The win over Wolves had done more than give Middlesbrough three points — it had set the city alight.
Local papers ran headlines calling Jake Ashbourne "the conductor ". Fans flooded social media with clips of his passes, each one dissected like rare works of art.
Training felt different now. Players moved sharper, laughed louder, and fought harder in drills. Even the veterans seemed to find an extra gear.
Jake kept working after practice, staying behind to run his own drills — quick touches, tight turns, disguised passes. But there was one thing that frustrated him: his progress didn't feel fast enough.
That's when Mark Marrow walked over.
"You can't just grind the same drills alone," Marrow said, voice calm but firm. "From now on, you stick to tactical sessions and scrimmages with the team. The rest of the time, you'll be with Thomas — best technical coach I've ever worked with. You've got the touch, Jake. Now we sharpen it."
Thomas, a bald, sharp-eyed man in his late fifties, stepped forward. He looked Jake up and down, grinning.
"I don't usually work with kids. But I watched your game the other night. I'm curious what happens when raw talent meets real polish."
Jake smirked. "Let's find out."
For the next few days, Thomas drilled him on details — first-touch angles, disguised body feints, hip positioning before a pass. Jake soaked it up fast, his mind processing concepts like he'd been here before.
---
Far away, in an online football forum, Jake's highlights from the Wolves match began to spread.
"In the 13th round, Middlesbrough 3–2 Wolves. Jake Ashbourne with a hat-trick of assists to turn the game around !"
The clips — three perfectly weighted passes — played on loop.
The comments ranged from awe to disbelief:
"Is this guy for real?"
"That vision… not normal."
"He's American? No way — this looks like something out of La Liga."
Most Championship matches barely got noticed overseas, but now a niche corner of the football world had its eye on Jake.
---
Back in England, the next challenge loomed: Watford, league leaders, and the best midfield unit in the Championship. Their playmaker could run a game on his own, and their double pivot was Premier League quality.
Marrow knew the stakes. Jake's last game proved he could start — but starting him here, at 16, against this kind of pressure? One bad half could shatter momentum.
So Marrow made his call: Jake would start on the bench. Let the others wear Watford down first.
When the team sheet came out, the home crowd erupted.
"Where's Jake?!"
"He's got to start!"
Jake sat quietly, eyes on the pitch. First start or not, his job was simple — be ready when called.
---
The match kicked off. Watford wasted no time imposing themselves. Within ten minutes, they'd pinned Middlesbrough deep, forcing save after save from the keeper. Their striker, Ighalo, already had three shots — two on target.
The fans could feel it. The chants started:
"Jake! Jake! Jake!"
Marrow glanced down the bench. He'd hoped to wait until halftime. But already, the match was slipping.
And Jake knew — his time was coming.
Mark Marrow could hear the chants from the stands getting louder.
The home fans wanted Jake Ashbourne on the pitch — and badly.
He knew it too.
Jake could change the game.
But it was barely ten minutes in, and Middlesbrough were already being strangled by Watford's press.
Still, Marrow held firm.
Stick to the first half plan.
Don't concede.
Don't panic.
---
The numbers were ugly.
Possession was 85–15 in Watford's favor.
Onakeke, Middlesbrough's lone striker, couldn't even get a touch unless he dropped deep into midfield.
It was Wolves all over again — only worse.
The league leaders were bullying a team scraping just above the relegation zone.
By the 30th minute, Marrow couldn't take it anymore.
If this went on, Middles wouldn't survive to halftime.
He turned and barked:
"Jake — warm up. You're going in."
Jake just nodded. He'd been ready the moment he stepped into the stadium.
When the crowd saw him jogging along the touchline, Riverside Stadium erupted in applause.
It was the opposite of his debut reception.
That's football — if you deliver, they love you. If you don't, they'll turn on you twice as fast.
---
Before Jake came on, Watford nearly made it worse — Ighalo's header clanged off the right post. The stadium gasped.
Marrow made his move.
Jake came on in the 29th minute, replacing Abdul in midfield.
Marrow leaned close before he stepped over the white line.
"Their press is vicious and their midfield's a fortress. I don't need you dribbling through them — I need you doing what you do best: sort our attacks, trust your vision, forget about defending."
It was risky — Jake's defensive work was still raw — but his passing could change everything.
---
Right away, Watford swarmed him with two players any time he got near the ball. Middles still couldn't keep it for long, so Jake waited, scanning for an opening.
A Watford free kick gave him a moment to speak to Onajeke.
"Run into space. I'll find you — even if it's behind their backline. Keep moving."
Onakeke grinned and thumped his chest.
"Just that ? than watch me."
---
When Middles regained the ball from the free kick, Ogilvy played it short to Jake.
Two yellow shirts closed in. Jake didn't hesitate — one quick pass, then he was off, sprinting forward.
Epson understood instantly — a wall pass.
Jake zipped it to him, Epson returned it first time, and Jake sent it wide to Ter on the left flank.
Finally — space.
Ter exploded forward, the Middles fans on their feet.
"Ter cuts inside — past Ian! One more defender to beat. Does he slip it to Onajeke or go himself?"
He went himself.
And got chopped down.
The whistle shrieked.
Free kick.
Just outside the box, left side.
Perfect for either a shot or a clever delivery.
---
Normally, Epson would take it.
But Jake stepped up beside him.
"I've got this one."
Epson hesitated, glanced at Marrow.
The coach gave a small nod.
Watford set up their wall, marking Onajeke like a shadow. They knew the danger — Jake's vision and Onajeke's finishing were a deadly combo. Shut one down, and you shut down Middles.
On paper, they'd succeeded.
The passing lane was gone.
No clean assist possible.
But Jake wasn't thinking about passing.
He had a secret weapon.