During the training camp, the sun beat down on the scorching grass of St. George's Park training base. The England National Team players were divided into several groups, undergoing high-intensity scrimmage training under the whistles and shouts of the assistant coaches. Sweat soaked their jerseys, cleats kicked up grass clippings, and the air was filled with the smell of earth, sweat, and competition.
The subtle scent of gunpowder that had lingered around Oliver on the day he reported had not dissipated. Instead, it became clearer in the training environment.
Oliver understood very well: his inexperience, and that brand new Arsenal jersey, acted like a special magnet in this locker room, attracting all sorts of gazes. There were gazes of doubt, gazes of curiosity, and gazes of observation. Oliver wanted to calm down first and figure out how deep the waters of the England locker room were and where the hidden reefs lay.
Head coach Southgate stood on the sidelines in his training gear, observing the effectiveness of each group's scrimmage with focused attention. He had obviously noticed Oliver's situation as a newcomer and intentionally wanted to help him integrate faster.
"Next group," Southgate picked up the training roster and looked at it, "Group A: Lingard, Dier, Kyle Walker… plus Oliver!" He raised his voice slightly and gestured towards Oliver.
Kyle Walker was the first to nod at Oliver. As Manchester City's main defender, his experience in the two-leg Champions League quarterfinals against Hoffenheim last season was still fresh in his mind. Oliver's speed and impact in those two legs had given him a lot of trouble; he knew this kid really had ability and wasn't just famous for nothing. Walker's expression carried that direct recognition that comes from tough competition on the field.
Lingard, on the other hand, grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth, and casually waved to Oliver: "Brother, over here!"
Lingard's demeanor was naturally familiar and expressive; although his technical ability sometimes fluctuated, he was a relatively easy person to get along with off the field. Only Dier. After hearing Southgate call his name, Dier merely glanced at Oliver indifferently, his face expressionless, as if looking at an insignificant background. Then he turned around, walked to his defensive midfield position, and self-absorbedly adjusted the shin guards on his ankles.
The group scrimmage began. The training rule was one-touch passing, quickly moving the ball to find openings and advance. When Walker and Lingard had the ball, as long as they saw Oliver run into open space, they would usually try to pass the ball to him.
Especially Lingard, he liked this style of play that allowed for quick releases and had receiving points, and he didn't care about the teammate's identity. Oliver received, processed, and passed the ball, his movements concise and effective. However, once the ball was passed to Dier's feet, the scene became unusually awkward. Oliver had made several sharp runs forward or pulled back, already creating space and preparing to receive the ball.
But Dier seemed not to see him. He would choose to pass to a more distant Walker, even if the route was longer and the angle more difficult; or he would directly make a long back pass, completely ignoring Oliver's presence; and twice, he even hesitated for a few tenths of a second, was interfered with by a coach simulating a press, and hastily kicked the ball out of bounds.
Once or twice was not a big deal, but three times, four time, the calmness on Oliver's face gradually gave way to a cold, hard focus.
"Damn it, I'm not here to be invisible in the National Team."
Dier's behavior not only disrupted the quality of the training but also carried undisguised rejection. This was not a technical problem; it was purely an attitude problem. When Dier deliberately chose to make a difficult back pass to goalkeeper Pickford, instead of a smooth pass to Oliver's feet that would have immediately created an attacking opportunity, Oliver stopped. Oliver did not rush to confront Dier but instead ran directly to Southgate on the sidelines.
Southgate was talking to his assistant about something.
"Mr. Gareth." Oliver's voice was clear and steady, with the slightly hurried breathing after training, but no obvious anger could be heard.
Southgate turned around and asked: "What's wrong, Ollie? Can you keep up with the training intensity?"
"The intensity is good, no problem." Oliver's tone was normal, but his words cut directly to the core,
"It's just, coach, the passing fluidity of our Group A… might have encountered a small obstacle." He deliberately did not mention Dier by name,
"The ball is always difficult to deliver to the feet of the attacking points in the front field on time and as needed." His gaze pointed to the field, "That quick attack opportunity just now was completely delayed due to problems with the choice of passing and receiving points. This really affects the overall drill effectiveness."
