The academy dorm building was calm by the time Xander returned. The late afternoon sun filtered through the glass panels at the entrance, casting a soft amber hue along the corridor floors. The quiet hum of the lights overhead was the only sound that followed him as he walked slowly down the hallway, each step making a soft thump against the floor. The day had taken its toll on his body, but more than that, it had left his mind worn, like a tired muscle that had been worked past its comfort zone.
He walked with deliberate slowness, not out of laziness, but because every step gave him space to think, to let the scattered thoughts in his mind settle as the echoes of the morning session replayed themselves in small bursts. His shoulders were heavy with the weight of each pass and movement, the sweat from the day still clinging faintly to his skin, reminding him that every moment on the pitch counted.
He still had not fully processed the training session. He knew he had improved, that he was better than when he had stepped onto the pitch that morning, but it had not been smooth. The speed, the intensity, the constant demands of the drills, the shouting voices of the coaches urging them to move quicker, it was all a reminder that this was no longer U 18 football. Here, every pass was evaluated, every movement was measured, every choice was a small piece in a larger puzzle that could not afford wrong edges.
As he reached his room at the end of the hallway, he glanced down at his phone instinctively. A quiet ping from the system had popped up on his lock screen, blinking softly, but he ignored it. The glow of the notification stayed there for a moment before fading. He would check it later. Right now, he just wanted silence, a moment to breathe.
He pushed open the door, the hinges making a soft sound as it swung inward. The room was empty, Jeremy's bed was made neatly, his headphones lying on the pillow, but there was no sign of him. That was unusual, Jeremy rarely stayed out for long after training or meals, usually choosing to rest or scroll through his phone while humming softly to whatever song he had on repeat that week. Still, Xander was not concerned. He dropped his bag by the wardrobe, the weight of it leaving his shoulder with a small relief, kicked off his sneakers so they landed in a quiet heap, and sat down at the edge of his bed.
For a while, he did not move.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his hands dangling loosely as he stared at the floor. The events of the morning ran through his head again, being placed in the rondo group with Fred and Eriksen, the sharp movements, the precise touches, the half pitch tactical drill, the quick shouts from the assistant coaches, Ten Hag's instructions layered over the noise of the ball being passed around.
He remembered the exact moment Bruno dispossessed him, the way the ball had been at his feet, and how he had hesitated, just for a moment, before Bruno stepped in and took it cleanly. He could still hear Ten Hag's voice, calm but direct.
"Quicker there Xander, you had the out pass."
That moment played over and over in his mind like a replay he could not turn off. He had not been careless, but he had hesitated, a single second too long, and that was all it took. In this environment, one second was enough to lose possession, to lose the trust of your teammates, to lose momentum in front of the coaches.
His fingers clenched together tightly, the skin on his knuckles pale from the tension as he pressed them together. He had read the pressure coming, he had known Bruno was closing in, but he had reacted too late, his mind working slower than his feet. That one mistake, in front of everyone, in front of players who did not make those mistakes, was a small but sharp reminder that he was still adjusting to this level. The sting was not in the tone of Ten Hag's voice, he had not even raised it, it was in knowing that he had missed an opportunity to prove he could handle the tempo.
I should have released it first time. There was space on the left. I saw it, but I saw it too late.
A knock at the door broke the silence, a quiet but firm knock that pulled him from his thoughts.
Xander blinked, lifting his head as he stood up to open the door. His muscles felt stiff as he moved, the day's fatigue still clinging to him.
Standing there was Coach Travis, Manchester United's U 18s head coach. His frame filled the doorway, posture relaxed but eyes alert, taking in Xander's tired expression in a single glance.
"Evening," Travis said, his voice warm but steady.
"Hi coach," Xander replied, stepping aside so he could enter the room.
Travis stepped in, his eyes moving briefly around the room, noting Jeremy's empty bed. "Room to yourself tonight?"
Xander nodded. "Looks like it."
Travis walked over and sat down on Jeremy's bed without asking, but it was the kind of gesture that felt natural, like he had done it many times before. His presence brought a familiarity to the room, a grounding presence that Xander had not realized he missed until that moment.
Travis leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes studying Xander quietly.
"You doing alright?" he asked, his voice soft but clear.
Xander sat down across from him, meeting his eyes for a moment before looking away. "Yeah, just tired."
"Not surprised," Travis said, giving a small nod. "I heard the first team ran you lot pretty hard today."
Xander did not respond immediately. He could have nodded, could have said it was fine, but he decided to speak plainly, to say what was really on his mind.
"It's a different level," he said, his voice low. "Everything's faster. They don't wait for you to adjust."
Travis gave another small nod, his eyes thoughtful. "That's what makes them professionals."
There was a pause, the room settling into a quiet that felt calm rather than awkward.
"I missed you this morning," Travis added, a small smile on his face. "Felt strange setting up drills and not seeing you out there on the wing."
