Saturday, January 2nd, 2027. 08:30 AM. The Hawthorns Training Ground.
The automatic gates opened quietly. Ethan drove his muddy Ford Focus past a row of spotless Range Rovers and a matte black Lamborghini Urus.
He parked in the space marked E. MATTHEWS. It had been empty for six months.
Ethan turned off the engine and took a deep breath. The air smelled like cut grass and expensive cologne, a sharp contrast to the damp concrete and heat of Riverton.
He stepped out wearing his freshly laundered club tracksuit. He grabbed his boots, the ones still caked with Riverton mud.
He walked into the building. The receptionist looked up.
"Ethan! Welcome back. Long time no see."
"Hi, Sarah. Good to be back."
He swiped his key card. It beeped green. He was in.
09:00 AM. The Dressing Room.
The room buzzed with energy as the First Team prepared for training. Ethan walked in, and the noise dipped slightly.
Liam Thorne, the captain, was the first to greet him. He approached, towel draped around his neck.
"Look who it is," Thorne grinned, shaking Ethan's hand. "The Survivor. We saw that tackle clip from Boxing Day. You're mental."
"Had to be done," Ethan said with a smile.
"How's the leg?" Volkan Demir asked from his locker. The Turkish midfielder looked a bit older, with more gray in his beard.
"Stronger than the other one," Ethan replied.
Then Mitch Evans turned around. He played the Number 8 position and had seen action in 20 games this season. He looked tired—the Championship grind was taking its toll—but still radiated the aura of a starter.
"Welcome back from the abyss," Evans said, his tone a mix of teasing and condescension. "Enjoy playing with the plumbers?"
The room fell silent. This was the test. The old Ethan might have laughed it off.
Ethan didn't laugh. He walked over to his locker next to Evans and hung up his jacket.
"It was cold, Mitch," Ethan said calmly, meeting Evans's gaze. "But at least they run for 90 minutes."
A few teammates stifled laughs. Evans's jaw tightened.
"Careful, kid. You're back in the big school now."
"I know," Ethan said as he sat down to lace his boots. "That's why I'm here. To help you fix the midfield."
10:00 AM. Training Pitch 1.
The grass was perfectly manicured. It was heated from below. No bobbles to be found.
Julian Vance stood in the center circle with a whistle in his mouth. He looked stressed. Ninth place was not the plan.
"Possession drill!" Vance shouted. "High intensity! If you lose it, win it back in three seconds or run a lap!"
Ethan landed in the "Probables" team (the subs) against the "Possibles" (the starters). He faced off directly against Evans.
The whistle blew. The pace was electric, much faster than Riverton. The ball zipped around. Ping. Ping. Ping.
For the first five minutes, Ethan adjusted. His touch was sharp, but his mind needed to catch up.
Then the ball went loose. Mitch Evans went for it, assuming the "academy kid" would back off.
Ethan didn't back off. He dropped his shoulder and stepped into the space. He executed the "Riverton Hip," the move that let him outmaneuver 15-stone center-backs.
Thud.
Evans collided with Ethan like he hit a wall. He stumbled and fell on his backside. Ethan took the ball, spun, and played a crisp pass to the winger.
"Foul!" Evans shouted, looking at the coach.
Vance didn't blow the whistle. "Play on! Good strength, Matthews!"
Ethan ignored Evans and kept moving. Scan. Move. Demand.
11:30 AM. Julian Vance's Office.
Ethan knocked and entered. Vance was watching drone footage of the training session on his monitor.
"You look different," Vance said without turning around.
"I feel different, boss."
Vance spun his chair.
"You are heavier. Broader. And you are tougher. I saw what you did to Mitch."
"He was slow to the ball."
"He was," Vance agreed. "He is comfortable. The whole team is comfortable. That's why we are ninth."
Vance picked up a team sheet.
"Leeds United. Tomorrow. Elland Road. It's a war zone. They are second. They press relentlessly."
Vance looked at Ethan.
"Ben Garner says you are ready. The physios say you are unbreakable. But I need to know... are you scared?"
"Of Leeds?" Ethan asked.
"Of failure," Vance said. "Of your knee going again. Of letting me down."
Ethan thought about the frozen pitch at Riverton. He remembered the dent in his shin pad.
"I'm not scared of football anymore, boss. I'm just happy to be playing on grass without ice."
Vance smiled, a thin, predatory smile.
"Good. Because I am dropping Evans."
Ethan blinked. "Dropping him?"
"He is tired. He is playing safe. I need chaos. I need hunger." Vance picked up a pen.
"You are starting tomorrow. Elland Road. 30,000 people. You and Volkan in the middle."
Vance leaned forward.
"Save my job, Ethan. Get us the three points."
Sunday, January 3rd. 1:00 PM. Elland Road.
Leeds United vs. West Bromwich Albion.
The atmosphere was tense. Leeds fans were demanding blood.
Ethan stood in the tunnel, dressed in the yellow away kit. The Number 48 was back on his back.
Volkan Demir stood beside him.
"Welcome back, kardeşim (brother)," Demir whispered. "You ready to run?"
"I'm ready to fight," Ethan replied.
He glanced down the line. The Leeds players were all big.
But they didn't look like O'Keefe at Gateshead. They didn't resemble the Solihull striker.
Ethan adjusted his shin pads.
The String Don't Break.
The referee blew the whistle.
Ethan Matthews stepped onto the pitch. He wasn't the Wonderkid anymore. He was the Answer.
Kickoff.
The first ten minutes were a blur of pressing. Leeds swarmed the field.
Ethan received the ball in the 4th minute. Two Leeds players closed in on him.
Old Ethan might have panicked.
New Ethan shielded the ball, took a brutal studs-up rake down his calf, stayed on his feet, and launched a 30-yard pass to the flank.
"Go on!" Vance roared from the sideline.
22nd Minute.
West Brom was under pressure. Ethan tracked a runner deep into his own box. He made a sliding tackle—clean as a whistle—to prevent a shot.
He jumped up immediately and pointed at his defender. "Wake up! Tighter!"
Mitch Evans, sitting on the bench, watched with a furious expression. He knew. He was seeing his replacement in action.
40th Minute.
0-0.
Ethan got the ball in the center circle. He saw Leeds' high line. He envisioned the Riverton pass—the "channel ball."
He didn't hesitate. He launched a perfectly weighted ball over the top for the striker.
The striker didn't score, but Ethan created the chance from nothing.
As the halftime whistle blew, Ethan walked off. He wasn't gasping for air. He wasn't clutching his knee.
Ethan wiped sweat from his forehead.
He was back. And he was just getting started.