Tomás was nervous and excited.
He had always been sensitive, easily swayed by the people around him.
The future is now.
You’re already a Red Devil.
Coach Tom’s words echoed in his head, spiking his adrenaline.
This sensitivity was why he had always fallen short of his potential, but it was also why his heart hammered and his body felt light right now.
He was the successor to the Red Devils.
He wanted to become a true Red Devil.
Rashford noticed his unsteady walk and slapped him on the back.
“It’s just a small match. Treat it like regular training. Nothing about this is hard for you. Don’t be nervous. Look at me, a match like this doesn’t even get my pulse up. Relax, brother. Take it easy.”
Tomás looked at him, appreciating the concern.
“Marcus, I know.”
Rashford smiled.
“Good. I knew you were different today.”
Out on the pitch, both starting lineups were taking their positions.
The diehard United fans in the stands knew the U18 and U16 rosters perfectly.
For the U18 side, the starting eleven: Goalkeeper, Dean Henderson; left-back, Borthwick-Jackson; center-backs, Paddy McNair and Liam Grimshaw; right-back, Donald Love; defensive midfielder, Joe Rothwell; central midfielder, Scott McTominay; attacking midfielder, Andreas Pereira; left winger, Jack Bamby; right winger, James Weir; striker, Ashley Fletcher.
The biggest star on United’s U18 side was Andreas Pereira.
He had transferred from PSV Eindhoven’s U17s in the 2011-12 season.
He had only been at United for two and a half years, so he wasn’t considered part of the club’s core blood.
He didn’t come up through the academy from scratch.
But in football, blood mattered less than ability.
In 2011, Pereira had scored ten goals in nine games for Belgium’s U16 side.
He drew attention across Europe, and United signed him shortly after.
His growth over the last two years had been remarkable.
He was technically U18, but he had played more U21 and first-team reserve matches this season than anything else.
A senior debut seemed imminent.
“Pereira isn’t needed for a match like this, is he?”
“Weren’t there rumors Moyes wanted to bring Pereira up to the first team? Why is he playing against the academy lads?”
“Does anyone else notice this match is a bit off? It’s supposed to be an academy promotion match, but Ed Woodward is here. The full-strength U18 side is out, and even Pereira is playing. Why is the level suddenly this high?”
“They’re clearly not making it easy on the academy lads. Didn’t they say they were expanding U18 recruitment this year? Are they actually cutting back?”
“If we keep shrinking the roster, won’t we be short-handed for the U18s next season? We can’t have all the U21 lads playing U18 matches.”
“Do you reckon this could be a scouting mission targeting Rashford and Tuanzebe specifically?”
“Very likely.”
“Nah, would Rashford and Tuanzebe even need a test to make the U18s? Are you blind? Didn’t you see the Liverpool, Everton, and City scouts over there? If United doesn’t want them, someone else is taking them immediately.”
“Fair point. If this were really about testing Rashford and Tuanzebe, you’d bring Januzaj down for it too.”
“Strange. This match is strange from every angle.”
The regulars on the sideline traded theories about the U18 lineup.
Then they noticed the U16 squad.
“Where’s Joe Palmer? Our fourteen-year-old prodigy, why isn’t he starting? Why is Tomás in the lineup instead? He’s come on as a sub ten times all season. He’s never started a single match. Why is he starting the biggest match of the year?”
The veteran locals scratched their heads.
“This bizarre match just keeps getting more bizarre.”
The old-school locals knew their football well enough to recognize a fringe player like Tomás.
Up in the family section, Nuno and Mrs.
Ferreira stared at the pitch.
Mrs.
Palmer stood next to them, looking equally stunned.
Her talented son hadn’t even started, and his old backup had taken his place.
“Is this the special genius Paul wants us to look at?” Ed Woodward asked, studying the Portuguese kid on the pitch.
He managed a mild curiosity.
The first team was giving him a massive headache, and if it weren’t for doing McGuinness a favor, he wouldn’t be here at all.
“He’s been mediocre in the academy for three years. We planned to let him go,” Nick Cox, the academy director, said from Woodward’s side.
“But for whatever reason, Paul took an interest in him.”
Cox was responsible for evaluating academy players’ potential.
A player he had rejected was now being championed by McGuinness.
