The warning came before kickoff.
Not from the coach. From the way the opposition lined up.
Marcus noticed it while jogging to his spot. Their midfield didn't spread the way most teams did. They sat narrow. Compact. The two centre-backs didn't glance at the wingers first.
They watched him.
"NUMBER NINE," one of them called out, loud enough to carry. "STAY CLOSE."
Marcus slowed his jog, lips pressed thin.
So that was it.
The whistle blew.
From the first pass, the difference was obvious.
Marcus stayed high, back on the last line as instructed. The ball moved through midfield, slower than usual. When Marcus checked his shoulder and dropped, two bodies moved with him instantly.
Not chasing. Containing.
He took the ball once on the half-turn and felt a hand grab his shirt before he could spin. The ref waved it away.
"DON'T LET HIM TURN," someone shouted.
Marcus got up without complaint. Adjusted his socks. Reset.
The next time he dropped, the pass came late. He cushioned it anyway, but the second defender arrived before he could release.
Clipped. Hard.
No whistle again.
The message was clear.
Twelfth minute.
The midfield hesitated, unsure of the outlet. A clearance went long instead. The opposition won the second ball cleanly.
They attacked immediately.
Marcus turned and sprinted, lungs tightening, but the ball moved faster than he could.
A cross swung in. The striker arrived between centre-backs.
GOAL.
Score: Manchester United Academy 0 – 1 Opponent
The noise from the away end punched through the air.
Marcus slowed to a jog, hands on hips.
This time, the looks from his teammates weren't angry.
They were expectant.
"STAY HIGH," the captain hissed as they reset. "DON'T GIVE THEM A REASON."
Marcus nodded.
He stayed high.
For the next ten minutes, he barely touched the ball. When he showed, the pass went elsewhere. When he drifted half a step, a defender moved with him immediately.
The opposition had done their homework.
Twenty-fourth minute.
Marcus dropped anyway.
Two defenders followed. One blocked the passing lane. The other stepped in front of his turn.
Marcus felt the trap snap shut.
He laid the ball off blind and was hit a half-second later.
This time, the whistle came.
The defender backed away, palms raised. "HE FELL."
Marcus got up slowly, jaw tight.
The argument came next.
The captain pulled him aside during a stoppage. "You're dragging them into us," he said. "Stop dropping."
Marcus met his eyes. "They're passing late."
"THEN ADAPT," the captain snapped.
Marcus turned away before he said something worse.
Behind them, the opposition midfield clustered.
"KEEP HIM QUIET."
Marcus heard it clearly.
He adjusted.
Not immediately. Not obviously.
He stayed high again, long enough for the defenders to relax into the rhythm they expected. Long enough for them to think they'd solved him.
Then he moved sideways instead of back.
A drift into the right half-space. Not asking for the ball. Just enough to pull one defender wide.
Nothing came of it at first.
The crowd groaned.
The defenders shouted at each other.
That was enough.
Thirty-sixth minute.
Marcus drifted wide again. This time, both centre-backs hesitated. One stepped. The other held.
The space opened centrally.
The midfielder drove into it and shot. The ball took a deflection and rolled over the line.
GOAL.
Score: Manchester United Academy 1 – 1 Opponent
Marcus turned and sprinted back immediately.
No celebration.
The opposition captain slapped his hands together, furious. "SORT IT OUT."
Halftime came without another goal.
The dressing room was tight with noise.
"They're sitting on you," the winger said. "Every time you move."
Marcus nodded. "Good."
The winger frowned. "Good?"
"It means they're watching the wrong thing."
The coach said nothing during the exchange. He just watched Marcus, eyes sharp, measuring.
The second half started harder.
The opposition stepped up their physicality. Late challenges. Heavy shoulders. Every touch Marcus took came with contact.
Fifty-second minute.
Marcus dropped into midfield and was hit immediately. Stayed on his feet. Released the ball anyway.
"STAY ON YOUR FEET," the ref barked.
Marcus didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
The match stretched.
Both teams cautious now. Both knowing the next goal would matter.
Sixty-fifth minute.
Marcus stayed high for three full phases of possession. Didn't move. Didn't show. Let the defenders get comfortable again.
Then, when the ball went wide, he dropped late.
Really late.
The pass came under pressure. Marcus shielded it with his body, felt two men on his back, and refused to go down.
He laid the ball off blind into the space he knew would be there.
The runner didn't hesitate.
GOAL.
Score: Manchester United Academy 2 – 1 Opponent
This time, the celebration came to Marcus.
Not wild. Not complete.
But real.
The captain grabbed him by the collar. "GOOD."
Marcus nodded once.
The final twenty minutes were brutal.
The opposition threw everything forward. Long balls. Flick-ons. Chaos.
Marcus tracked back once, intercepting a square pass near the halfway line. He drew a foul and stayed down longer than necessary, letting seconds drain away.
Eighty-eighth minute.
Another cross. Another clearance. Another roar.
Marcus felt the ache in his legs now. Real fatigue. No hiding it.
The final whistle came like relief.
FULL-TIME SCORE: Manchester United Academy 2 – 1 Opponent
Marcus bent forward, hands on knees, breathing hard.
This one felt earned.
The opposition captain passed him on the way off.
"We prepped for you," he said quietly. "Didn't catch you."
Marcus didn't smile.
But he remembered it.
In the tunnel, the coach fell into step beside him.
"They planned for you," he said.
Marcus looked up.
"That's the next stage," the coach added. "Don't get comfortable."
Marcus nodded.
He wasn't planning to.
Later, alone, Marcus sat on the edge of his bed and replayed the match in fragments.
The first drop that failed.
The sideways movement they didn't expect.
The moment they shouted instead of acted.
Being a False 9 wasn't about disappearing.
It was about making others move first.
THEY'RE NOT GUESSING ANYMORE.
Marcus lay back, eyes on the ceiling.
Good.
That meant he was worth stopping.
And if they were going to build plans around him now,
He'd make sure those plans kept breaking.