Monday lunchtimes were turning into the most stressful time of the week.
Once again, the canteen was quiet. The food—today, a turkey stir-fry that smelled faintly of ginger and despair—went untouched. All eyes were on the TV screen.
The FA Youth Cup Fourth Round Draw.
The last thirty-two teams. All the big teams were still in. City, United, Chelsea, Liverpool.
"Home draw," Harvey whispered, clutching his fork tightly. "Just give us anyone at home. I don't care if it's Real Madrid. I want The Hawthorns again."
Tyrell shook his leg under the table, making the floor vibrate. "Nah. We beat Arsenal. We can take anyone. Give us a trip. I want a stadium."
The presenter on the screen smiled, unaware of the tension in the room. "And now... the Fourth Round."
The balls swirled.
"Ball number 12 Chelsea will play... Ball number 30 Southampton." "Tough," Gareth muttered from the back.
"Ball number 24 Manchester United."
The room froze. United. The top team. The one Ethan had scored his first goal against in the league.
"Will play..."
The presenter reached in, swirled the balls, and pulled one out.
"Ball number 42 West Bromwich Albion."
For a moment, there was silence. Then Tyrell slammed his hand on the table, making the forks and knives jump. "Yes! Yes! We've got them!"
Harvey buried his head in his hands. "United away? Are you crazy? That's the hardest draw!"
"It's Old Trafford," Tyrell grinned like a shark. "We're going to Old Trafford."
The realization hit hard. Old Trafford. The Theatre of Dreams. 74,000 seats. It wouldn't be full, probably only a few thousand in the lower tier, but the history of that pitch was enough to make your knees weak.
Gareth walked to the front. He didn't seem unhappy. "You beat them here," he reminded them. "2-1. You think they've forgotten? They haven't. They will want revenge. They will stack their team. Any eligible U18 player currently training with the first team will be pulled down for this. They won't want to lose to West Brom twice."
He looked at the faces of his team. "This is what you wanted. You want to be Premier League players? Go and win at a Premier League stadium."
Ethan left the canteen, his heart racing. He took out his phone.
To: Callum, Mason Old Trafford.
The reply came in ten seconds.
Callum: YOU ARE JOKING. Callum: ACTUAL OLD TRAFFORD?
Mason: When?
Ethan checked the schedule Gareth had just emailed. Wednesday, 16th Jan. 7pm.
Callum: I'm looking at trains. I don't care if it's a school night. I don't mind if I have a geography exam. We are going.
Mason: United will be angry after the league game. Be ready to run.
Ethan put his phone away. Mason was right. The league win had been a surprise, a "matrix moment." This would be different. This match would be a grudge match on the biggest stage in English club football.
Later that afternoon, Ethan was back in the gym. The "Red Plan" was tough. He was doing pull-ups, his back straining, sweat dripping onto the mat.
"Extension!" Mike yelled. "All the way down!"
Ethan gritted his teeth and lowered himself. He felt stronger. The shirt that used to hang on him was fitting snugly around his shoulders.
Tyrell walked over, putting away a set of heavy dumbbells. He watched Ethan for a moment. "You scored against them last time," Tyrell said.
"Yeah," Ethan grunted, pulling himself up.
"They'll target you," Tyrell warned. "They'll put their number 6 on you. He's tough. Played for Ireland U19s. He'll try to take you out in the first five minutes."
Ethan dropped from the bar, landing lightly on his feet. He wiped his face with a towel. "Let him try," Ethan said.
Tyrell raised an eyebrow. He looked at Ethan—really looked. The scared kid from July was gone. In his place was a player with scars on his shins and determination in his eyes. "Good lad," Tyrell smirked. "We'll need that."
Meanwhile, in Eastfield, Callum sat at his kitchen table, a laptop open, his mum hovering nearby. "It's a school night, Callum," she sighed. "And Birmingham to Manchester is not cheap."
"Mum," Callum said, turning to her with wide, pleading eyes. "It's Ethan. At Old Trafford. If he scores. Imagine if he scores and I'm not there. I'd never forgive myself. And he'd never let me forget it."
She looked at the screen. The train prices were sky-high. "I'll pay half," Callum offered quickly. "I'll do extra shifts at the car wash."
His mum softened. She remembered Ethan sitting at this table, eating pizza and dreaming of being a pro. "Fine," she said. "But you have to do your homework on the train. And you're taking Mason. I trust him to get you back in one piece."
Callum punched the air. "Yes! You're the best!"
He grabbed his phone.
To Mia: Road trip. Manchester. You in?
Mia: School night. My dad says no way. Take lots of videos. Mia: And tell Ethan not to let Pogba nutmeg him (I know he won't be playing, but still).
Callum laughed. He looked at the confirmation screen. Three tickets. One for him, one for Mason, and one for Ethan's mum, who he knew would be stressing about driving alone.
He leaned back. Crestwood was top of the league. His best mate was playing at Old Trafford. Life was good.
Now, they just had to make sure Ethan actually won.