It felt like a public slap in the face.
“We still have to trust Paul’s professional judgment,” Woodward said, smiling.
He pretended not to catch the implication.
On Woodward’s other side, John Murtough, the Director of Football Development, pretended not to hear any of it.
He had only joined United last summer.
Manchester United was complicated, and he had no interest in stepping on toes.
It wasn’t his job to evaluate players or stamp contracts.
They could sort it out themselves.
“Michael, what’s going on with United’s U18 qualifier?” Liverpool’s research director, Ian Graham, asked.
Michael Edwards, Liverpool’s technical director, frowned.
Brendan Rodgers had sidelined him slightly on first-team matters, so he was pouring his energy into the youth setup.
He had come to watch the U18 qualifier to see if there was any chance of poaching Rashford.
He hadn’t expected a match like this.
Woodward, Pereira, Cox, Murtough—what was happening?
“Match is starting.” Edwards didn’t glance at Tomás.
The referee blew his whistle.
The U16s kicked off.
Tomás, playing in midfield, was immediately marked by Scott McTominay.
McTominay settled into position and grinned.
“Tomás. Long time no see. First start of your career, is it? Want me to show you how it’s done?”
Tomás had come up through the same academy class as McTominay and Rashford.
Before McTominay’s promotion last year, he had played attacking midfield for the academy team, sharing the role with Rashford.
They had split the minutes, forty-five each, with Tomás riding the bench as backup.
Because there wasn’t enough playing time, McTominay and Rashford had nearly come to blows.
Coach Tom realized the setup wasn’t sustainable and pushed McTominay up to the U18s early.
Except once McTominay left, Rashford stopped fighting for the attacking midfield spot entirely and switched to striker.
Coach Tom almost lost it.
Tomás knew that once Rashford had cleared out his rival, he wanted Tomás to take over as starting attacking midfielder.
But Coach Tom hadn’t promoted Tomás.
He promoted Joe Palmer instead.
Rashford was back to having no options, and Tomás went from being backup to McTominay and Rashford, to being backup to a fourteen-year-old.
It was humiliating.
Seeing McTominay’s grin, Tomás bristled.
“Get away from me.”
McTominay laughed.
They had grown up together, arriving at the U16 group side by side.
They had fetched balls for the older boys, trained together, eaten together, and walked home together.
Later, they had grown apart.
Tomás and Rashford had grown closer, sharing similar family backgrounds and personalities.
McTominay hadn’t liked that.
Little by little, he started provoking Tomás, knowing Tomás was easily rattled.
That made Tomás avoid him, and made Rashford want to fight him.
McTominay became their go-to verbal punching bag.
McTominay chased Tomás across the midfield, still grinning.
The trash talk didn’t stop.
You really think Rashford went after me for your sake?
You have no idea, do you?
Getting pushed up early to play against stronger competition, you know how brutal that is?
You know what kind of year I’ve had?
Screw it up, and it wrecks your career.
Nobody wants that risk.
If it weren’t for you, I never would have gotten bumped up early.
You only see how good Rashford has been to you.
So why didn’t he get promoted early instead of me?
“Why don’t you ever fight back?”
Tomás blinked.
McTominay had stopped chasing him.
“I’m actually pretty happy you’re starting today,” McTominay said.
“What?” Tomás asked.
“Tomás, ball!” Rashford shouted.
Tomás snapped his head around.
The ball smashed into his face, right in front of McTominay’s smirk.
“You shameless…” Tomás muttered, holding his nose.
McTominay laughed louder.
Laughter rippled through the crowd on the sideline.
Rashford immediately booted a ball straight at McTominay, who threw his hands up to cover his face.
Watching the players act like this, Woodward’s face darkened.
“There really are a lot of these little accidents in the younger age groups, Ed,” Cox said.
“We have to trust Paul’s professional judgment.”
Woodward’s expression tightened further.
On the touchline, Tom Martin didn’t say a word.
He looked at Tomás, clapped, and gave a thumbs up.
Tomás took a deep breath and slapped himself hard across the cheek.
“Tomás, keep it up,” McTominay said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he smiled.
Ding!
McTominay: a powerful rival with good intentions.
Tomás stared at him.
Was he hallucinating again?