The ball was already moving when Marcus Hale checked his footing.
Sixteen minutes gone. No goals. Too much noise.
"STAY UP!" someone shouted from the sideline.
Marcus ignored it.
He dropped five yards instead, sliding into the pocket the opposition midfield kept forgetting to seal. The centre-back tracked him for a step, then stopped, unsure. The pass came late. Marcus took it anyway, half-turned, already bracing.
Contact arrived instantly.
Studs clipped his ankle. A shoulder crushed into his ribs. The ball skidded free.
"FUCK'S SAKE, MARCUS," the right winger snapped as play moved on. "YOU'RE A NINE."
The referee waved it away.
Marcus pushed himself up slowly. His chest burned, not from the hit. From the number on his back.
Nine.
They wanted him high. Central. Waiting.
That wasn't how he played.
The opposition switched the ball quickly. Two passes. A diagonal. Their winger burst past the fullback. Marcus chased, lungs tightening as he tracked back.
Too late.
Low cross. One touch. Finish.
GOAL.
The net rippled cleanly.
Groans followed.
Score: Manchester United Academy 0 – 1 Opponent
The captain rounded on him immediately.
"YOU'RE THE STRIKER," he barked. "WHY ARE YOU BACK THERE?"
Marcus wiped sweat from his eyes. "Then give me the ball," he said.
"JUST STAY UP."
Kickoff restarted without resolution.
Marcus stopped asking.
Instead, he watched.
He noticed the same thing twice. Then a third time. The opposition centre-back stepping forward every time Marcus dropped. Not aggressive. Just cautious.
That hesitation was enough.
Twenty-second minute.
Marcus dropped again. This time the defender followed fully.
Space opened behind.
Marcus received under pressure, rolled the ball with his sole, and slipped it first-time into the channel.
Perfect weight.
The winger was through.
Shot.
Save.
The groan was louder this time.
No one turned toward Marcus.
The keeper launched the ball long. The midfield turned ugly. Shirt pulls. Late nudges. Marcus took another hit, deliberate this time.
The centre-back leaned in. "DECIDE WHAT YOU ARE," he whispered.
Marcus looked at him. "I already have."
Twenty-ninth minute.
Marcus dropped again. Same movement. Same defender.
This time he didn't turn.
He shielded. Waited. Let the pressure stack.
Then released it.
One-touch layoff into space.
The winger hit it early.
GOAL.
Score: Manchester United Academy 1 – 1 Opponent
The celebration exploded near the corner flag. Arms raised. Shouts. Fists pumping.
Marcus jogged back toward the centre circle.
No one mentioned the pass.
The centre-back shoved him as they reset. Marcus shoved back harder.
The referee was there instantly.
"ENOUGH," he warned. "NEXT ONE'S A CARD."
Marcus nodded once.
Thirty-sixth minute.
Corner chaos.
The ball dropped loose in the box. Marcus sprinted near post, cutting across his marker. He arrived early. Too early.
The ball deflected instead, spinning away from him.
Another striker slammed it in from a yard out.
GOAL.
Score: Manchester United Academy 2 – 1 Opponent
The crowd roared.
Marcus stood still for a second longer than necessary.
That sprint mattered. Even if the goal wasn't his.
The opposition pressed harder after conceding. Their midfield snapped into tackles. Their fullbacks pushed high.
Marcus stopped chasing everything. He started pointing.
"LEFT."
"HOLD."
"WAIT."
The captain glanced back, surprised, then followed the call.
The press broke. A foul was drawn. Tempo slowed.
The coach folded his arms. Watched.
Halftime came with one last shove from behind. Marcus earned a free kick, then the whistle.
Half-Time Score: Manchester United Academy 2 – 1 Opponent
The second half started faster. Angrier.
The opposition came out pressing high, trying to force mistakes. Marcus dropped even deeper now, almost into midfield. The shouts came immediately.
"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYING?"
Marcus didn't answer.
Fifty-first minute.
He received with two men on him. Turned once. Slipped between them. Drew a foul.
The centre-back wasn't smiling anymore.
Fifty-seventh minute.
A mistimed press. A quick switch.
The opposition winger cut inside and smashed it low.
GOAL.
Score: Manchester United Academy 2 – 2 Opponent
The stadium went quiet.
The captain slammed his hands together. "WAKE UP!"
The next ten minutes were chaos.
Tackles flew. Words followed. Marcus was clipped again, then clipped back.
Sixty-fourth minute.
The centre-back lunged late.
Marcus stayed down for a second. Then got up and shoved him.
"ARE YOU BLIND?" the defender shouted.
The referee sprinted in.
Yellow card.
Marcus exhaled slowly. That was close.
Sixty-eighth minute.
The moment came again.
Marcus dropped. The defender followed. The line broke.
Marcus spun.
Two strides. Space opened.
He burst forward, short sprint, ball glued to his feet. Drew both centre-backs.
At the last second, he slipped it wide.
The winger crossed first-time.
Tap-in.
GOAL.
Score: Manchester United Academy 3 – 2 Opponent
This time, someone pointed at Marcus.
"GOOD BALL."
It wasn't loud. But it counted.
The opposition threw everything forward in the final ten minutes. Long balls. Crosses. Shouts.
Marcus tracked back once more. Intercepted a cutback. Cleared it himself.
Eighty-ninth minute.
One last counter.
Marcus received near the halfway line, back to goal. He felt the pressure, waited, then turned away cleanly. Drew a foul.
He stayed down longer this time.
The whistle blew moments later.
FULL-TIME SCORE: Manchester United Academy 3 – 2 Opponent
Marcus stood still as the others celebrated.
No goals. One assist. Countless arguments.
The coach caught his eye briefly. Just a look.
Marcus turned toward the tunnel, chest still tight.
None of this counted yet.
But when football finally started keeping score,
He'd be ready.
[This novel is going to have stats, playstyles, fights, arcs, subtle romance, the journey of him going pro is going to be amazing trust me, everything u can expect from a football novel, just that the stats will be revealed at the right time
Kindly support and help me make this one big.]