“Look at that.
Sixteen years old, and he’s already fitting in with the squad.”
Sporting director Daniele Pradè watched Ethan Cross chatting easily with his new teammates and found something to praise.
But it was less praise than Pradè desperately searching for any angle to make this underwhelming transfer look better.
“Let’s hope that isn’t his only quality.”
Manager Vincenzo Montella looked defeated.
He still held a sliver of expectation for Ethan.
Then his assistant handed him the freshly completed medical report.
That sliver died.
“I assumed an English academy product would at least have solid physical attributes.”
“Apparently I was wrong.”
Montella shook his head as he scanned the numbers.
Pradè leaned over to look, and his face tightened too.
At 1.86 meters and 80 kilograms, Ethan was a big presence for a midfielder.
But the report showed his strength was only average.
Nothing special.
His speed and explosiveness were even less impressive.
Weaker than his strength, in fact.
The results left Montella’s heart cold.
On the walk over, he had already prepared himself for the worst.
Ethan was sixteen, with no senior match experience.
But if the kid was big and physically dominant, Montella could at least mold him into a useful tool in the short term.
Someone to add steel to the midfield.
At minimum, he could contribute defensively.
The team needed a technical midfielder, a passing brain.
That was the real priority.
But getting any contribution from a sixteen-year-old rookie would already be a win.
Now reality looked worse than Montella had imagined.
This kid probably couldn’t even serve as a defensive stopgap. The source of this chapter is g.com.
“Ethan, it’s your first day.
You seem to know everyone already.
Jump straight into training with the squad.”
Disappointed as he was, the season wasn’t waiting.
Montella’s only move was to get Ethan familiar with the team and up to speed as fast as possible.
When the kid would actually be ready to play?
That was anyone’s guess.
“Coach, Ethan hasn’t shown us his specialty yet.”
The words came from Juan Cuadrado, Fiorentina’s right-sided attacking threat.
The training ground went quiet.
The “specialty” Cuadrado mentioned was a Fiorentina tradition for new arrivals.
Each new player demonstrated the one skill they considered their strongest.
Salah, who had arrived on loan just days earlier, had shown off his blistering pace and acceleration to loud applause.
The tradition gave the veterans a quick read on a new teammate’s strengths.
If a player was average, or even embarrassed himself during the demonstration, the older players would crack a few jokes and move on.
It usually brought the group closer.
That was why the tradition had survived for years.
But right now, it felt badly timed.
Borja Valero, the team’s attacking midfield engine, was out for the season.
The club desperately needed a serious replacement.
A sixteen-year-old with no professional experience was nowhere near what anyone had in mind.
Losing a key midfielder with no reliable cover had already sealed Fiorentina’s grim outlook for the second half of the season.
Ethan’s ability already fell short of expectations.
And Montella had spent the entire medical report looking grim.
Asking Ethan to demonstrate his specialty now was practically inviting embarrassment.
And that embarrassment would pour salt directly into the wound of the club’s failed midfield signing.
Cuadrado, who always spoke before thinking, finally sensed the shift in the air.
“Captain, did I say something wrong?”
Manuel Pasqual shot him a look.
“What do you think?”
The silence stretched for two or three seconds.
Montella glared at Cuadrado, ready to pretend he hadn’t heard and move on.
But Ethan, oblivious to the tension, answered without hesitation.
“Show my specialty?
Someone mentioned it earlier.
My specialty is passing.
Right now, specifically short passing.”
Every face on the training ground changed.
Because they were standing on Training Pitch One, the main passing practice area.
Montella was one of Serie A’s young, modern managers.
He believed in technical, ground-based football.
Passing was the skill he valued most and drilled hardest.
The injured Valero had been the team’s attacking organizer, one of the best passers in the squad.
And now Ethan was claiming passing as his specialty.
He had walked straight into the crossfire.
Worse, he had specifically emphasized short passing.
Because just behind them sat the team’s short-passing training equipment.
The words were out.
The equipment was right there.
At this point, Ethan had no way to avoid demonstrating.
Montella shook his head in resignation.
He had wanted to spare the kid some embarrassment.
But the moment had arrived anyway.
The medical report showed physical metrics, not passing ability.
Still, Montella didn’t take Ethan’s claim seriously.
A sixteen-year-old with only youth league experience.
How good could his so-called specialty possibly be?
If Ethan’s passing reached the average level of Fiorentina’s first team, Montella would already be thanking his luck.