The 3-0 win, and the tactical dominance it showed, should have made the following week of training relaxed and confident. Instead, the atmosphere was tense. Ethan's success had been the first domino to fall. Now, every other player on the squad was eager to be next.
The rumor about the West Brom scout had been confirmed, and now it seemed every match had a new set of eyes on the sideline. The academy was no longer just a place to play, it felt like a shop window, and everyone was afraid of being overlooked.
Nobody felt this pressure more than Callum.
His easygoing confidence, which had returned after the Northbridge game, was replaced by a familiar, frantic energy. He was trying too hard. In every drill, he went for the spectacular. He attempted bicycle kicks in crossing drills, tried 30-yard shots that flew over the fence, and criticized teammates for not passing to him when and how he wanted.
"Cal, just play the simple pass!" Ethan said in frustration during a possession game after Callum tried to nutmeg a defender, lost the ball, and forced their team to run. "I had him," Callum snapped back defensively. "Just need to practice it." "Practice it on your own time!" Mason yelled from the other team. "You're ruining the drill."
Ethan watched his friend with growing unease. This was worse than before. This wasn't just selfish ambition, it was desperation.
After the session, he caught up with Callum as he stormed toward the changing rooms. "Cal, what's going on with you?" Ethan asked. "You're trying to score a world-beater with every touch." Callum stopped and turned around, his face showing frustration. "What's going on? You're on your way, Ethan! You're done. You're set for West Brom, you're in the England squad. Your future is planned out. What about the rest of us?"
"What are you talking about? We're a team, we're winning the league..." "And then what?" Callum interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. "We win the league, and then what? You go off to your pro contract, and I'm what? Still here? Hoping some other scout might look at me? Every single game, I'm thinking, 'Is this the one? Is someone watching?' I have to make them notice me, Ethan. I can't just 'play the game' anymore. I'm running out of time."
He didn't wait for a reply, just turned and disappeared into the building, leaving Ethan on the pitch, stunned.
Ethan felt a heavy presence beside him. Mason had been walking behind them and had heard everything. "He's not wrong," Mason said quietly. "What?" Ethan said, shocked. "You agree with him?" "I don't agree with how he's playing," Mason clarified, kicking at a divot in the turf. "He's acting foolish. He's trying to get noticed for being flashy instead of being good. But he's not wrong about the pressure." He looked at Ethan, his expression serious. "Your success, Eastfield, it's like you've fired the starting gun on a race none of us were ready for. We're all happy for you. But you're the first one to cross the line. Now everyone else is scrambling, afraid of being left behind."
Ethan looked at the empty pitch, the weight of his own success settling on him in a new, uncomfortable way. He had thought the hardest part was deciding to leave. He was beginning to realize that the hardest part might be dealing with those he was leaving behind.