The Legendary Playmaker

The Sunday morning, the day after the friendly match felt quieter than usual. Cardiff City Stadium, once a roaring arena of noise and energy, now stood still in the rising sun. Ethan's plan was to make his way back to Plymouth for a short visit during the week-long break that the club has granted after the Livingston game. The thrill of his debut was still fresh in his mind, but home called to him with a different kind of comfort.

His worn-out and familiar duffle bag, rested beside him at the edge of the training ground as he slung the strap over his shoulder. A few of the academy lads passed by, tossing good-natured remarks about his performance, teasing him about stealing the spotlight. He just chuckled, offering a wave in return. His thoughts thinking ahead about the short train ride—which would take around three hours.

"Heading back to Plymouth?" a voice called behind him.

Ethan turned to see Sean Morrison approaching, dressed casually, a coffee cup in hand.

"Yeah," Ethan nodded. "Figured I'd spend a few days with the folks. Haven't really seen them properly since I joined."

Sean tilted his head thoughtfully. "You know, I'm headed that way too. My old man still lives down there. Want to drive down together? Always better with company than alone."

Ethan gave a small nod, a hint of relief softening his expression. "Thanks, really. That makes things way easier."

Sean gave a sideways grin. "No big deal. Come on—grab your bag. Let's get moving before traffic catches though it shouldn't be a problem since we're leaving quite early."

The drive out of Cardiff was smooth, the roads thankfully light on traffic. Ethan sat in the passenger seat of Sean's modest hatchback Audi A3, a few Cardiff scarves tucked into the backseat. They chatted intermittently at first, the conversation growing more natural as the miles slipped by.

"So," Sean started, beginning a new conversation "You've been turning a few heads. Heard Glyn talking about you before the match."

Ethan raised a brow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Said you had good vision and the right attitude. Manager likes that too, it seems." Sean glanced at him. "But try not to let it get to your head. It only gets tougher as season continues."

Ethan gave a half-smile. "That match was a good start, but it's just that—a start. I've still got a lot to prove."

Sean nodded, clearly approving. "Good answer. A lot of lads come in hot and think one good game seals the deal."

The countryside of England, soon began rolling past their windows—green hills, scattered cottages, and the occasional grazing sheep. It felt a world apart from the intensity of the pitch.

"So, what's it like being back home?" Ethan asked, glancing at Sean.

Sean's expression softened, his gaze fixed to road. "Grounding, I guess. Strips everything back. Reminds me there's more to life, than just the next match or the last result."

Ethan let that sink in, remembering his own upbringing in Plymouth—the back gardens turned into football pitches, the late evening kickabouts with older boys, with scraped knees and big dreams. That fire has never left him, even after all the years and even a life lost.

Sean soon pulled into the outskirts of Plymouth by early afternoon. Rows of brick houses lined the quiet streets, sun dappling through the trees. He dropped him off near his parents house.

"Thanks for the ride," He said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Sean waved it off. "No worries. Recharge while you can. We've got work to do when we get back."

Waving him off, Ethan stepped through the front door of his family home, the familiar warmth of comfort greeting him. The aroma of onions sizzling in butter drifted from the kitchen—a scent that instantly brought back memories from dinners and family get—together.

"Mum?"

A clattering sound came from the kitchen, followed by her voice. "Ethan? Is that you?"

A few seconds later, his mom emerged from the kitchen, still in her apron, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her eyes found Ethan's, and they sparkled with surprise and joy. Without a word, she crossed the room and wrapped him in a firm embrace, the kind only a mother can give, full of warmth and unspoken emotion.

"Look at you," she said, holding him at arm's length, eyes scanning him. "Are you sure you're eating well?"

He laughed softly. "I'm not wasting away, Mum. Just putting in the training hours."

His dad soon followed, arms folded but clearly pleased. There was a quiet pride in his voice as he said, "Heard you're starting to make a name for yourself up there."

Ethan's ears turned pink. "Trying my best, that's all."

They spent the next hour talking football—his trial, his training with professionals, how it feels to be on the ground with them, at that level. His parents listened, wide-eyed and smiling, his mother occasionally tutting whenever he mentioned rough tackles or long fitness sessions.

After a hearty lunch with his parents, in his old room, Ethan unpacked slowly, placing his worn boots beside the wardrobe and setting his duffle bag near the foot of his bed. He sat on the bed, the springs creaking beneath him, he let out a long breath.

Then, with a quiet murmur, he called out to the system—something he hadn't done since he can remember.

System Panel – Active

Template: Johan Cruyff (35% Integrated)

<[ Attributes:

Game Awareness: 10

Tactical Intelligence: 31

Vision: 26

First Touch: 15

Positional Versatility: 8

Decision-Making: 5

Balance: 3

Composure: 4

Short Passing: 3

Spatial Awareness: 2

Interceptions: 3 

Pressing Efficiency: 12 ]>

Ethan studied each stat line, his eyes pausing on the small increases. They were more than just numbers. Each percentage reflected real, hard-earned improvement: the sharp pass he threaded under pressure, the calm decisions he'd made in that last match, the movement without the ball that was slowly becoming naturally now. Little by little, the pieces were adding up.

He leaned back, letting his head rest against the wall. "Still a long way to go," he muttered to himself, though that thought carried no ridicule—just determination.

He dismissed the panel and then turned to his phone, resuming his review of training clips, now with a more analytical eye. He wasn't just watching them—he was studying like a man building something brick by brick.

Progress was good, but he knew the real challenge would start when league play began. This visit was his breather, but the clock never really stopped ticking.

The following day, early in the morning, he jogged along the seafront. The breeze from the Channel was cold and biting but refreshing. Familiar faces waved at him—old neighbours, a childhood coach, even a former schoolmate who recognized him from a local news article.

"Back for long?" one asked.

"Just the week," Ethan replied. "Then it's back to season."

He used the next few days to reset. Light training, good food, random conversations with his parents. Each night, he reviewed his footage and match stats, trying to find-out his mistakes.

Soon it was Sunday morning, and as he zipped his bag for travel, his mother came into his room and quietly pressed a small envelope into his hand.

"Just a little something for travel snacks," she said.

He laughed. "Mum, I'm getting paid now, remember?"

"And you'll always be a scrappy kid for me, asking for spare change to buy crisps" she said with a fond smile.

Outside, as he called for a cab to the station, he kept checking his phone, tracking its arrival time. The streets of Plymouth were quiet, the early morning sun painting everything in a soft haze. Soon, the cab arrived which has seen better days.

As the cab pulled away, Ethan glanced out the window. Familiar sights flashing by—his old school, the local corner shop where he used to buy energy drinks on game days, the park where he played barefoot five-a-side with friends. Everything looked smaller now, as if the place had shrunk while he grew.

This visit reminded him once again, where it all began and now, it was time to return. Not as a boy chasing a dream, but as someone who'd begun turning that dream into something real.

The road ahead was very long, but he wasn't afraid to travel it.