Beating a bigger, stronger force with a smaller one is next to impossible.
Scratch that.
It’s probably worse than that.
Given Tomás’s age, he should have gone through the promotion trial last year, alongside Ashley Fletcher, Scott McTominay, Dean Henderson, and Cameron Borthwick-Jackson.
That way, he would have spent a year in the U18 side before turning seventeen, giving him a full season to prove himself.
If he showed enough potential, the club would offer him a first professional contract, up to three years, once he turned seventeen.
The English FA rules capped a seventeen-year-old’s first professional contract at three years, with a maximum weekly wage of £1,000.
It was the Premier League’s infamous “child labor” contract.
Once a player turned eighteen, they could renew on normal terms: no wage cap, and no cap on contract length.
If Tomás were sixteen and still on a one-year mentorship deal, getting him into United’s U18 side would have taken one word from Paul McGuinness.
But now, Tomás needed a new contract for the U18s, and it couldn’t be an apprentice deal.
It had to be professional.
For a club like Manchester United, any professional contract required management’s sign-off.
Graduates from other academies could enter the U18 program at sixteen and get a full year to earn a professional deal.
Entering at fifteen gave a player two years.
Tomás, at seventeen, had no time left.
Why would anyone think he deserved a professional contract from Manchester United?
The real value of that first professional deal was never the £1,000 weekly salary.
It was the three-year development plan.
It meant a recommendation to the U21 side, a real foothold in professional football.
Other academy graduates only had to prove they belonged in the U18 side.
Tomás had to prove he was worthy of a professional contract with Manchester United.
It was a completely different level of difficulty.
Of this year’s graduating class, only Rashford and Tuanzebe had professional contracts guaranteed.
The four graduates from the year before who made it—Fletcher, McTominay, Henderson, and Borthwick-Jackson—had all been standout talents.
It took them a full year to prove they deserved their deals.
Once they signed, they were moving straight up to the U21s next season.
That was why Rashford said the U18 squad was getting cleared out.
The previous graduates were moving up.
Staying in the U18s any longer didn’t make sense for them.
“Tomás, you need to prove yourself, and fast, at the level of Fletcher, McTominay, Henderson, and Jackson. That way, I can convince the club to give you a professional contract.” McGuinness leaned back in his chair.
“That’s why I tested your ability to pass under pressure. If you don’t have it, you don’t get a professional contract. You’ll have to leave.”
His mentorship contract had ended on his seventeenth birthday.
He was a free agent trialing with Manchester United.
He had one week.
“Fortunately, you have that ability now. Your passing is outstanding, even at U18 level. Better than McTominay’s, if I’m honest.” McGuinness paused.
“But passing well enough isn’t going to be enough. You have to prove you can actually play the game too, understand?”
Tomás nodded.
“Thank you, sir.”
McGuinness smiled and shook his head.
“I heard about you from Tom. Nervous kid, sensitive too. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You need to believe you’re a talent, every bit as good as anyone else out there. And even if you fail this test, I’ll use what connections I have to find you a professional contract somewhere else in England. You’re a talent Sir Alex rates, part of Manchester United’s blood. Prove yourself somewhere else, and you’ll find your way back here.”
Tomás blinked.
“Sir Alex values me?”
He knew Sir Alex had noticed him because of Rashford.
Noticing was one thing.
Valuing was entirely different.
McGuinness had to be misunderstanding the situation.
Seeing his shock, McGuinness kept smiling.
“Trust Sir Alex’s judgment on this. He mentioned your name right alongside Rashford’s. As far as Sir Alex is concerned, you’re every bit the genius Rashford is.”
Rashford.
It always comes back to Marcus. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Tomás felt numb.
Riding on Rashford’s coattails had earned him attention he hadn’t worked for.
McGuinness chuckled.
Anyone who found out Sir Alex Ferguson rated them would probably look exactly like this.
He wasn’t surprised.
“I invited Nick Cox, John Murtough, and Ed Woodward to watch the trial match between the academy side and the U18 team this afternoon. I told them a real talent was found in the academy, and if he performs well, he could sign a professional contract today.”
Tomás’s muscles locked.
He didn’t track front-office politics, but he knew the names.
Ed Woodward was the club’s vice-chairman and top decision-maker on business and operations.
Every player contract required his sign-off.
John Murtough was the Director of Football Development, overseeing every academy age group.
