The Next Big Thing
Chapter 155: Friendlies match

Chapter 155: Friendlies match

September 12, 2020

The new season had officially begun, with fixtures ranging from Fulham vs. Arsenal to Crystal Palace vs. Southampton, Liverpool vs. Leeds United, and West Ham vs. Newcastle United. It was a massive day for the Premier League and football fans worldwide. But before the main spectacle, two teams had decided to join in on the excitement by putting their squads to the test in a friendly match.

One of these teams was none other than Manchester United, the most talked-about club of the transfer window. A team that had sent shockwaves across the footballing world with their high-profile signings. Pundits and fans alike were already murmuring about them as the potential dark horses of the season—an unpredictable force lying in wait. The English giants, now under new leadership, sought to assess their freshly assembled squad against a strong yet underestimated opponent.

That opponent? None other than "The Lions of Birmingham"—Aston Villa. A team that, while rarely expected to challenge for the title, was never one to be taken lightly. They had built a reputation for resilience, a squad that could trouble even the best on their day.

But this wasn’t a high-stakes Premier League encounter. No, this was a friendly match—an exhibition game, a chance for both clubs to experiment, to fine-tune their tactics, and to give opportunities to new players. A friendly match was meant to be relaxed, almost casual.

Well, for Matt Targett, Aston Villa’s starting left-back, nothing about this match felt friendly at all.

’Shit, he’s coming again.’

Matt’s heartbeat pounded in his ears as his eyes locked onto the young winger tormenting him all game. For the first couple of dribbles, he had dismissed it as luck, maybe even complacency on his part. The third and fourth? Just a fluke, he told himself. But by the fifth, sixth, and seventh time, he had no more excuses left. This kid was special.

Glancing at the clock—43rd minute. Almost halftime. If he could just hold his ground until the whistle blew, he’d have time to reset, to figure out how to stop this nightmare.

He planted his feet firmly, centering himself, his body tensed like a coiled spring. He had to anticipate what the kid would do next. Was he going to cut inside? Burst down the wing? His mind raced, recalling every time the young forward had left him for dead.

’He’s fast—too fast,’ Matt thought, remembering how the kid had torched him with sheer pace earlier. That was when he had underestimated him. Not this time. Not again.

The winger approached, his movement unpredictable, the ball seemingly glued to his feet. Matt honed in on his foot positioning, searching for a tell—a fraction of hesitation, a slight shift in weight. Then, suddenly, it happened.

A mistake.

Or at least, it looked like one.

The ball rolled slightly too far forward, just within Matt’s reach. Instinct took over. Now! He lunged forward, extending his leg to intercept it, his mind already celebrating what seemed like a clean dispossession.

But the kid was quicker. A swift touch, a flick of the foot—Matt felt the ball slip between his legs before he even realized what had happened. Tap Nutmeg

Humiliation burned through him as he spun around, heart pounding. Not this time. He planted his feet, ready, determined to block whatever came next.

But the kid was already waiting. A small smirk. A casual tap.

The ball slid through his legs—again. Tap Nutmeg- again

Matt barely had time to process it before his balance failed him. His legs tangled awkwardly, and the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, staring up at the sky. The sound of the ball rolling away filled his ears, along with the distant echoes of laughter.

He had been destroyed.

By the time he lifted his head, he saw the kid had already cut inside, shifting the ball onto his stronger foot. Without hesitation, he unleashed a curling shot. The ball swerved mid-air, bending wickedly towards the far post.

Matt watched in stunned silence as Emiliano Martínez, Aston Villa’s rock in goal, leaped at full stretch. The Argentine had pulled off near-impossible saves in training, yet even he seemed to struggle.

The ball whipped past his fingertips.

The net rippled.

A deafening silence filled the stadium for a split second before the kid erupted in celebration, arms outstretched, roaring at the top of his lungs.

"GOALLLLL!"

Matt Targett remained on the ground, still processing what had just happened. A simple friendly match, they said. A relaxed game, they said.

Lying there, humiliated, he could only think of one thing.

’Is this really a friendly?’

Laughter echoed throughout the Manchester United locker room, a vibrant sound that filled the space as players relaxed, still riding high from the thrilling 4-3 scoreline. David sat beside his teammates, grinning ear to ear. His performance on the pitch had been nothing short of electric, bagging two goals and providing an assist. His confidence was soaring; he was on fire, and the thought of a hat-trick danced in his mind. The game wasn’t over yet, but he couldn’t wait to get back on that pitch. He could feel the energy surging through his veins.

