The first team?
Steve Bruce?
Zayn opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
For a moment, he had no idea what to say.
Cowans had expected this reaction.
He picked up the teacup on the table and took a sip, letting Zayn “enjoy” the moment a little longer before explaining at an unhurried pace.
“Zayn, I understand your excitement.
But calm down.
“If you’d been paying attention to the first team, you wouldn’t be so surprised.”
Ashby glanced at Zayn’s expression from the side.
The boy did not look all that “excited” to him.
Zayn really was not excited.
In fact, he felt terrible.
With his newly signed contract, there was a very good chance he would be first on the U18 weekly wage ranking.
That meant enjoying a 300% Realization Rate bonus.
But he had not even tasted the benefit yet.
Why was he suddenly being sent to the first team?
What kind of weekly wages did first-team players earn?
Villa’s highest earner right now was John Terry, who had joined on a free transfer from Chelsea this season.
Sixty thousand pounds a week.
Forty times Zayn’s £1,500.
If a small fry like him went to the first team, he would most likely drop straight to the bottom of the squad’s weekly wage ranking and “enjoy” the 25% Realization Rate penalty for being ranked outside the top twenty-five.
This wasn’t just a step up to a bigger pond.
It was being thrown into the ocean as plankton.
The office fell silent.
Cowans also noticed that something was wrong with Zayn.
What was going on?
A seventeen-year-old academy player, personally invited by the first-team manager to train with the senior squad.
Shouldn’t the normal reaction be absolute joy?
The old man had seen all kinds of young players.
Some hid their excitement behind silence.
Some disguised nerves as indifference.
But the look on Zayn’s face was neither joy nor an act.
It looked more like… sadness?
Wasn’t this good news?
Why the hell was the kid looking sad?
Did he think Cowans was messing with him?
Cowans decided to explain things properly.
“Zayn, have you not been following the news lately?”
“I have. The Birmingham Mail said I won the Golden Boot,” Zayn answered honestly.
Ashby rolled his eyes beside him.
“Kid, do you know who our first-team starting forward is?”
Zayn shook his head.
Lately, he had been busy signing endorsement deals in Chinatown and scoring goals for the national youth team.
He really had not paid much attention to the first team.
Zayn had heard that name plenty of times while asking around about the U18 squad’s wage ranking.
The player who had received the highest weekly wage in Villa U18 history, £2,000 back in 2015.
But Keinan was only two years older than Zayn and had only been promoted to the first team at the beginning of the year.
Wasn’t Villa pushing hard for promotion?
Why would they let him start?
Cowans saw Zayn’s confusion and began to explain.
“Poor Bruce. Since November, his forwards have been dropping one after another.”
“Top scorer Jonathan Kodjia scored nineteen league goals last season. He was the team’s main man. During this international break, he returned to Ivory Coast training, and an old ankle injury flared up. He needs surgery. His season is basically over.”
“Scott Hogan, the forward brought in for £15 million this January, had intestinal surgery earlier this month. He’ll miss almost the entire Christmas schedule.”
“Gabriel Agbonlahor, our loyal veteran, could still have filled in for a while. But he picked up a calf injury, his recovery has been slow, and there’s no set date for his return.”
“Ross McCormack was loaned to the A-League in the summer window. He isn’t in the squad.”
“Rushian Hepburn-Murphy, a young forward, has only just recovered from a knee injury and still isn’t match fit.”
“So, Zayn, what does Villa’s first-team forward line look like right now?”
Cowans raised one finger.
“Across the entire squad, there is only one healthy forward available to play. Keinan Davis.”
Ashby picked up where he left off.
“But Keinan has some minor issues too. After the last match, his hamstring felt tight, and the medical team recommended resting him.”
At this point, a very subtle expression appeared on the academy manager’s face.
“So in last week’s match, Bruce had no choice but to field a… strikerless formation.”
“A strikerless formation.”
Cowans repeated the three words with the pained tone of an old-school English football man.
Steve Bruce was not a coach like Guardiola, someone devoted to a possession philosophy.
He was a traditional English 4-4-2 man.
Steady, pragmatic, built on defensive counterattacks and long balls.
The kind of coach who, when in doubt, told his players to lump it forward.
But now, he had been forced to play without a striker.
Zayn immediately understood just how short Villa were up front.
This was not merely a forward shortage.
This was a full-blown disaster.
Bruce probably woke up every morning and sighed at the forward list.
Cowans watched Zayn’s expression change again and again, then finally could not hold back.
“Zayn, what exactly is wrong with you? For any academy player, this is a dream opportunity. Aren’t you happy?”
Zayn snapped back to himself and realized his reaction was abnormal.
“It’s not that I’m unhappy.
Being able to train with the first team is obviously a good thing.
He carefully chose his words.
“Well… I’ve only been playing forward for three weeks. There’s still a lot I haven’t worked on properly. This came too fast. So fast that even I feel a little panicked. I want to polish myself more first.”
After he said that, Cowans looked at him differently.
A hint of emotion appeared in those eyes, clouded slightly by age.
He remembered the way the boy had stood before him three weeks ago and said, “Coach, I want to play forward.” He remembered the stubborn, all-or-nothing determination Zayn had shown when he asked to switch positions in front of the entire team in the dressing room.
And now, this boy who had just returned with the Golden Boot from England U17 was facing a call from the first team, and his first reaction was to worry that he was not ready enough.
At this age, nine out of ten players who achieved this much would already be floating.
The remaining one would be busy posting his goal highlights on social media.
But Zayn was saying, I still haven’t trained enough.
That mentality, that clarity, that attitude…
Sometimes, what determined how far a player could go was never just talent.
It was also the mindset with which he caught an opportunity when fate suddenly threw it straight at his face.
“Zayn,” Cowans said solemnly, “I’ve seriously underestimated how mature your mentality is.”
Ashby also sighed with feeling from the side.
“Too many kids start floating after a couple of compliments. You’re the first one I’ve seen who becomes calmer after hearing good news.”
Zayn smiled, but his heart was bleeding.
He just wanted the 300% bonus, not 25%.
Cowans stood up and patted Zayn on the shoulder.
“Bruce isn’t asking you to start for the first team right now. He’s asking you to train with the squad. This is a step-by-step process, not throwing you in as an emergency firefighter.”
Zayn took a deep breath inwardly.
Although he had not managed to enjoy the 300% bonus, the 15% Realization Rate reward from the main quest was still waiting for him.
So was the random Trait.
There was no way he could refuse such generous rewards.
He only felt a little regret over that 300% bonus.
Going to the first team was not necessarily a bad thing either.
If the Realization Rate penalty was 25%, then so be it.
It just meant his efforts would be discounted.
Besides, wasn’t the objective of his [Side Quest: The True Test] to win a non-youth match?
This was also an opportunity.
And if he could seize that opportunity and make something of it, a higher-paying contract would naturally follow.
At that point, he really would need to find a professional agent to look things over for him.
After all, first-team wage structures, contract clauses, endorsement splits, image rights, and everything else were far more complicated than anything in the U18s.
…
When George pushed the door open and walked in, he looked utterly delighted.
He had not expected Zayn to do so well.
In just half a month, George had been called to Bodymoor Heath twice, and his son’s wages had multiplied several times over.
But why did his good son’s smile look so awkward?
It looked uglier than crying.