CHAPTER 99: BLUEPRINT.

Ethan held up his tablet, the secret scouting report from Liam illuminating his face in the dim light.

"They think they know us," he began, his voice a low, confident hum that cut through the tension. "They’ve watched our games. They’ve run the data. But they don’t know that we know them. Every single one of their secrets."

He started to pace, a predator outlining his hunt.

"Their goalkeeper," he said, looking at Viktor, "is a brilliant shot-stopper, but Liam’s analysis shows he’s slow to get back on his line after a corner. He’s vulnerable to a quick counter. Viktor, if that chance comes, I want you to be thinking about the chip."

Viktor’s eyes widened, a flicker of understanding passing between him and his manager.

"Their star center-back," Ethan continued, his gaze shifting to David Kerrigan. "The big one, their captain. He’s a rock. But the game’s data doesn’t show you what Liam knows. He has a hidden ’Low Composure’ trait. He hates being embarrassed. He gets rattled. David," he said, a wicked grin on his face, "your job tonight is to be his personal nightmare. Nutmeg him. Do your ridiculous step-overs. Get in his head. We’re not just attacking their goal; we’re attacking their minds."

Kerrigan’s knuckles went white as he clenched his fists, a look of pure, unadulterated glee on his face.

"And their set-pieces," Ethan said, looking at his defenders. "They’re big, they’re strong, but they’re disorganized. Every corner is an opportunity for us. James, Ben, Grant—you get on the end of one of Emre’s deliveries, and you will score."

He looked around the room, at the faces that were no longer nervous, but sharp, focused, and filled with a dawning, brilliant belief.

The fear was gone, replaced by the unshakeable confidence that comes from holding a perfect, secret blueprint for victory.

"They are a great team," Ethan concluded, his voice ringing with a conviction that was utterly infectious. "But every great team has a weakness. And we know every single one of theirs. We are not here to survive. We are not here to hope for a lucky break. We are here to win. Because we know how. Now, let’s get dressed."

The pre-match press conference, held the day before, had been a masterclass in controlled confidence.

"Ethan," a journalist had asked, "you’re the underdogs by a massive margin.

What can your team possibly do to trouble a giant like Sheffield Wednesday?"

Ethan had just smiled. "Every team, no matter how big, has cracks in their armor. We’ve done our homework. We’re confident that we’ve found a few."

It had been a simple, cryptic answer, but now, in the context of Liam’s secret report, it felt like a prophecy.

The team lined up in the tunnel, the roar of the home crowd a physical wave of sound.

The Sheffield Wednesday players, the "Owls," were giants, seasoned professionals who looked at the youthful Apex side with an air of dismissive confidence. But the Apex players didn’t flinch.

They looked back, a secret knowledge burning in their eyes.

"WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TO A CAULDRON OF PURE, UNADULTERATED FOOTBALL PASSION!" the commentator’s voice exploded, barely audible over the noise of the crowd. "It’s the EFL Trophy Semi-Final! The fallen giant, Sheffield Wednesday, against the impossible dream, the giant-killers, the team that simply refuses to lose, APEX UNITED! A place in the final and a shot at a million pounds is on the line! The home side are the overwhelming favorites, but if we’ve learned one thing this season, it’s to never, ever write off Ethan Couch and his band of teenage miracles! AND WE ARE UNDERWAY!"

The whistle blew.

The plan was perfect. The blueprint was flawless.

And it was all blown to pieces in forty-seven seconds.

From the kick-off, Sheffield Wednesday went on the attack.

They weren’t playing like a team that was underestimating their opponent. They were playing like a Premier League side, a blur of motion, power, and speed.

Their star winger, a player with a real-world valuation that was ten times that of Ethan’s entire club, received the ball.

He feinted to go outside, then chopped the ball inside, leaving the Apex full-back for dead. He drove towards the box.

James McCarthy, the S-Rank hero of the last match, came across to make the tackle.

The winger did a simple, devastating step-over and was past him in a flash.

He was now at the byline. He looked up and cut the ball back to the edge of the box.

Arriving like a freight train was their veteran central midfielder. He didn’t take a touch.

He just met the ball with the side of his foot, a shot of such sublime, effortless technique that it was a thing of pure beauty.

The ball flew, curling away from Angus Gunn’s desperate, outstretched hand, and nestled perfectly into the top corner of the net.

Goal.

The stadium erupted into a single, deafening roar.

The Apex United players just stood there, frozen, their faces a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. The secret report, the perfect plan, the unshakeable belief—it had all been rendered completely and utterly irrelevant by a single, unstoppable moment of world-class quality.

The commentator, who had been hyping up a fairytale, was left speechless for a moment.

"Well," he finally managed to say, his voice a stunned, quiet whisper. "So much for the blueprint."

Ethan stood on the sideline, the roar of the home crowd washing over him.

He looked at his stunned, silent players. He looked at the celebrating giants in blue and white.

The goal was a sucker punch, a perfectly executed move that had ripped their secret blueprint to shreds in less than a minute.

The roar of the 30,000 Sheffield Wednesday fans was a physical, crushing weight.

For a moment, the Apex United players just stood there, shell-shocked, the ghost of the 6-2 Burton disaster creeping into the back of their minds.

But then, from the back, a single, furious voice cut through the noise and the doubt.

"SO WHAT?!" It was Grant Hanley, the captain, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated defiance. "They scored a good goal! Are we going to stand here crying about it, or are we going to play football?! Get your heads up! NOW!"