A month later, Ethan was back on the motorway, driving toward the grand gates of the National Football Centre. This time, though, his fear was replaced by a quiet, buzzing excitement. He wasn't a trialist anymore; he was part of the squad.
Walking into the reception area felt different. There was a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose. He saw Marcus talking with some players and received a sharp nod of acknowledgment. Then, across the room, he spotted a friendly face break into a big grin. It was Leo.
"I can't believe it! You made it!" Ethan said as they shook hands, both beaming.
"Barely, I reckon," Leo laughed. "My dad said the postman was his new favourite person. I'm just so happy to be here. Well done, mate. You really did it."
The atmosphere in the first team meeting changed completely. The fifty nervous individuals from the selection camp had been narrowed down to a focused group of twenty-five. The Head of Youth Development stood in front of them, speaking less like a drill sergeant and more like a general addressing his troops.
"Congratulations to all of you," he began. "You have earned the right to be here. But your trial is over. From now on, you are not just individuals; you are a team. You are the England U14 squad. And in five days, this team will play its first international friendly. We will be hosting Scotland right here on this pitch."
A buzz spread through the room. A real international match. It was no longer a hypothetical goal; it was now a concrete reality.
The week of training was unlike anything Ethan had experienced. The focus shifted from individual skills to teamwork. The coaches worked them hard on shape, movement, and pressing triggers. They practiced specific play patterns, developing an understanding of each other's strengths and habits. Ethan found himself at the center of it all, his ability to see the game making him a natural link between the midfield and attack. The coaches often paired him with Marcus in drills, encouraging their growing chemistry.
"Ethan, you find the space. Marcus, you take advantage of it," their coach repeated. "You two can be the engine room of this team."
On the last day of the camp, the squad gathered in the lecture hall one last time before the match. The clean white England kits were laid out on a table at the front, each with a number and a name printed on the back.
The coach stood before them. "Tomorrow, you will all have the honor of wearing this shirt. But only eleven of you can start. This has been a tough decision."
He picked up a sheet of paper and began to read out the starting lineup. Ethan's heart raced. A goalkeeper from Chelsea. A back four from Liverpool, Manchester City, and Arsenal.
"In midfield..." the coach paused. "Marcus."
Ethan held his breath.
"...partnering him, the holding midfielder from West Ham... and in the number ten role, Ethan Matthews."
Ethan barely heard the rest of the names. He was starting. He was the starting attacking midfielder for England. He looked over at Leo, who had been named on the bench, and his friend gave him a big, encouraging thumbs-up.
That night, Ethan returned to his room to find his match kit laid out perfectly on his bed. The iconic Three Lions crest was stitched over the heart. He picked up the shirt, the fabric feeling special in his hands. He turned it over. There, in bold letters above the number 10, was his own name: MATTHEWS.
He thought of the rusty goalposts in Eastfield, the tough training sessions at Crestwood, and the pressure of the selection camp. It had all led to this. Tomorrow, he wouldn't just be playing a game of football. He would be representing his country. And he was ready.