The Next Big Thing
Chapter 142: Match Squad Selection II

Chapter 142: Match Squad Selection II

Ten Hag glanced at the group before turning to the goalkeepers. "David de Gea, Dean Henderson, Sergio Romero, Lee Grant—you guys should go with Richard. He’ll take you through your training," he instructed, motioning for them to follow another assistant coach. Without hesitation, the four goalkeepers nodded and walked off in the direction Richard was leading them.

With the keepers gone, the rest of the squad remained on the field. David took a quick headcount—there were still about 23 players left. He mentally noted that, considering the matchday squad only had space for 18 players, and typically two of those spots went to goalkeepers, that meant only 16 outfield players would make it.

Sixteen.

That number settled in his mind, reinforcing his determination. He looked around at his teammates—some stretching, some chatting lightly—and clenched his fists. He was going to make it. No matter what.

Ten Hag, now standing at the center, took a moment to scan the group before he spoke again.

"Now, listen up. I am not going to separate you all into fixed groups or assign you rigid roles in training. That’s not how I work," he said, his voice firm yet composed. "In my system, I need players who are adaptable. I need defenders who know how to attack and attackers who understand when to drop back and help. I need midfielders who can control the tempo of the game, dictate play, and support both ends of the pitch. In short, I need complete players."

He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing.

"Now, I’m not asking you to all become masters of every position. But what I do want is intelligence on the pitch. The ability to read the game, to make the right decisions in any situation. Defenders should not just know how to tackle—they should know how to carry the ball forward and contribute to build-up play. Attackers shouldn’t only be focused on scoring—they should understand how to track back, press, and support the team defensively. And midfielders? You are the glue of the team. You should be able to hold possession under pressure, dictate the rhythm, and link both attack and defense seamlessly."

He glanced at them, his gaze sharp and assessing.

"What I’m basically saying," he continued, "is that we train as one unit. There will be no division between attackers, midfielders, and defenders in our sessions. We will work together, learning the game from every angle. And first up..." He clapped his hands together. "Your physicals."

From the back of the group, a familiar voice rang out.

"Oooh, that’s what I’m talking about," Cristiano Ronaldo said with a grin, his enthusiasm evident.

Some of the players chuckled, but David barely reacted. His mind was elsewhere—focused, locked in. This was just the beginning.

The coaching staff didn’t seem to mind Ronaldo’s comment, as no one else spoke up. Instead, they remained focused, letting the moment pass without interruption. Then, Mike Phelan, the assistant coach, took a step forward. His presence was commanding yet relaxed, a man who had seen it all in football.

"Alright, listen up," Phelan began, his voice carrying across the field. "First, we’re going to test your speed and agility. You’ll be split into groups of four. Each group will work with an assistant coach, and our kit staff will be monitoring your times using measuring equipment. This will help us assess how far along each of you is in terms of acceleration, agility, and endurance."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. Straightening it out, he continued, "I’m going to call out the names now. Once I do, follow the coach assigned to your group."

David listened intently, his heart pounding in anticipation. Speed and agility were among his strongest attributes, and he was eager to prove himself. He had been waiting for this moment, and now that it was here, he could barely contain his excitement.

Phelan began reading from the list.

"The first group: Aaron Wan-Bissaka, Scott McTominay, Mason Greenwood, and Alex Telles. You lot should follow Coach Brian over there." He pointed toward one of the assistant coaches standing at the far end of the training pitch.

As the selected players moved toward their assigned coach, Phelan continued.

"The second group: Victor Lindelöf, Paul Pogba, Brandon Williams, and Fred. You’ll be with Coach Steven."

David remained still, his breath steady as he watched another batch of players walk off. He couldn’t wait for his name to be called.

Standing beside him, Odion Ighalo took notice of his excitement. "You look pumped, kid," he said with a slight smirk.

David turned to him, his eyes alight with determination. "Of course! Aren’t you?"

Ighalo chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe if I were a few years younger." His tone was amused, but there was a nostalgic warmth to it as well.

Phelan’s voice rang out again.

"The third group: Harry Maguire, Bruno Fernandes, Anthony Martial, and Odion Ighalo. Coach Bill is waiting for you."

Ighalo stretched his arms as he prepared to leave. "Well, I’m off, kid. Good luck."

David nodded, offering him a small grin. "Good luck to you too."

