“Paul, I don’t understand why you made Tomás the core of this passing and running drill. You saw the youth report I filed on the kid. He doesn’t have the ability or the potential to stay at Manchester United.” The speaker was Tom Martin, head coach of Manchester United’s U16 academy.
“Tom, I take your report seriously. You’re a professional, dedicated coach, and I don’t doubt a word of it.” Paul McGuinness looked at him and smiled.
“You wrote that Ferreira’s passing is decent, but his mentality is poor. Whether it’s a match or training, he never shows his real level. That has to be frustrating for you too, doesn’t it?”
Tom Martin nodded.
He let out a quiet breath.
He wasn’t the type to write off a young player for no reason, and McGuinness clearly didn’t think he was either.
“Yeah. I tried to get him to relax, but it didn’t take. Eventually I gave up. He isn’t cut out to be a professional. He’s seventeen now, he has other options. He could be a doctor, an artist, a scientist even. Football just isn’t his thing.”
McGuinness believed him.
Tom Martin was a professional coach.
Just yesterday, when Sir Alex Ferguson showed interest in the kid, Martin had told him the exact same thing.
Usually, once Martin wrote a player off, nobody else bothered chasing him.
There was no point, and it only ruffled feathers.
But Sir Alex Ferguson’s continued interest couldn’t just be waved off.
For McGuinness, it cost nothing either way.
If the boy really was as hopeless as Martin said, at least he would have an answer ready for Sir Alex.
“Maybe he’ll surprise us.”
Since nobody was questioning his professionalism, Martin let it go.
“Let’s hope so,” he said.
Could I really have misjudged a talent?
Out on the training field, Rashford gripped Tomás’s trembling shoulders.
“Brother, no nerves this time,” he shouted.
“This is the moment that changes your life, your family’s whole future. Listen to your heart!” He let go and thumped Tomás twice in the chest.
“I’ll run a bit slower on purpose. It’s fine if the pass isn’t perfect, but you have to be brave enough to actually send it to me. Nobody can stop me. Remember that. Nobody can stop me.”
Tomás shook his head quickly.
“Marcus, you don’t need to run slower on purpose.”
Rashford smiled.
“Even slowed down, I’ll still be the fastest one out there. This drill matters for you. It doesn’t change anything for me. Don’t worry about me, worry about yourself. Just do your best.”
Tomás nodded.
“I know.”
Academy coach Danny Keough directed the players into position.
Tomás stood in the center circle, flanked by the two teammates who would feed him the ball: his fourteen-year-old rival Joe Palmer, and another fourteen-year-old defensive midfielder, Melle Mullensteen.
They would send him the ball from both sides.
Tomás’s job was to find a teammate making a run past the defense.
Rashford attacked on the left, marked by fifteen-year-old defender Rankin Costello.
On the right, the attacker was Tosin Kehinde, marked by sixteen-year-old defender Jimmy Dunn.
Through the middle, sixteen-year-old Sam Smith and fourteen-year-old Dwight McNeil worked as striker and attacking midfielder, marked by Charlie Scott and Axel Tuanzebe.
This passing-and-movement drill didn’t just test his passing.
It tested both attack and defense.
It was the best test of a player’s overall game that training could offer.
All twenty-some players on the pitch, plus the substitutes waiting on the sideline, shifted their weight and bounced on their toes, ready to begin.
This was the single most important session before the trial match against the U18s.
On his left, Melle Mullensteen rubbed the back of his neck.
“Tomás, you know I play defensive mid, so my passes to you might not be perfect. Just take an extra touch before you move it on, if you need to.”
Tomás nodded.
Mullensteen was a typical Dutchman: only fourteen, and already tall and broad-shouldered.
The coaches thought he lacked the touch for defensive midfield and wanted to shift him to center-back.
Bad passes were fine, as long as Tomás had a heads-up to prepare for them.
Even if Mullensteen hadn’t said anything, Tomás would have been ready.
They weren’t close, but they were academy teammates.
Still, it took guts to flag a weakness before a session like this.
It fit right in with Dutch bluntness.
Tomás looked over at Joe Palmer on his other side.
“No problem on my end,” Palmer said, his expression blank.
Tomás nodded.
Joe Palmer, a promising young midfielder.
Affinity: 0%.
Basic information available.
Tomás scrolled through the limited data in his vision and spotted Palmer’s Passing rating.
And he’s only fourteen.
No wonder this kid was his rival.
He was the reason Tomás spent so much time glued to the bench.
Fair enough, they were rivals, but did that justify a flat zero on favorability?
Zero was the kind of number for a total stranger, someone like Januzaj, not a teammate he had trained alongside for years.
“Guys, ready?” Keough called out.
