CHAPTER 40: CURRENT ABILITY

James Pearce’s AI-generated face remained perfectly calm, but the information he presented on the holographic display was anything but.

He tapped his tablet, and the EFL Trophy bracket materialized in the air of Ethan’s office. A glowing line connected the Apex United crest to their first-round opponent.

"The draw has been made, gaffer," James said, his voice even. "Our first match in the Apex Challenge will be an away trip."

Ethan leaned forward, his eyes tracing the line, his heart beginning to beat a little faster.

The crest at the other end was a striking bluebird. "Cardiff City," he read aloud, a low whistle escaping his lips.

"Correct," James confirmed. "Currently mid-table in the Championship. A very physical, well-organized side. It is, to put it mildly, one of the toughest possible draws we could have received."

A Championship team. Again. The game wasn’t just throwing him a challenge; it was throwing him a mountain.

The million-pound prize at the end of the tunnel was guarded by dragons, and he was being asked to face the first one with a team of kids and a shoestring budget.

"When’s the match?" Ethan asked, his mind already shifting from shock to strategy.

James swiped on his tablet, and the club’s schedule appeared, looking suddenly, terrifyingly crowded. "That’s the other issue, gaffer. The cup matches are mid-week. The game is scheduled for this Tuesday. In two days."

"Two days?" Ethan balked. "We just played Bolton today."

"And," James added, his expression unchanging as he highlighted another date on the calendar, "our next league fixture, away at Wigan Athletic, is the following Saturday. Three days after the Cardiff match."

Ethan stared at the schedule. Three games in seven days.

Two of them away from home. For a small squad like his, it was a brutal, potentially season-derailing stretch.

The risk he had so confidently accepted just minutes ago suddenly felt very, very real. The gamble wasn’t just about one cup match; it was about surviving the consequences.

"The players are going to need to be prepared for this," Ethan said, more to himself than to James. "Call a team meeting. First thing tomorrow morning."

The next day, the mood in the training ground meeting room was a mix of pride from the Bolton win and the quiet focus of a new week.

The players were chatting, looking at the league table on their tablets, where Apex United sat proudly in first place.

Ethan walked in, and the room quieted.

"Morning, lads," he began. "First off, congratulations again on a fantastic start. Two wins, top of the league. You’ve earned the right to be proud. But we don’t have time to rest on it. The schedule is about to get very busy."

He brought the fixture list up on the main screen.

A few low whistles went through the room as the players saw the packed schedule.

"As you know, we’ve been entered into the new EFL Trophy," Ethan explained. "It’s a big opportunity for us. The prize money for winning this competition is substantial. It’s enough to upgrade our training facilities, our youth academy... everything. It’s a chance to fast-track our club’s future by years."

He saw the flicker of excitement in the younger players’ eyes. More games, more chances to shine.

"However," he continued, his tone turning serious, "it’s also a risk. Three games in a week is a huge physical demand. It means I can’t play the same eleven every single match. It means I am going to have to rotate the squad. Some of you who have been starting might be on the bench. Some of you on the bench will be starting. I need every single player in this room to be ready, physically and mentally, to step up when called upon."

He looked around the room, making eye contact. "Our first match is tomorrow, away at Cardiff. A Championship side. It’s going to be a massive test. Then, three days later, we have Wigan in the league. The league remains our absolute priority. But this cup... this cup is our golden ticket. So we are going to fight on both fronts."

As he was speaking, he was idly scrolling through the squad’s development report on his own tablet.

He was about to close it when his eyes caught something. He stopped, blinked, and looked again.

Under Viktor Kristensen’s profile, the number next to ’Current Ability’ had changed.

It was no longer 66. It was 67. And below it, Emre Demir’s had also ticked up, from 67 to 68.

It was a tiny, almost insignificant increase. A single point. But it was tangible proof. The training, the matches, the goals... it was working. They were getting better. A slow, proud smile spread across Ethan’s face.

"We have the talent in this room to do something special this season," he said, his voice filled with a renewed, unshakeable belief. "I see it every single day in training. You’re all growing, getting stronger." He gave a subtle, knowing look towards his two teenage stars. "Let’s go out there and show a Championship team what we’re made of. Now, let’s get to work."

Two days later, Ethan was cycling home from his shift at CostMart, a wide, goofy grin on his face. The real world felt good.

His mom was getting stronger every day, laughing at his dad’s terrible jokes.

He had successfully built a perfect pyramid of baked bean cans that had earned a rare, approving grunt from Mr. Henderson. And in his pocket was another small, hard-earned bundle of cash.

But as he pedaled, his mind was a million miles away, in a virtual stadium in Wales. Tonight was the night.

The first round of the Apex Challenge. The first step on the road to a million pounds.

He got home, wolfed down the dinner his sister had saved for him, and gave his mom a hug. "Big cup match tonight," he said.

"Good luck, honey," she replied, squeezing his hand. "Score lots of... whatever they’re called."

"Goals, Mom."

"Them too," she said with a smile.

He went to his room, the familiar pre-match buzz humming through his veins.

This was what it was all about. The pressure, the stakes, the chance to prove everyone wrong.

He lay down in the pod, the world going dark around him.

He materialized not in his office, but directly in the away dressing room at the Cardiff City Stadium. It was smaller than his own, more functional, but the air was thick with the same electric tension. His players were already in their all-black away kits, a look of grim determination on their faces.

He had rotated the squad, as promised. Josh Sargent was starting up front to give Viktor a rest.

The fiery David Kerrigan, back from his one-match suspension, was on the bench, chomping at the bit.

He was about to start his team talk when a notification, visible only to him, appeared.

It was from his ’Managerial Instinct’ trait.

[OPPOSITION INSIGHT: Cardiff City’s manager is known for his rigid, defensive tactics. However, in cup competitions against lower-league opposition, he has a historical tendency to play a high defensive line, underestimating their pace. This can be exploited.]

Ethan’s eyes widened. A high line. Against his team, which was built around the lightning pace of players like Rowe, Kerrigan, and Kristensen.

It was a tactical gift from the heavens.

He looked at his starting lineup, then at his bench.

A daring, high-risk, high-reward idea began to form in his mind.

He was supposed to be the pragmatic one, the manager who had learned his lesson against Ipswich.

But this... this was too perfect to ignore.

He turned to his assistant. "James," he said, a wild, brilliant glint in his eye. "Scrap the team talk. And get Kerrigan warmed up. I’m making a last-minute change to the starting lineup."