He handled contract negotiations and renewals for youth players.
Nick Cox ran the academy’s day-to-day operations.
He didn’t negotiate contracts, but he was a key voice in assessing a player’s professional potential.
Based on his assessments, he would recommend to Murtough and Woodward who to keep.
McGuinness was putting him in front of all three of them at once.
Tomás wiped his palms on his shorts.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
He felt a sharp rush of adrenaline.
He was terrified, but he was also grateful.
This was the chance McGuinness had fought to get him.
It was a real shot.
If McGuinness hadn’t asked, Woodward and Murtough wouldn’t have wasted their time scouting a player the academy had already written off.
“Feeling a lot of pressure?” McGuinness asked.
“Yes.” Tomás nodded sharply.
McGuinness laughed.
“Feeling pressure is normal. Don’t blow this out of proportion. You’re Manchester United’s genius. Someday you’ll play a Champions League final and drag this club back to the top of Europe.”
The words hit Tomás like a physical weight.
“This isn’t what I expect of you,” McGuinness added, his smile fading.
He leaned forward.
“This is what Sir Alex expects of you.”
As a Manchester United player, one Sir Alex Ferguson believes in…
maybe I really should be thinking bigger.
Champions League, Premier League, all of it.
But he still had serious distance to cover before he could call himself a talent.
He had done well in the morning session, and it gave him confidence.
But real matches and training were two different animals.
Three PM.
The Cliff training ground.
As the home ground for United’s academy, U18, and U21 sides, it had stands that could hold a modest number of spectators.
The match drew a crowd of players’ families and local fans.
“Why is Ed Woodward here? Does a match like this really need him?”
“Why is he here instead of sacking Moyes?”
“Moyes, resign!”
“Glazers out!”
As Woodward arrived, the veteran fans in the stands let out a chorus of boos.
He looked used to it.
Up in the stands, Tomás’s parents sat quietly, hands clasped tightly in their laps.
For Tomás, this match was the equivalent of a university entrance exam.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say one match could decide his entire life.
“Honey, don’t be nervous. Tomás will get a chance to play,” Nuno Ferreira said softly.
“Last time, only four players got promoted. Can Tomás really pull this off?” his wife asked.
“Didn’t Tomás mention they’re taking on more players than usual this year? He’ll make it.”
Nuno’s words didn’t ease her tension.
Even a fifty percent increase on four spots only got you to six.
There were eleven starting spots on the pitch.
It wasn’t guaranteed Tomás would get on as a substitute, let alone start.
Tomás had made five substitute appearances the whole first half of the season.
He was a fringe player.
“Mrs. Ferreira, you don’t need to waste any nerves on an outcome that’s already decided. We’re the ones who should be nervous.” Mrs.
Palmer sat one row down.
Mrs.
Ferreira flinched.
It was a cruel thing to say, and impossible to argue with.
Professional football was cruel.
They didn’t even have the right to be nervous.
“I hope my Joe gets his promotion without any trouble,” Mrs.
Palmer added, clasping her hands like she was praying.
Down on the sideline, head coach Tom Martin announced the starting lineup.
Dead silence fell over the academy bench.
“Why? Mr. Martin, why aren’t I starting?” Joe Palmer stared at him, wide-eyed.
Martin kept his face blank, though he felt a pang of sympathy for his star pupil.
“Is this the professionalism I taught you? As a player, and a Manchester United player at that, unconditional obedience to the manager’s decisions is exactly what United professionalism means.”
Palmer dropped his head, his face flushed with frustration.
Martin turned to Tomás.
His expression was hard to read.
“Nervous?”
Tomás nodded.
“Under a lot of pressure?”
Tomás nodded again.
“Do you remember the first thing I said to you, the day you arrived at the academy?”
Tomás paused.
“Welcome to Carrington. The future Red Devils.”
Martin smiled slightly.
“The future is now. You’re already a Red Devil.”
The future is now.
You’re already a Red Devil.
Adrenaline flooded Tomás’s system.
The heat under his skin spiked.
His heart hammered in his chest.
Lion Heart was surging.
Ding!
Your coach Tom Martin has issued you the mission: ‘Successor to the Red Devil Spirit.’ Mission: become a true Red Devil, a graduate of this academy in every sense, and show Tom Martin your Red Devil spirit out on the pitch.
Reward: Manchester United DNA trait level +1.
This was his graduation assignment.