Oliver pointed it out in a purely tactical analysis tone, emphasizing "positional delay" and "affecting the drill," without blaming any specific person, but the direction was very clear. This was a high-EQ way of complaining. Oliver only brought up the problem phenomenon and the responsible position, not personal grievances.
Southgate was so experienced that he instantly understood what Oliver was saying and who was causing trouble behind the scenes. He immediately cast his gaze towards Dier on the field, his brows suddenly furrowing, a flicker of annoyance and helplessness in his eyes. This indeed interfered with the training quality.
He patted Oliver's shoulder, his tone carrying a hint of fatigue and apology: "Understood, Ollie, I'm sorry, I'll make adjustments."
He turned to the substitute bench area and shouted with full voice: "Henderson! Come to Group A, replace Dier!"
Henderson immediately responded and ran quickly onto the field. Southgate did not call Dier's name, but simply made a clear gesture for him to come off in his direction. Dier's face immediately turned very ugly; he, of course, knew why he was being substituted. He looked at Southgate and Oliver on the sidelines with dissatisfaction, said nothing, and walked slowly off the field with a gloomy face.
After Henderson came on, the situation immediately changed. The Liverpool captain was known as a professional model and midfield link-up core; as long as the ball reached his feet, whether for transition or initiating an attack, his distribution ideas were clear and precise, and he would never ignore any teammate in a reasonable position. The ball began to pass smoothly to Oliver's feet, allowing Oliver to fully run, receive, and complete the final pass or shot. Group A's attacking drill finally became fluid and effective. Southgate watched from the sidelines, his tense expression finally softening.
At noon, the base's player restaurant was filled with the aroma of food and noisy chatter. Oliver carried his tray and found a relatively quiet seat by the window. The warm-hearted Maguire came over with a large plate of food.
"Ollie, the morning training… everything alright?" Maguire asked in a low voice, referring to the incident between Oliver and Dier.
This news spread quickly in the locker room.
"It's nothing, Harry, just normal problem-solving, let's eat, don't think about it." Oliver cut the chicken breast on his plate, his tone gentle.
Just then, from the next table, separated by a row of green plants, familiar conversations, not too loud but not particularly quiet, drifted over. Sitting there were Sterling, Dier, and Cheek, among others.
"Hmph, what's with the attitude? Complaining publicly on his first day? And the coach actually falls for it?" Dier's voice carried obvious displeasure, and he vigorously poked the food on his plate with his fork.
"He's a double Golden Boot winner, you know, the strength is there." Sterling's voice followed closely, full of his trademark, deliberately affected tone, "Bundesliga Golden Boot, eh? Us Premier League players don't have the good fortune to encounter such weak opponents, and as for the Champions League Golden Boot, it's even easier to rack up goals against weak teams in the group stage, isn't that right, Cheek?"
He tried to pull Cheek, who was also present, into the conversation. Cheek was eating silently, clearly not very interested in this topic, and had no intention of getting involved, vaguely humming in response. Sterling, however, seemed encouraged and raised his voice a little more.
"To put it bluntly, he just picked a good place to pad his stats. When we played Manchester City in the Champions League last season, if Stones hadn't gotten injured in the second leg, and we weren't so unlucky…"
That old rascal Sterling still remembered last season's Champions League. Stones was also at that table; he listened quietly, not participating in the comments, but his brows were slightly furrowed. Oliver slowly chewed his food, looking up at Sterling's position, his eyes gradually turning cold. Maguire was getting a bit fed up with Sterling's words and was about to get up to say something to Sterling when Oliver stopped him.
"It's nothing, Harry, leave it to me." Oliver picked up the water glass beside him, took a sip, and then wiped his mouth with a napkin.
He stood up, carrying his empty tray, and walked towards that table as if casually, as if to discard the utensils. As he passed behind Sterling, Oliver's steps paused for a few tenths of a second very naturally, his body leaning slightly forward, and he said to Sterling with a smile:
"Sterling, you said the opponents I faced in the Champions League last season were weak? Then I have a question, is Manchester City a weak team? If you think Manchester City is also a weak team, then I admit, my Golden Boot indeed scored against weak teams."
Oliver used Sterling's own logic to attack Sterling, which is called using force against force.
"You!" Sterling was precisely hit by Oliver's words. Sterling was about to speak when Oliver continued.
