Carrington had seen better days.
Under Ferguson, it was a fortress of discipline and ambition. Under the post-Ferguson era, it became a glossy training complex… and sometimes, a babysitting center for overpaid prima donnas.
Now, under Ethan Cross, Carrington felt like a battlefield.
The sun barely peeked over the Manchester clouds as Ethan pulled his battered Audi into the staff car park, sandwiched awkwardly between two player Lamborghinis. It was symbolic, really. A kid from nothing, trying to restore the greatest club in the world, surrounded by men who often cared more about their next sponsorship deal than their next trophy.
He grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat — a habit he never shook off from Sunday league days — and walked briskly toward the glass doors.
Inside, the mood was… weird.
Half the staff smiled and nodded, energized by the ownership change. The other half avoided eye contact like guilty dogs. Ethan understood. Change made people nervous — especially when it came with audits, accountability, and the end of easy rides.
Waiting in the corridor was Ellie Greenwood, his sharp-witted chief of staff, holding a coffee in one hand and a thick file in the other.
"They're splitting," she said without preamble.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Splitting? Like a boy band?"
"Worse," she said, handing him the file. "Committed versus Comfortable. You're going to feel it today."
He flipped open the folder — names highlighted in green, yellow, and an ominous red. Green: Future cornerstones. Yellow: Work in progress. Red: Cut candidates.
At the top of the green list: Marcus Rashford, Kobbie Mainoo, Alejandro Garnacho.
At the top of the red: Anthony Martial, Antony, a few others who shall remain nameless for now to avoid vomiting.
Ethan sighed. "Perfect. Another civil war, and it's not even Christmas."
On the Training Pitch
Training that day was supposed to be high-intensity ball work. Instead, it looked like two separate clubs sharing the same grass.
On one side: Rashford, Bruno, Mainoo, Garnacho — flying into challenges, barking encouragement, demanding better from themselves and others.
On the other side: Martial strolling like it was a Sunday in the park, Antony practicing stepovers with the enthusiasm of a teenager filming a TikTok challenge, and a few others jogging half-heartedly around cones.
Erik ten Hag stood at midfield, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek in frustration.
When Antony tried a ridiculous rainbow flick during a simple 3v2 drill — and lost possession — Ten Hag nearly exploded.
"Simple football!" he bellowed, voice echoing around Carrington like a fire alarm. "Pass. Move. Press. Not dance class!"
From the sidelines, Ethan watched tensely. This wasn't just a bad session. This was a mutiny-in-waiting.
Beside him, Mitchell, one of the younger analysts, muttered, "Honestly, boss, I think my nan moves quicker than Martial today."
Ethan smirked despite himself. "Tell your nan to bring her boots next week."
Small-Sided Chaos
Training shifted into small-sided games — United's tradition for building match sharpness.
Ten Hag split them: 'Green' players versus 'Red' players, but didn't tell them that.
Rashford led by example, pressing like a man possessed, dragging younger players with him. Garnacho, brimming with energy, left a senior defender on the floor with a cheeky nutmeg that had the watching staff howling.
Meanwhile, on the 'Red' side, Martial missed an open goal, then jogged back as if he'd just misplaced his car keys.
Bruno, usually composed, snapped.
"Are you kidding me?" he shouted, arms wide. "This is Manchester United, not Sunday brunch!"
The players laughed — some awkwardly, some genuinely. But the divide was plain as day.
Ethan leaned into Ellie. "Can we just Photoshop Martial into PSG's next kit already?"
"I'm two steps ahead," she whispered back. "Already working on his highlight reel. Using heavy editing."
The Emergency Meeting
After training, Ten Hag gathered the players inside the media room. The walls, lined with club legends — Best, Law, Charlton, Beckham, Rooney — seemed to glare down at the current squad with disapproval.
Ethan stood silently at the front, envelope in hand.
"This," he said, voice low but cutting, "is the future of Manchester United."
Murmurs rose immediately. A few players shifted in their seats. Martial slouched so far he practically slid off his chair.
"I don't care what your agent promises you," Ethan said, stepping forward. "I don't care if you cost £80 million or arrived for free. If you don't fight for this badge, you're out."
He dropped the envelope onto the table with a theatrical thud.
"This club," Ethan continued, "has been humiliated enough. No more."
He turned to Rashford, nodding slightly.
Marcus, to his credit, stood up without being asked.
"I grew up five minutes from Old Trafford," he said, voice steady. "I know what it means. If you're not willing to die for it on the pitch… leave. Simple."
You could hear a pin drop.
Bruno stood up next, slapping Rashford on the back. Mainoo and Garnacho followed.
The veterans stayed silent. Some looked nervous. Some, resentful.
Good, Ethan thought. Let them squirm.
"You've got one chance," Ten Hag added, deadly serious. "Show us you belong — or get out of our way."
Back to Work
The next few training sessions changed.
Not overnight. Not perfectly. But the energy shift was unmistakable.
Rashford trained like a man on a mission. Mainoo, eager to impress, tackled Bruno so hard during rondos that the senior players roared with laughter.
"Easy, young blood!" Bruno joked, rubbing his shin.
Meanwhile, Antony tried another trick… and was promptly flattened by a furious Lindelöf during a match simulation.
"Maybe save the TikTok for after you win a ball, yeah?" Lindelöf barked.
The squad laughed — even Ten Hag chuckled behind his clipboard.
Even better, the committed players — Rashford, Garnacho, Martinez, Bruno — started policing standards themselves. Players jogging back? Called out. Lazy in training games? Benched for the next drill.
Carrington was coming alive again.
Real standards. Real accountability.
Finally.
Media Firestorm
But, of course, this was Manchester United.
Nothing stayed private for long.
By evening, Ethan's "envelope speech" leaked online.
"New Owner Cross Slams Players: 'Fight or Uber Out'" screamed The Mirror.
"Cross Drops Hammer on Dressing Room Losers" howled The Daily Mail.
"Savage Speech Lights Fire at Manchester United" cheered The Athletic.
Even Twitter exploded with memes — Ethan photoshopped driving an Uber, Rashford holding a giant red eviction notice, Antony juggling Uber Eats bags.
Instead of being angry, Ethan laughed.
At least the message was clear:
This wasn't the old United anymore.
The Fan Reaction
Within 24 hours, banners started appearing at Old Trafford:
"Cross Believes. So Do We."
"No Passengers. No Excuses."
"FIGHT FOR THE BADGE."
Supporters' groups issued statements backing Ethan and Ten Hag. Fan podcasts buzzed with cautious optimism.
"Finally, someone's got the balls to clean house," one said.
"The standards are back. Let's see who survives," said another.
Not everyone was convinced, of course.
Some journalists spun narratives about player unrest.
Some agents leaked stories about 'mistreatment' behind the scenes.
But for the first time in years, Manchester United wasn't being laughed at.
They were being watched.
Carefully.
Respectfully.
And maybe even a little nervously by the rest of the league.