The Legendary Playmaker

Monday morning broke with a hushed weight in the air, the kind that comes before a storm of change. The streets of Cardiff glistened faintly from an early morning drizzle, their quiet soaked in anticipation. Ethan Voss stepped off the city bus just outside the Cardiff City training ground, the soles of his trainers hitting the pavement with purpose. Dressed in a clean club polo and navy track pants, he looked every inch the player he hoped to become—but beneath the neat exterior, his nerves twisted like coiled wire.

This wasn't just another meeting. It was the start of something that might change everything.

Ethan's heart thudded steadily in his chest, nerves and excitement threading through his veins. He had barely slept the night before, his mind buzzing with the thought of what this could mean. The past month had felt like something out of a dream. Returning to 2017. The Template System. And now, this. A chance to rewrite everything.

The receptionist at the front desk greeted him with a professional nod and handed him a visitor's pass. "Mr. Chamberlain is expecting you. Office on the second floor, just down the corridor."

Ethan thanked her and climbed the stairs, pausing at the hallway entrance to steady his breath. Sunlight spilled through the wide windows, casting long shadows on the blue carpeting. At the end of the hall, the door to Glyn Chamberlain's office stood slightly ajar.

He knocked gently.

"Come in," came the familiar voice.

Ethan stepped inside. Glyn was already standing, hands in his pockets, a warm but restrained smile on his face.

"Ethan. Good to see you, lad. Have a seat."

The office was modest but organized. Scouting reports lined the desk, shelves held folders categorized by position and region. Behind Glyn, a framed photo of Cardiff's promotion-winning squad from a few years ago added a touch of club pride.

Ethan sat, hands resting on his knees.

Glyn got straight to the point. "The staff's been watching you closely these past few weeks, and your name keeps coming up for all the right reasons. It's not just your touch or the way you carry the ball—it's how you read the pitch, how you react under pressure. You don't just play in the moment; you think three moves ahead. That kind of vision? It's rare. And it's not something we can coach into someone—it's either there or it's not. With you, it's there. And it's not going unnoticed."

Ethan blinked but said nothing. His instinct was to stay grounded.

Glyn continued, "The manager wanted to speak with you personally."

Just as Glyn finished speaking, a firm knock echoed through the office—timed so perfectly it felt less like coincidence and more like the next move in a carefully unfolding plan. Ethan turned instinctively, his pulse quickening slightly in anticipation. This was it—no more talk, no more wondering. The next part of the journey was about to walk through that door.

Neil Warnock entered, flanked by a quiet intensity that seemed to fill the room. He offered Ethan a firm handshake.

"So you're the lad causing a stir," Warnock said, gesturing for Glyn to give them a moment alone.

The door clicked shut.

Ethan straightened his back. He wasn't about to waste this opportunity.

Warnock folded his arms. "You've got something about you, Voss. I've been doing this job longer than most of your generation's been alive. And if there's one thing I can still spot—it's hunger. We've seen it in how you train. Not just from the sessions we've watched live, but from the clips the coaching staff's been reviewing. They've paused, replayed, analyzed your movement frame by frame. It's in the little things—the way you open your body before a pass, the timing of your press, how you hold your shape off the ball. These aren't instincts you fake. Not flashy, not loud, but deliberate. That's rare."

Ethan swallowed, then nodded. "I won't waste the chance, sir. I know what it means."

"Do you?" Warnock asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Because talent's a dime a dozen. But discipline, grit—that's the currency of this league. You'll get kicked, pressed, pushed. You'll question yourself on days, when the ball won't stay at your feet. And no one will care about potential then. Only what you do with it."

"That's exactly why I'm here," Ethan replied calmly. "I've already lived with the regret of letting a chance slip. Not again."

Warnock paused, measuring the words. He liked conviction—but only when it rang true. And there was no mistaking the steel behind Ethan's voice.

"Good," he said finally. "Because we'd like to offer you a one-year prove-it contract. It's not glamourous—training with the professional team, reserve matches, place on bench and coaching oversight. But it's a foot in the door."

Ethan's breath caught. One year.

It was everything.

Warnock extended a hand. Ethan stood, shook it.

"Report back next week. We'll sort out your physical, paperwork, and induction then. Between now and Monday, stay switched on. Watch your recovery. No wild nights, no sloppy training on your own. Keep your legs ticking over—light cardio, ball work, mental reps. You've made an impression, but now it's about sustaining it. This contract is just the first step. Make sure you show up like a player who already belongs."

"Yes, sir."

Moments later, the door opened again, and Glyn re-entered as Warnock exited.

Glyn gave Ethan a small smile, more proud than professional this time.

"Welcome to Cardiff, Ethan."

Ethan nodded, his face composed, but his hands were buzzing. "Thank you, sir. I won't disappoint you."

He stepped out of the building with the contract envelope in hand and the sun warming his face. The sky was bright with a kind of promise. Ethan stood there for a moment, letting it sink in.

The past life where he never got this far... it was fading, moment by moment. In its place: the start of something real.

He lingered just outside the training ground gates, gripping the envelope like it might vanish. Then, pulling out his phone, he typed a message with trembling thumbs: "Signed a prove-it deal. One year with Cardiff City. Training starts soon."

She replied almost instantly: "Knew you had it in you. You've worked hard for this, Ethan. Just keep your head straight and go make it yours."

And for the first time in a long time, Ethan Voss didn't feel like a man chasing ghosts. He felt like someone walking toward his future—step by step, decision by decision.

And the road ahead had never looked so clear.