The following week, the league took a winter break, but Ethan's life was speeding up. On a cold, bright Tuesday morning, he and his mum were in the car, driving north on the motorway. The familiar roads of Eastfield had long since disappeared behind them.
Ethan gazed out the window, his knee bouncing with nervous energy that had nothing to do with football. Today was the day. They were heading to West Bromwich Albion.
When they arrived at the academy training ground, Ethan felt a familiar wave of intimidation, much like his first day at Crestwood, but amplified. The entrance featured a sleek, modern glass building, and beyond it lay a complex with what looked like dozens of pristine, flat pitches. This was not just a step up from Crestwood; it felt like a different world.
In the lobby, they were greeted by a man in a club tracksuit named Mark, the Head of Academy Recruitment. He was warm and professional, shaking both their hands firmly. "Ethan, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. We've been watching you for a while," he said with a friendly smile. "Let me show you around."
The next hour flew by. Mark guided them through cutting-edge facilities that left Ethan in awe. They visited a high-tech gym filled with players, a video analysis theatre resembling a cinema, spotless individual changing rooms for the U18s and U21s, and a canteen that felt more like a fancy restaurant.
"We believe in a whole-person approach," Mark explained as they walked beside an immaculate indoor pitch. "Player development on the field, tactical education in the analysis room, and personal growth outside of it. We have a fantastic education team to support your schoolwork, tutors for travel, and everything else you need."
They paused for a moment, watching the U18s train. The intensity was fierce, with players moving at a speed and skill that was a clear step above even the Riverton game. "This is where we see you in the next couple of years," Mark said quietly, nodding toward the pitch. "Our manager isn't hesitant to give young players a chance. Being in the Championship, the path from the U21s to the first team is very real for someone with your talent."
Finally, they sat in Mark's office, a glass-walled room overlooking the main academy pitch. "Ethan," Mark began, shifting his tone from tour guide to serious. "We've watched you play six times this season. Your vision is exceptional. Your decision-making under pressure is top-notch for your age. What impressed us most against Riverton wasn't just the assist; it was your composure when you were down 1-0. You demanded the ball. That shows character."
He leaned in closer. "We'd like to offer you a two-year scholarship starting this summer, with the option for a professional contract afterward. With our resources and your talent, we believe you could be playing first-team football within three to four years."
Ethan's mouth felt dry. He couldn't find the words. A professional contract. A pathway. A timeline. This wasn't a dream; it was a plan.
His mum asked a dozen thoughtful questions about education, housing, and support, and Mark answered each one smoothly.
The drive home was quiet for a long while. The invitation, the tour, the offer—all of it swirled in Ethan's mind, a mix of excitement and anxiety. "Well," his mum finally said, breaking the silence, "that was... impressive." "Yeah," Ethan replied quietly. "It's a lot to think about, love," she said. "It's a wonderful opportunity. But it's also far from home. That's a lot of pressure."
Ethan nodded, still staring out the window. He thought of the high-tech gym and the perfect pitches. He remembered Mark's words: "a pathway to the first team." Then thoughts of Callum's silly grin, Mason's loyalty, and the promise he and his friends made to win the league for Crestwood crossed his mind.
The invitation from West Brom was no longer just a letter. It was a decision. And he had no idea how he was going to make it.