“Bill Vance, what’s the story with these three academy kids you sent up?”
“The forward’s movement is a mess, and his finishing is a liability.”
“The defender gets bullied off every ball.
Soft.”
“And that midfielder can’t even keep possession.
His passing is an eyesore.”
On the Tottenham first-team training ground, manager Mauricio Pochettino was not hiding his frustration.
Standing beside him, academy director Bill Vance looked deeply embarrassed.
“I heard there was a talented young midfielder in the academy.
Made the U18 league’s Best XI not long ago.
Why haven’t I seen him?”
Pochettino had taken over from Tim Sherwood six months earlier.
His entire preseason focus had been on the first team.
He hadn’t had time to look closely at the academy yet.
“There was a player like that.
But his character is rotten.
Five days ago, he attacked someone on the training ground.
This swelling on my face?
That was him.”
“He’s been terminated and thrown out of the academy.”
“Besides, his ability was never what the rumors made it out to be.
Just the English media exaggerating, as usual.”
Bill Vance piled it on, throwing as much dirt on Ethan Cross as he could.
“Terminated?
I saw a report yesterday about an academy player Tottenham cut, who was then taken to Liverpool by Gerrard and signed immediately.
Is that the same player?”
“Yes.
That’s him.”
“Liverpool’s season has been a disaster.
No reliable signings this winter, so they’re pinning their hopes on the garbage we threw away.
It’s laughable.”
“I heard the kid signed with Liverpool and was immediately loaned out to Fiorentina in Serie A.
Just proves he doesn’t have the quality.
No chance of being an immediate contributor for them.”
Pochettino nodded and put the matter out of his mind.
But not far away, Harry Kane had heard every word.
His face was full of surprise.
Five days ago?
Gerrard?
That was the day Gerrard had come to see him for a drink.
Gerrard had been acting strange all afternoon, grinning at nothing.
Kane still couldn’t make sense of it.
Could it have been connected to that academy player?
Italy.
Florence.
January on the Italian peninsula.
The cold was thorough, and the damp chill of the Mediterranean winter made Florence feel even quieter and more still.
The miserable wet weather had a lot in common with England.
Ethan Cross found it easy to adjust.
He stepped out of the airport terminal and caught a cab.
“To Fiorentina’s training ground, please.”
Now he was on his way to report to Fiorentina.
The anticipation of the unknown always brought excitement.
That was exactly what Ethan felt now.
The cab crossed the Arno River.
Ethan stared out the window, taking in the city.
The cradle of the European Renaissance.
Florence was one of the continent’s great historic cultural cities.
Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Dante.
All had lived and worked here.
The medieval and Renaissance architecture outside the window told the story of the city without needing a single word.
“Young man, coming to Florence to play football?
Good future ahead of you.”
The driver smiled as he spoke.
The Fiorentina crest hanging from the rearview mirror, the Batistuta figurine on the dashboard.
The middle-aged driver was clearly a lifelong Fiorentina supporter.
Once part of the famous “Seven Sisters” of Serie A, back when the league was called the “little World Cup,” Fiorentina had never had the heavyweight status of Juventus or the Milan clubs.
But they had always been a competitive force in Serie A, and the city’s football culture ran deep.
The local paper, the Florence Courier, had once run a survey.
In this mid-sized Italian city, one in every four people was a devoted Fiorentina fan.
Ethan nodded.
“Loaned to Fiorentina for the second half of the season.
Hoping to make an impact.”
“Ah!
So it’s you!
Ren!”
The driver’s reaction startled Ethan.
Wait.
I haven’t even played a minute yet.
My name already carries weight here?
Fans in this city already know who I am?
The conversation that followed made it clear.
His name was known, but mostly because of the frustration burning through the Fiorentina fanbase.
Fiorentina’s midfield orchestrator, Borja Valero, had suffered a serious injury and was out for the season.
And this season, Fiorentina wasn’t just fighting in the league.
They also had Europa League matches.
Reinforcing the midfield was the most critical job of the winter window.
But Fiorentina wasn’t a club with deep pockets.
Their financial situation was grim.
There was simply no money for a major signing this winter.
So when the window neared its close and the only midfield addition was a sixteen-year-old kid on a free loan from Liverpool, the entire Fiorentina fanbase exploded.
Valero had been the absolute attacking heartbeat of the team in the first half of the season.
In the fans’ eyes, if the club wanted a strong league finish and a real run in the Europa League, they needed to bring in a midfielder of comparable quality.
Ethan Cross, with zero top-flight experience, was nowhere near what the supporters had in mind.
From the fans’ perspective, the club’s transfer work was a joke.
Many were now deeply pessimistic about the second half of the season.
Wrapped in that deep pessimism, the driver spoke again.
“Work hard, young man.”
“Like most people, I’m disappointed with the club’s winter business.”
“But Fiorentina has never been a rich club.
Maybe we shouldn’t have set our expectations so high to begin with.”
“In life, you don’t always get what you want.”
The cab pulled up to the destination.
The driver waved his hand.
“The fare’s on me.” This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“I hope this season goes well for you in Florence.”
“A sixteen-year-old trying to make it in Serie A.
Your situation might be the hardest of all.”
“I hope I see you in a Fiorentina shirt soon.
Give me something to brag about to my friends.”
“Daniele, are you sure there are no other reinforcements coming?”
“We’re fighting on multiple fronts this season.
The Europa League knockout rounds are critical.”
“Losing Valero is a fatal blow.
I’m not asking the club to sign some big-name star to replace him.”
“But at least give me a player I can actually use.”
“A sixteen-year-old nobody from Liverpool.
Only youth-team experience.
Never played a minute in a top-five league.
This is beyond unreliable.”
Inside the sporting director’s office, manager Vincenzo Montella was visibly unhappy.
Standing before him, sporting director Daniele Pradè wore an expression of pure helplessness.
“Montella, there’s nothing I can do.
The club has no transfer funds.
Even this sixteen-year-old, we got on a free loan.”
No loan fee.
No salary contribution.
A completely cost-free deal.
Daniele Pradè had never held much hope when he sent out the request.
When Liverpool actually responded, he had been thrilled.
Then he realized he had celebrated too soon.
He never imagined Liverpool would play it this ruthlessly.
He had expected them to send a young player for development.
But this young?
A pure academy kid who had never even played a senior match?
If the club had any money at all, if any of the other free-loan requests had been accepted, Daniele Pradè would have sent Ethan Cross straight back.
But the kid was here now.
This was what they had.
And as the saying went, even a mosquito leg was still meat.
“Director Pradè, Coach Montella, the sixteen-year-old has arrived.
He’s at the training ground now,” the assistant said from the doorway.
“Let’s go.
Have a look.
He’s a new signing.
We should introduce him to the squad.”
“There’s training afterward.
We’ll get a chance to see what this player is made of.”
“Montella, I know the signing didn’t meet your expectations.
But he’s still a new player.
When you meet him, smile a little.
Be happy.
Don’t stand there with a stone face.”
Montella, looking utterly defeated, shot Daniele a look that said, Are you serious?
“Happy?
Smile?”
“Just make sure I don’t cry, alright?”