The first week of the new year rolled by faster than Harry wanted. One minute, they were still running off the Christmas pudding in training. The next, it was already Friday night, and matchday was staring him right in the face.
Every session since Tuesday had been sharper. Wednesday was light recovery, Thursday tactical drills, and Friday full match prep. The energy around the academy ground was different. Nobody needed reminding what Saturday meant—it was the first game of the new year. A chance to start strong. A chance to prove who deserved their place.
Coach Frank kept them guessing all week. He rotated players during drills, switched wingers from left to right, even tried Oscar Dealtry up front in place of Nathan. Harry hated the uncertainty but also knew this was how it worked. Every player was fighting for a spot.
Friday afternoon, Frank called them all into the changing room after training. The air was thick with steam from the hot showers, boots clattering against the tiled floor. Everyone was silent, waiting for the one thing that mattered—the squad sheet.
Frank pinned a paper to the notice board and stepped back. "There you go, lads. That's the team for tomorrow."
The rush of footsteps and shuffling bodies was instant. Harry squeezed through to see.
Starting XI – 4-3-3
Tommy Henderson – GK
Reece Holloway – RB
Danny Mills (C) – CB
Dean Halberg – CB
Ollie Waters – LB
Jayden Rowe – CDM
Kai Moreno – CM
Noah Perring – CAM
Riley Croft – RWF
Harry Whittaker – LWF
Nathan Keene – ST
Harry's chest loosened. His name was there. Left wing. He was starting.
He let out a quiet breath. It wasn't relief exactly. More like confirmation. All those extra runs in the frost, all those recovery sprints, all those hours staring at his tactical notebook—they'd counted for something.
Behind him, Noah gave his shoulder a light shove. "Told you, mate. You were always gonna start."
"Yeah, but you never know with Frank," Harry muttered.
On the bench were Oscar, Marcus, Eli, Toby, Jamie Walsh, Dylan, Zak, Kian, Jamie Dunstall, Lewis, Finlay, Tyler, and Callum.
That left a few disappointed faces. Marcus tried to hide his frustration, chewing gum harder than usual. Jamie Walsh just nodded quietly, making no fuss, but Harry knew the midfielder had expected to start after his scrimmage performance.
Frank cleared his throat. "Congratulations to the starting eleven. But listen carefully—the bench is just as important. I don't name subs for decoration. You could be the difference tomorrow."
His eyes scanned the group. "We're playing Walsall at home. They're strong, physical, and they'll test us in the air. But we're quicker, sharper, and if we move the ball with purpose, we'll hurt them. That's our edge."
He tapped the board with his knuckle. "Sleep well tonight. Eat right. Hydrate. Tomorrow's about execution."
***
Saturday morning arrived with crisp January air and nervous energy. Harry woke at 7 AM without an alarm, his body clock already adjusted to the days. Jamie was still snoring in the next bed, but Harry couldn't stay still.
He grabbed his phone and checked the weather. Partly cloudy, 4 degrees, light winds. Perfect conditions.
Breakfast was quieter than usual. The starting eleven sat together at one table, while the substitutes gathered at another. It wasn't planned that way, but it happened naturally.
Tommy Henderson pushed scrambled eggs around his plate. "Anyone else not hungry?"
"Force it down," Danny said. "You'll need the energy later."
Harry managed two pieces of toast and a banana. His stomach felt tight, but that was normal. The butterflies always came before big matches.
At 10 AM, the team bus arrived outside the accommodation block. It was a short journey to the ground, but Frank insisted on taking the bus for every match. "Professional habits," he always said.
The Salford ground looked different on matchday. Brighter somehow. The grass was perfectly cut, the goalposts gleaming white. A small crowd was already gathering behind the barriers—parents, friends, and local supporters wrapped in scarves and coats.
Harry spotted his family immediately. Mum stood near the halfway line with Ellie and Sophie, all wearing Salford colors. Sophie had her Arsenal scarf draped over her Salford shirt—typical Sophie, hedging her bets.
She waved madly when she saw the bus arrive. Harry waved back through the window.
"Your fan club's here then," Riley said, grinning.
"Something like that."
---
In the changing room, the atmosphere was electric. Music played from a speaker in the corner—something with a driving beat that got the blood pumping. Players were going through their pre-match routines: stretching, checking boots, mentally preparing.
Harry pulled on his red and white shirt, feeling the weight of it. Number 7 on the back. An odd feeling that still gave him goosebumps.
Frank walked in as they were finishing up, his face calm but focused. "Right, lads. Final words before we go out for warmup."
The music stopped. Everyone turned to face him.
"Walsall are a good side. They knocked out two decent teams to get here. But they've never faced us. They don't know what we're about."
He moved to the tactical board, pointing at the formation diagram.
"We press high, we move the ball quick, we support each other. Nathan, hold the line but be ready to drop deep when we need an outlet. Wingers, track your fullbacks but don't forget to attack. Midfield, keep it tight but look for those through balls."
His eyes found Harry's. "Harry, their right-back is solid but not quick. Use your pace. Get at him early and often."
Harry nodded, feeling the familiar pre-match energy building in his legs.
"Defense," Frank continued, "stay organized. Talk to each other. Tommy, be loud back there."
Tommy thumped his gloves together. "Always am, gaffer."
Frank stepped back. "You've earned your places in this team. Now go out there and show everyone why."
The team rose as one, boots clattering on the changing room floor. Danny Mills, as captain, led them toward the tunnel.
"Come on then, lads," Danny called. "Let's do this."
Harry fell into line behind Noah, his heart beating faster with each step toward the pitch. Through the tunnel walls, he could hear the crowd growing louder.
[Pre-Match Status]
[Fitness: 100%]
[Confidence: High]
[Team Morale: Excellent]
The system's summary appeared briefly in his peripheral vision, confirming what he already felt. He was ready. They all were.
The tunnel opened onto the pitch, bright winter sunlight hitting his eyes. The crowd noise washed over them—bigger than he'd expected for a youth match. Probably 600-700 people, maybe more.
Walsall were already warming up at the far end, looking organized and physical, just as Frank had described. Their players were generally bigger than Salford's, but Harry had learned that size wasn't everything.
"Fifteen minutes warmup," Frank called. "Keep it sharp, keep it focused."
Harry jogged onto the pitch, the familiar feel of grass under his boots. This was it. The first match of 2004. His chance to build on the momentum from the Blackpool game.
In the stands, he could see his family watching intently. Sophie was practically bouncing with excitement, pointing him out to everyone around her.
The warmup flew by. Passing drills, shooting practice, a few sprints to get the legs moving. Harry felt good—sharp, quick, ready.
As they headed back to the changing room for final preparations, Frank pulled him aside.
"Remember what we worked on this week. Get in behind their right-back. Make him think about defending instead of attacking. You do that, and we'll create chances."
"Got it, gaffer."
"Good lad. Now go show them what Harry Whittaker can do."
Back in the changing room, the noise from outside was growing. Kickoff was ten minutes away. Time for final preparations, final words, final moments before the battle began.