]
[ERROR!]
[ERROR!]
Then, complete and total darkness. The hum of the pod went silent. The connection was gone.
"No, no, no, no!" Ethan yelled into the void, his heart seizing with panic.
Had the pod crashed? Had the server gone down? What was happening to the match?
Suddenly, a different kind of light intruded.
A dim, familiar light. He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him roughly.
"Ethan! Ethan, wake up!"
His eyes snapped open. He wasn't in the void. He was in his bedroom. The pod was powered down. Standing over him was his father, his face pale with panic.
"Dad? What's wrong? What happened?" Ethan asked, his voice thick with confusion, his mind still halfway in the game.
His father pointed frantically at the clock on his wall. It read 5:52 p.m.
"Your work, Ethan!" his dad said, his voice a strained whisper. "Your first shift at CostMart! It started twelve minutes ago! You're going to be fired before you even begin!"