“Right, let’s begin!”
At the whistle, every player sprang into motion.
Players defended on the run.
They grabbed jerseys, shoved shoulders, and blocked passing lanes.
They pushed, pulled, and fought to get free.
The pitch dissolved into chaos.
In the mess of bodies, there was no clean, well-prepared pass to make.
But there was one obvious answer: Rashford.
If I just keep feeding Marcus every time, I’m going to get marked down for it, aren’t I?
Mullensteen sent the ball over.
Tomás didn’t send it straight on.
He took a touch first to settle it.
Up ahead, Rashford had already shaken off Costello and raised a hand, calling for the pass.
Even holding back on purpose, Rashford was in a class of his own.
Watching him sprint, Tomás felt his chest tighten.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
Blood rushed in his ears, and heat flooded his muscles.
Is this what an adrenaline rush actually feels like?
[Lion Heart LV2.]
It was incredible.
Football had never felt this good.
He ignored Rashford’s run.
Tomás locked his ankle and snapped his foot through the ball.
A solid thud echoed off his boot.
The ball didn’t go left.
It sailed toward the striker, Sam Smith.
Everyone knew what Smith could do in the air.
With Rashford dragging the defense out of position, getting on the end of the cross was easy.
Smith launched himself forward.
His diving header beat Ben Pierce and found the back of the net.
Smith scrambled up from the grass, his face flushed red.
“Who said I’m playing defense? I’m a striker!” he yelled, pumping his fists.
“A striker! I’m the best striker at Manchester United!”
After shouting himself hoarse, Smith turned back to the center circle.
“Tomás, that was a beautiful pass!”
Tomás raised a thumb.
Drilling with Smith had made that pass instinctual.
He realized, looking around, that he knew the exact tendencies of every forward on the pitch.
“This isn’t a regulation pitch and there’s no real defensive pressure out here, but a ball like that, over the top and onto the striker’s head, most players can’t pull that off. That’s a guiding pass.”
As the defense had leaned toward Rashford’s side, Tomás had switched play with a long ball over the top to the right.
Paul McGuinness smiled from the touchline.
Even at the U18 level, not many midfielders could execute a pass like that.
“I thought he’d go to Rashford,” Martin muttered.
He stared at the pitch, his brow furrowed.
Was this the same Tomás he knew?
Out on the field, the boy’s shoulders were relaxed.
He looked nothing like the nervous wreck Martin saw at the academy every day.
His jaw remained tight, but his footwork on the ball was accurate, sharp, and decisive.
Just as Tomás found his rhythm, McGuinness shouted from the sidelines.
“Switching. Tyler Reed, get tight on Ferreira’s passing lanes! Ferreira, you good?”
“No problem!” Tomás called back.
Tomás’s mind and body hummed with energy.
Under real defensive pressure, his passing accuracy dropped.
He started turning the ball over.
It was a normal reaction.
Even a superstar midfielder struggled to pass cleanly under pressure without adequate support.
McGuinness wasn’t grading his completion rate anymore.
He was watching to see if Tomás could execute under pressure at all.
When Tomás shielded the ball from Reed, turned, and found a forward through a tight lane, McGuinness clapped his hands.
“Alright, that’s training!”
The whistle blew.
Rashford rushed over, grabbing Tomás’s hand to pull him up from the turf after a late challenge had put him down mid-pass.
“Dude, you were incredible today!”
Tomás shook his head and wiped sweat from his forehead.
“I still made too many mistakes near the end.”
“That was good. Really good. Does it hurt?”
Tomás brushed the grass off his shorts.
“Doesn’t hurt at all.”
Near the sideline, McGuinness glanced over.
“Tom, how are you holding up?”
Martin let out a quiet sigh.
“Paul, you’re right.” He might have misjudged the kid entirely.
“His forced passes still need work,” Martin added.
McGuinness’s smile faded.
He nodded.
“Let’s not rush it. It’s not an official match yet.”
Martin stared at him.
“Paul, are you saying you want to keep focusing on Tomás?”
[Ding! Congratulations, daily mission complete: pass to ten different teammates. Passing experience +20.]
[Ding! Congratulations, you have excellently completed Paul McGuinness’s mission, ‘A Qualified Dealer.’ McGuinness is very pleased with your performance. Reward: McGuinness’s favorability +15, Passing experience +50.]
Tomás blinked.
Very pleased?
He grinned.
Very pleased.
Maybe, even without Rashford pulling strings, he could make the U18s the honest way.
He could stay at the club on his own merit.
He straightened his shoulders.
Next up: the trial match against the U18 side.
He didn’t expect to start.
But surely, he would at least get some minutes on the pitch.