"Seeing how much you care about my goals truly touches me, Sterling. Don't worry, in the new Premier League season, I'll give you more opportunities to learn how to score goals up close from me."
With that, Oliver continued to hold his plate, even wearing a polite, faint smile as he calmly walked past Sterling towards the dish return. His movements were so fluid it was as if nothing had happened, leaving only Sterling frozen in his seat. The expression on his face instantly solidified, and he began to curse under his breath. But Oliver had already walked far away.
… …
In the afternoon, the real main event arrived: a formal ten-on-ten intra-squad scrimmage. The players were divided into red and white teams, wearing different colored training vests. The field fully simulated a match environment, complete with a referee and linesmen.
The atmosphere was even more tense than the morning's training.
Southgate read from the team list:
"White Team: Harry Kane, Jamie Vardy, Oliver Thorne; Midfielders: Lingard, Alli, Henderson; Defenders: Trippier, Stones…"
"Red Team Forwards: Raheem Sterling, Marcus Rashford…"
This was a perfectly normal grouping, and Oliver was still assigned to his familiar right winger position. However, not long after Southgate finished reading the list. Oliver asked, "Coach, can I play as a left winger?"
Southgate was momentarily stunned and asked, "Left winger? Ollie, I remember your preferred position is on the right."
Almost everyone who had seen last year's Champions League highlights knew that Oliver was primarily active as a right winger at Hoffenheim, followed by midfield.
"I know, Coach." Oliver had a calm and confident smile on his face, "But I think I can try left winger. I want to try different roles and adapt to the needs of different positions."
His tone was calm, but his gaze was firm, "Can you give me a chance, Coach?"
Southgate observed him for two seconds, then nodded:
"Alright, since you've asked for it, we'll adjust the formation. Oliver goes to the left winger position, and Delph moves to the center to assist with defense. That's it!"
Some people began to whisper. Anyone could see that Oliver's choice to play as a left winger was not about adapting to a new position at all, he was clearly targeting Sterling, the right winger. This was a classic one-on-one showdown!
Indeed, as soon as the scrimmage started, the tension was palpable. Kane and Vardy frequently attacked the Red Team's defense, while Sterling of the Red Team used his speed to find opportunities on the left flank, which Oliver was responsible for. Their first true head-to-head confrontation arrived. The Red Team's pass went astray and was intercepted. The White Team launched a quick counter-attack from their own half, and the ball was passed from the center to Oliver on the left flank.
Oliver received the ball and turned, with Trippier, as the right-back, immediately pressing him! Facing Trippier, Oliver made a simple and quick feint to accelerate with his left foot, immediately followed by a flick of his right ankle! The shift in his body's center of gravity was minimal but extremely fast! Trippier, being experienced, didn't lose his balance, but Sterling, who was behind him, had pushed up closer to support the defense.
Oliver seemed to not even look at Sterling's position. The moment he completed the fake on Trippier, the ball had already been precisely chipped with just enough force, perfectly clearing the head of Sterling, who had rushed up to cover! The ball went past.
And Sterling lunged at thin air, stumbling and almost falling.
Meanwhile, Oliver had already swept past Sterling on the other side like a cheetah, collecting his own chipped pass. He had completed a beautiful stop-and-go move! Although this attack was eventually cleared by Maguire, that momentary confrontation, the use of speed, anticipation, and skill, made many teammates on the sidelines gasp. This was just the beginning.
In the subsequent confrontations, Oliver seemed to have a radar installed. Whenever Sterling had the ball on the right wing, Oliver's pressure would be relentless, pressing aggressively but never recklessly. Sterling tried to use his signature quick-step dribble to cut inside.
Oliver didn't fall for such a basic feint. He accurately timed Sterling's touch away from his foot, just as he was about to dribble, and poked the ball precisely with his right foot. The ball was cleanly dispossessed and rolled to a teammate who was assisting in defense. Sterling lost the ball and was bumped, stumbling slightly.
A moment later, Sterling received a through ball from a teammate and tried to forcefully beat Oliver with speed. Oliver tightly held the inside line while tracking back at high speed, always staying half a step ahead. Sterling couldn't cut inside and was forced to dribble towards the byline. Under Oliver's close pressure, Sterling's last touch was too heavy, and the ball rolled directly out of bounds. He angrily threw his hands up.
