The whistle blew, and the tiny, windswept stadium on the coast erupted into a cauldron of noise. From the first second, it was clear what kind of game this was going to be.
Fleetwood Town weren't just a football team; they were a collection of grizzled sea dogs who played with the subtlety of a cannonball.
Every challenge was a collision. Every fifty-fifty was a battle. They were big, they were aggressive, and they were clearly under instructions to give the "teenage dream" of Apex United a rude awakening.
In the 4th minute, Emre Demir, in his new, deeper role, received the ball and turned, only to be immediately clattered from behind by a Fleetwood midfielder who seemed to have mistaken the ball for a personal enemy.
The referee blew his whistle and brandished the first yellow card of the match.
"Welcome to Fleetwood, son!" the midfielder snarled as he jogged away.
Ethan was on his feet in the technical area, a storm cloud on his face.