As he leaned back on the bench, soaking in the positive atmosphere, the door to the locker room swung open. Erik ten Hag, the manager, entered with his assistant coaches in tow. The room immediately quieted, and all eyes turned to him. He had a presence that commanded attention, and his usual calm demeanor gave way to a focused intensity.

"Great job out there, guys," Ten Hag began, his voice steady but firm. "We’re up 4-3, but there’s still room for improvement. Offensively, no complaints—your movement, the passes, the goals—outstanding." He gave a nod of approval to the attacking players, and David couldn’t help but beam with pride.

"But," Ten Hag continued, his tone shifting, "we need to do better defensively. We’ve conceded three goals today, and that’s not acceptable, no matter who we’re playing. Watkins has scored a hat-trick already. We need to make sure we’re tighter, smarter. We can’t afford to let him continue running riot."

David couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Matt Targett, whose nightmare had just begun. But he knew Ten Hag was right—defense was crucial, and the team’s backline needed to step up.

"Now, I’m not changing any of the defenders right now," Ten Hag went on, "but I want you all to get to know each other better. Build those connections, understand each other’s movements. We can’t just rely on the talent—we need to be a unit."

David’s attention drifted slightly as Ten Hag continued. The coach shifted his focus to midfield. "McTominay and Pogba, you’re coming off. Fred and Donny will be coming on for the second half."

David’s mind was already half on the next play, but the mention of his own name snapped him back to the conversation.

"And for the forwards," Ten Hag paused, looking over his team, before his gaze landed on David. "David, you’ve done well, but I’m taking you off now. Antony’s coming in."

David’s heart dropped. He hadn’t expected that. His mind raced as he glanced around, looking for some sign of support from his teammates, but no one seemed to be reacting. Everyone was focused on what Ten Hag was saying. The coach continued outlining his tactical thoughts, detailing how the team needed to exploit Villa’s weaknesses, how they could apply more pressure higher up the pitch.

But all David could think about was the words that had just been spoken. You’re coming off. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could voice his concerns, Ten Hag’s sharp voice cut through the air again.

"Don’t question your coach, David," Ten Hag said, not unkindly, but firmly. "I’ve taken you off because I want to test other tactics. This is a friendly, remember? It’s about experimenting with our options, seeing what works."

David felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He’d been playing so well, so why take him off now? He bit his lip, trying to find the right words, but before he could respond, Ten Hag looked around the room and asked, "Is there anyone else here who’s unsatisfied with my decision?"

The locker room fell silent. No one spoke up, not even for a second.

"Okay, then," Ten Hag said, breaking the silence. "Let’s get back to work, lads. No time to waste."

David stood up, trying to shake off the feeling of disappointment. He started walking towards the door, but before he could step outside, he was stopped by a voice calling his name.

"Hey, kid," a familiar voice said.

David turned to see Matt Targett approaching, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tracksuit as he walked with an easy, relaxed pace. He flashed David a grin, but there was a hint of frustration in his eyes.

"You’re not playing anymore?" Matt asked, his tone teasing, but there was an underlying respect there.

David glanced over at Ten Hag, who was still talking to Antony near the sideline. The new forward was nodding attentively, seemingly absorbing everything Ten Hag was saying. "Yeah," David replied, trying to keep his disappointment from showing. "The coach wants to try out some different players, see how they work together."

"Damn," Matt said with a half-laugh. "Then I guess I shouldn’t have told him to take me off either. What a joke," he said, shaking his head, his sarcasm light but genuine. "But, kid, seriously... you’re something else."

David raised an eyebrow, the playful side of him emerging. "Yeah, I’ve been told," he said with a smirk, knowing full well Matt was referring to his dazzling display on the pitch.

Matt laughed, shaking his head. "Modest too," he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But man, I can’t wait to see you in the Premier League next season. That’s where the real competition is. Let’s see how you fare against the big boys when it matters."

David laughed in return, but his eyes gleamed with confidence. "Don’t worry," he said, tapping his chest with a grin. "I’ll hold you to that."

The two shared a brief laugh before Matt gave him a quick pat on the back and turned to head towards his seat. David watched him go before settling down on the bench, his body still buzzing from the game. He glanced at the pitch, where the players were taking their positions for the second half. The game was still ongoing, but David couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of being benched.

As the whistle blew, signaling the restart, David leaned back on the bench, his mind swirling with thoughts. Yeah, this is just a friendly, he told himself, trying to shake off the frustration. Don’t take it to heart. The season is soon.

He let out a deep breath, focusing on the game, but deep down, he knew he had bigger things on the horizon.

The season was just around the corner, and he couldn’t wait to show what he was truly capable of when the stakes were real.

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