With Ighalo gone, only eight players remained, including David himself. That meant two more groups would be formed. He took a deep breath, glancing around to see who else was left.

Phelan pressed on.

"The fourth group: Eric Bailly, Donny van de Beek, Marcus Rashford, and Phil Jones. You’ll be working with Coach Chris."

David’s gaze lingered on Donny van de Beek, another summer signing. The Dutchman had arrived with high expectations, and David was curious to see how he would adapt to the team.

Now, only four players remained. He knew that meant his name was about to be called.

"Axel Tuanzebe, Juan Mata, Daniel James, and Luke Shaw—you’re with Coach John," Phelan announced.

That left just four of them standing. Before Phelan could say anything, Juan Mata turned to David, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Good luck, mate."

"You too," David replied.

Finally, Phelan looked at the last four players.

"The rest of you, follow me."

David turned his head, taking in the players who would be training alongside him.

First, there was himself—focused, determined, ready to prove he belonged.

Then, there was Cristiano Ronaldo, looking as eager as ever. The Portuguese star was bouncing lightly on his feet, rolling his neck from side to side as he stretched. His entire demeanor radiated energy, his eyes filled with a competitive fire. He looked ready to take on any challenge thrown at him.

Next was Nemanja Matić, the experienced Serbian midfielder who, despite his age, still carried an imposing presence. While he wasn’t as agile as he once was, his game intelligence and leadership qualities were undeniable. He stood tall, arms crossed, surveying the field with a calm, composed expression.

And finally, there was Antony—the same player who had arrived late earlier. The young winger was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his expression a mix of excitement and nervousness.

David exhaled, his anticipation at an all-time high. This was it. His first real test.

As they walked toward their section of the field, David’s mind drifted. His thoughts were fixated on Antony, the Brazilian winger who had just arrived at Manchester United. He recalled reading about him before. Antony was here on loan, but what stood out the most was how much Erik ten Hag had pursued him. The Dutch manager had been after him for years, first bringing him to Ajax and now to Manchester United.

That fact alone made David uneasy. If Ten Hag had been so persistent in securing Antony, it meant he valued him highly. And that was a problem—because Antony played in David’s position.

David clenched his fists slightly as the realization settled in. Other players in the squad had filled in on the right wing before—Rashford, Martial, and even the still-pursued Jadon Sancho—but none of them were pure right-wingers. They were either forwards or left-sided players who could be shifted to the right when needed. But Antony? He was a natural in that role.

For the first time in a long while, a shadow of doubt crept into David’s mind. Was his position already at risk?

But he quickly shook his head. No.

Fear wasn’t something he entertained. He had spent years believing in his own abilities, in his own talent. He wasn’t about to let someone else shake that. If anything, this was just another challenge, another rival to surpass.

I’ll outclass him in this training session and secure my spot.

He had read that Antony was highly skilled, but David refused to be intimidated. He had always been confident—no, more than that. He called it self-respect. Self-recognition. He knew who he was, and he knew what he was capable of.

His grip on reality returned just in time to hear the assistant coach speak.

"Alright, listen up," Mike Phelan’s voice rang out, snapping David back into the moment. "From here to there, you lot will run a short 20-meter sprint. The kit boy over there is holding the radar gun, so we’ll be timing your speed. Get ready."

David turned his head and saw who was holding the device—Mohamed. A grin spread across his face as their eyes met, and Mohamed, his friend, returned the gesture with a knowing nod.

Lining up, David took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he prepared. He turned his head slightly to glance at his competitors.

Ronaldo, standing next to him, looked completely at ease, a wide grin stretched across his face. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he turned to David.

"What do you say, boy? You ready for a retiree to beat you?" Ronaldo teased, his smile growing even wider.

David didn’t react immediately. He just smirked, keeping his eyes forward. There was no need to respond.

Then came Mike Phelan’s voice, signaling the start.

"Alright then—ready... set..."

Everything went silent.

The wind stood still.

The only sound was their own breathing, the shifting of boots against the turf.

David’s heartbeat pounded in his ears.

His entire body was tense, locked in position like a coiled spring.

A moment of stillness.

Then—

TWEEEEET!

The whistle pierced through the silence, and in an instant, they exploded off the mark.

The race was on.

"Please donate Power Stones! Thank you so much! 🙌 Comment if you’d like the full training details. Otherwise, the next Chapter will cover the results!"