Xander looked down, a small wave of guilt rising in his chest. "Sorry about that."
"No need to apologize," Travis replied quickly. "You earned that spot. We're all proud of you. But I am still your coach until Ten Hag says otherwise."
Xander lifted his eyes, meeting Travis's gaze, the weight of his words sinking in.
"Right," he said softly.
Travis leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. "I know it's easy to get caught up in the speed of it all. The first team attention, the new drills, new players. But I want you to remember why you got promoted to the first team environment."
Xander listened, each word anchoring him a little more, the tension in his chest loosening as Travis spoke.
"You did not get promoted because you are flashy," Travis continued, his tone firm but encouraging. "You did not get there because you dribble through defenders for fun or because you try to do tricks that get clipped for social media. You got there because you keep the ball when others lose it. Because you move into the right spaces on the wing without being told. Because you think one step ahead of the defender in front of you."
Xander took a slow breath, letting those words sink into him. They were true, and he knew it, but hearing it again, hearing it from someone who had watched him grow and play, made it feel real again.
"You will make mistakes up there," Travis said, his eyes steady on Xander. "They all do. Even the ones who get paid the most. But do not forget what makes you valuable. Do not try to be someone else just because you are with them now. Do not force things just to prove you belong."
Xander nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing a little more. "I understand."
"Good," Travis said, standing up and brushing his palms together lightly. "We will always have a place for you down here if you need it. But you are not down here anymore. You have earned that step. Just keep climbing it the right way."
Xander stood too, feeling the heaviness in his legs but also a renewed sense of clarity. "Thanks for checking in, coach."
Travis gave a small smile, one that felt warm and genuine. "Can't let my best right winger turn into a show pony now, can I?"
Xander let out a soft chuckle, the sound easing the last of the tension in his chest. "I will keep my boots clean."
"Do that," Travis said with a grin. He walked to the door, pausing as he opened it. "Get some rest. You will need it."
With that, he stepped out into the hallway, leaving the door to close softly behind him.
Xander stood there for a moment, letting the quiet fill the room again, letting the coach's words settle into him like a reminder of who he was and why he was here. The tightness in his chest eased a little, the reminder of who he was, of what had gotten him here, was something he had needed more than he realized.
The lock clicked again, and the door opened as Jeremy stepped in, holding a takeaway box in one hand and a drink in the other, his hair slightly messy from the wind.
"You good?" Jeremy asked, his eyes flicking to Xander as he stepped fully inside.
"Yeah. Coach Travis just stopped by," Xander replied.
Jeremy raised an eyebrow, setting his food down on the small table. "You in trouble already?"
Xander shook his head. "No. He just wanted to talk."
Jeremy opened the box and took a large bite of the sandwich inside, chewing before speaking. "Let me guess. Told you not to let fame get to your head?"
"Something like that," Xander said, sitting back down on his bed. "More like a reminder."
Jeremy nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "Makes sense. You have been up there two days and already dropped McTominay. I would be worried too."
Xander smiled faintly, the corner of his lips twitching, but he did not say anything else.
"Anyway," Jeremy continued, swallowing his food and taking a sip of his drink, "I watched some of the training clips online. Looked intense."
"It was," Xander said honestly. "I am still adjusting. Every time you think you have done enough, there is another layer."
Jeremy finished the last bite of his sandwich, tossing the empty box into the bin. He stretched, letting out a yawn. "Just don't burn yourself out," he said, pulling out his headphones. "You will need your legs if they actually throw you into that Liverpool game."
"Trust me," Xander replied with a small grin. "I am trying not to think about that yet."
"Too late," Jeremy muttered, slipping on his headphones.
Xander grabbed his towel and toiletries, heading to the bathroom for a quick shower, letting the warm water relax his muscles and clear his head. When he returned, the lights were dimmed, Jeremy lying in bed, his headphones glowing faintly.
Xander climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up to his chest, reaching for his phone. The screen lit up, the system interface fading in.
[Post Training Evaluation Complete]
[Stat Changes: Tactical Awareness +1, Stamina +1, Mental Resilience +1]
[Fatigue: Moderate, Sleep Suggested: Eight hours]
[New Feature Unlocked: Video Replay Mode]
[Would you like to review your session?]
His thumb hovered over the screen.
He thought about Bruno dispossessing him, about the space he saw too late. He could review it. He could learn something.
But the weight in his eyes was heavy, pulling him toward sleep.
Not tonight.
He dismissed the prompt.
The interface faded, and he set the phone face down on the nightstand.
In the darkness, he stared at the ceiling, the faint sounds of Jeremy's music in the background. His muscles still pulsed softly, the echoes of the day still lingering in his body.
Coach Travis's words lingered in his mind.
Clean touches, clever movement, hard work.
He repeated them three times in his head before finally letting his eyes close.
Tomorrow would come, and when it did, he would be ready.