The rain was still pouring outside the window.
Adam sat quietly in the living room, watching it beat against the balcony railing in steady, rhythmic slaps.
Just below the railing sat a pair of football boots—mud still clinging stubbornly to the soles. Ethan's boots.
Across from him on the sofa, his younger brother Alan shifted, eyes flicking between Adam and the muddy boots outside.
Adam hadn't said a word since returning home. No shouting, no calling for a kickabout like usual. Just silence.
It felt strange. Even Alan could tell something was off.
He scratched his head awkwardly. "You okay?"
Before Adam could answer, his phone buzzed on the coffee table.
The screen lit up. Neil Jenkins.
Adam blinked, as if waking up, and answered.
"Adam!!" came Neil's voice, practically shouting down the line. "Manchester City! Can you believe it?! The Premier League giants—Manchester bloody City!"
Adam sat up slightly. "...What about them?"
"They want you!" Neil was breathless now. "And it's not just anyone. Mark Hughes called me himself!"
Adam's heart skipped. Mark Hughes—the actual head coach of City?
Neil was still talking a mile a minute. "They've got money to burn, Adam. This is City under the Abu Dhabi owners, yeah? They're building something massive—brought in Robinho, eyeing Kaka. And guess what—they want you too. Youth talent from England! They love what you did in the FA Cup against Chelsea."
Adam's mouth went dry. That game… it was the best he'd ever played. But still…
"I haven't even said I want to leave Luton," he said, voice tight.
Neil scoffed. "This is the Premier League, Adam. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. You're not going to waste your talent in League Two, are you?"
But Adam wasn't listening anymore. His mind had wandered—back to training grounds filled with mud and cold wind, and Ethan, arms crossed, pushing him to be better.
Later that evening, a clip of Mark Hughes played on the television.
"We're optimistic about Kaka. Money's not the issue," he said coolly, "but we also believe in developing young English talent. Adam White… his FA Cup performance caught our attention."
Ethan stood by the TV, arms folded, face unreadable. When the clip ended, he clicked the remote, switching off the screen with a sharp snap.
He sighed—long and quiet. He already knew.
Agents and clubs could play their games. But losing Adam now would leave a hole. Even if he wasn't a starter yet, there was something special there.
Ethan glanced at the balcony. The boots. The rain had washed the mud clean.
Back in the living room, Adam stood abruptly.
"I don't care if it's Manchester City," he snapped, phone still in hand. "Neil Jenkins, you're just my agent! You don't decide for me!"
He hung up.
Outside, the storm intensified, sheets of rain blurring the city skyline.
Alan pointed to the boots. "The mud's gone."
Adam nodded slowly. "They're Ethan's…"
"Why'd he give them to you?"
"I don't know." He paused. "But I think it meant something."
"You're not going to City?"
Adam looked at his brother, then down at Alan's worn sneakers—the same pair they'd called 'magic boots' half a year ago.
"If it weren't for Ethan," he said softly, "we'd still be in the slums."
The next morning, Adam arrived early at the training ground. Boots clean, laces tied, leather polished like new.
He stepped into Ethan's office and quietly placed the boots on the desk.
Ethan raised his eyes. His expression softened. Without a word, he pointed to the chair beside him.
Adam sat.
Sometimes, conversations didn't need many words.
"You're only seventeen, Adam," Ethan said, rising from his chair and walking toward the window.
"Do you know what's most important for a seventeen-year-old footballer?"
Adam shook his head.
"You've got ability, Adam. You're technically gifted, and the ball sticks to your feet like glue. But at your age, talent isn't enough. What you need now is game time. Real minutes. Experience. The right guidance. You need to learn how to play the game — properly."
Ethan turned back to face him.
"I'm not saying you can't go to a big club. But you need to understand the reality. At those top teams — the Chelseas, the Liverpools, the Uniteds — competition is brutal. Players with far more experience than you are fighting for a place every single week. One bad game, like your last league match, and you're out. Just like that." Ethan raised a finger. "This isn't fear-mongering, Adam. You're not ready yet. There's still a lot you need to work on."
Ethan wasn't trying to scare him. The truth was, Adam had talent — his close control, his dribbling in tight spaces — but he lacked match sharpness and tactical awareness. He wasn't the kind of generational talent who breaks into the first team at seventeen. His potential was there, but so were the flaws — and they were hard to ignore.
"You can't even complete ninety minutes without fading."
Ethan sat back down.
"So what do I need to do, boss?" Adam stood, voice earnest.
Six months ago, he was playing barefoot on the streets of the estate. Now, the press were calling him England's next big thing. The sudden attention had left him overwhelmed.
"Look, the Championship isn't where your story ends — I know that. But before you start dreaming of the Premier League or La Liga, you need to master the basics. Learn how to impact a game. Deliver consistently. When you can control a match and influence the outcome, then we'll talk about the next level." Ethan held up two fingers. "Until you're twenty, forget about transfers. Forget the headlines. Keep your head down, your feet on the ground. Remember how you showed up for that trial with nothing but hunger and a pair of old boots? Stay that kid. That's how you'll grow."
Adam had grown up in a tough London neighborhood, raised in foster homes alongside his best friend Alan. He'd never really had someone speak to him like this — like a father or an older brother. And in that moment, Ethan became that figure. His words hit home.
Adam nodded firmly.
"I'll work hard, coach."
Only after Adam had left the office did Ethan finally exhale.
"Finally, the kid's listening…"
To be honest, Adam wasn't vital to Luton Town's success right now. The squad could cope without him. He was a raw talent, best used off the bench when the game needed something different. If they lost him, they could find another similar profile — quick, tricky, unpredictable.
But Ethan cared. Not because Adam was irreplaceable, but because he had discovered him. The other players — like Vardy — were known quantities. But Adam? He was a blank slate. And if he could shape him into a top-level player, someone who went from street football to stardom, that would be a legacy worth building.
Outside, sunlight poured through the window.
The rain had finally stopped.