Not long after the ball went out of bounds, Sterling received the ball at the edge of the box, intending to use a feint to create space for a shot or a cross. Oliver again stuck close. Sterling made continuous feints with both feet, trying to trick Oliver into shifting his weight. Oliver's lower body was as steady as a rock, maintaining a reasonable distance while staying tight.
Sterling was forced to dribble horizontally, becoming more awkward with each touch, and the space grew smaller and smaller. Under the combined pressure of Oliver and an arriving teammate, he hastily dribbled the ball out of bounds again. Sterling was so angry he kicked the air fiercely.
During one Red Team attack just before halftime, Sterling received a diagonal pass from Walker on the right wing and tried to break past Oliver using a change of pace. He first slowed down and paused, then suddenly accelerated. But just as he started, Oliver also moved, not retreating, but seeing through his intention and preemptively blocking his likely breakthrough path. Sterling's accelerating body collided directly with the position Oliver had already occupied, and he instantly lost his balance. With a "thud," he fell directly to the ground and Oliver easily won the ball.
In the entire movement, Oliver didn't even touch Sterling's leg; he purely used anticipation and positioning to bring him down. Sterling lay on the ground, his face flushed red. He angrily punched the turf before getting up. Oliver had already run forward with the ball, without even looking back. That indifference, as if what had just happened was perfectly natural and insignificant.
In the second half, the tension grew even thicker. Sterling was clearly fired up, and his actions became much more aggressive, forcing the assistant coach to blow the whistle and warn him once. But this did not change the situation.
Again, Sterling tried to accelerate and forcefully break past Oliver, but again he was tightly pinned to the byline by Oliver, forced into a misplaced pass. After that, Sterling and Trippier tried to play a one-two, but Oliver saw through the passing lane and preemptively intercepted Trippier's pass to Sterling.
The match was nearing its end. Oliver had the ball on the left wing, organizing an attack, and Sterling tracked back to intercept him. Facing Sterling, Oliver performed a small-range nutmeg in place! He poked the ball to his right with his right foot, while his body, incredibly agile, rotated around Sterling as an axis, turning his back and slipping past Sterling's left side! Sterling was disoriented by this unexpected in-place dribble, and as he hastily turned to chase, his feet stumbled. With a "thump," he awkwardly fell heavily onto the turf again. Another clean and effortless piece of trickery!
And this time, Oliver still acted as if nothing had happened. He didn't look at Sterling lying on the ground.
Not even a glance.
Oliver continued to drive towards the penalty area with the ball, calmly observing his teammates' runs, looking for an opportunity to pass or shoot. The expression on his face was terrifyingly calm, as if the person he had just dribbled past wasn't a Manchester City starter, but just an ordinary obstacle on the training ground.
How to effectively humiliate someone? By defeating him in the way he is most familiar with. Oliver had accomplished that. Sterling picked himself up from the ground, his face beyond description; it was practically livid with flushed anger. His eyes blazing, he stared at Oliver's retreating back, seemingly muttering a curse word. Then he was about to rush towards Oliver!
"F***, you arrogant…!"
Walker and Stones nearby reacted extremely quickly, immediately grabbing Sterling tightly from left and right.
"Calm down! Raheem! This is the training ground! We are all teammates!" Walker roared into his ear.
"Calm down, Raheem!" Stones also held him tightly.
Sterling, held firmly by two strong teammates, struggled a few times, then finally broke free with a furious grunt, gritting his teeth. He no longer charged, but his gaze, like daggers, was fixed on Oliver. Oliver didn't look back, but he could clearly feel the gaze behind him that almost pierced him through. He had shut Sterling up with an intense, precisely matched scrimmage. The final whistle blew for the scrimmage. The players walked off the field, tired, patting each other's shoulders.
Oliver silently took off his training vest. Southgate walked up to him, patted his back, and simply said, "Oliver, you played very well at left winger too."
Southgate's eyes were complex, seemingly containing both approval and concern.
"Thank you, Coach." Oliver nodded in reply.
He picked up a bottle of water, twisted it open, and slowly drank. He could sense that in this national team, locker room disputes and friction might have just begun. It seemed that every step towards the Russia World Cup would likely not be easy.
...
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