Chapter 164 — The Price of Being Wanted

Chapter 164: Chapter 164 — The Price of Being Wanted

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The rain started before breakfast. Not heavily — just enough to leave the streets outside Sean’s apartment dark and reflective, the kind of Belgian morning where the sky seemed to have forgotten that daylight was supposed to arrive.

Sean stood by the window with a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. He hadn’t opened the football apps. He’d learned better. The temptation was still there, though. After the last two matches, his name had become difficult to avoid — five goals, three assists, two consecutive victories, and enough clips circulating online for people who had never watched a full Northbridge match to begin forming opinions about him.

He put the phone down. The reflection in the glass looked ordinary. Same face. Same tired eyes. Same training clothes. Nothing about him looked like the player people were suddenly discussing.

His phone vibrated. A message from Brandt.

*10:30. Office.*

Sean read it once, then again. No explanation. He finished his coffee. Whatever it was, he would deal with it after training. That had become his rule. Football first. Everything else after.

---

The training ground was quieter than usual. The rain had forced the academy groups indoors, leaving the main squad with the covered section of the facility and a smaller portion of the outdoor pitch.

Blake was already there. He looked at Sean as soon as he walked through the entrance. "You’ve seen it?"

Sean kept walking. "No."

"You’re lying."

"I’m not."

"You’re definitely lying."

Sean smiled despite himself. "Morning, Blake."

"Morning, superstar."

Sean stopped. "Don’t."

Blake laughed. "See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about."

"What?"

"You hate it."

"Hate what?"

"Being called a superstar."

Sean picked up his training bag. "I’m a footballer."

"That’s what makes it funny."

Vale walked past them carrying a bottle of water. "Leave him alone."

Blake looked at Vale. "You’re defending him now?"

"No." Vale kept walking. "I’m defending myself. If you keep talking, we’ll all be late."

Blake shook his head. "Nobody appreciates my personality."

Sean followed them toward the pitch. For a few minutes, the conversation disappeared. And that was exactly what Sean wanted.

---

Carter had changed the schedule. Instead of beginning with technical work, the squad started with a short tactical briefing. The screen showed their next league opponent.

Ravenford.

Sean recognized the shape immediately. Compact midfield. Aggressive full-backs. High defensive line. A team that didn’t mind conceding possession if they could control where the possession went.

Carter stood beside the screen. "They’ve watched you."

Nobody laughed. That statement had become less dramatic over the last few weeks. It was simply true.

Carter changed the image. Sean’s position appeared highlighted. Then another. Then another.

"Ravenford have identified three things." He pointed. "Your first movement after receiving wide." Next. "Your tendency to attack the space behind the full-back after drawing him toward the ball." Next. "And your habit of drifting inside when the opposition winger fails to track you."

Carter looked at Sean. "They’re going to try to make all three useless."

Sean nodded. "How?"

"By refusing to give you the reaction you want." Carter smiled slightly. "Good." He changed the screen. "That’s your problem."

Sean frowned. "Why?"

"Because you’ve spent the last month learning how to manipulate reactions." A pause. "Now you’re going to face a team that may refuse to give you one."

The room became quieter. Carter turned toward the rest of the squad. "And that means this match cannot become Sean against Ravenford." Blake looked across at Sean. Vale remained expressionless.

Carter continued. "If they spend the entire match watching Sean, someone else will be free." He pointed toward Blake. "If they stop watching Sean, Sean will punish them." Then toward Vale. "If they close the centre, the wings open." Then toward the full-backs. "If they defend deep, we change the tempo." He switched off the screen. "The team decides the game." He looked directly at Sean. "Not one player."

Sean nodded. "Understood."

---

The training session became a rehearsal for exactly that problem. Carter divided the squad into two groups — one attacking, one defending. The defenders received a specific instruction: *do not react unnecessarily to Sean.*

The first sequence started. Sean moved wide. Nothing. He moved inside. Nothing. He accelerated toward the full-back. Nothing. The defender didn’t chase. Sean stopped. The ball moved backward. Carter blew the whistle. "Reset."

Sean frowned. Again. This time he stayed wide. The full-back ignored him. Sean started his run behind. Still nothing. The defender held position. Sean slowed. The defensive line remained intact.

Carter said nothing. That silence irritated Sean more than a correction would have.

He received the ball again. The defender stood three metres away, waiting. Sean looked at him. The defender didn’t move. Sean looked inside. Vale was marked. Blake was between two defenders. The far side was crowded. There was no obvious solution. For several seconds, Sean did nothing. Then he passed backward. The attack reset.

Carter stopped the drill. "Better."

Sean looked at him. "That was better?"

"Yes."

"I didn’t create anything."

"You prevented yourself from creating the wrong thing."

Sean absorbed that. Carter walked closer. "You’re looking for the moment where the defender makes a mistake."

"Yes."

"Stop."

Sean frowned. "The mistake may never come."

Carter pointed toward the defensive line. "If the opponent refuses to give you the reaction you’re waiting for, you have to create a different problem."

Sean looked at the pitch. "What problem?"

Carter smiled. "That’s why you’re here."

---

The next sequence began. Sean received wide. The full-back stayed. Sean didn’t force the dribble. Instead, he passed inside. Then moved — not toward the defender, away from him. Blake dropped. Vale moved higher. The full-back glanced toward Sean.

That was enough.

Sean stopped again. The defender had given him nothing. But now the defensive midfielder had shifted half a step to account for Blake. Sean saw it. He pointed. "Vale."

Vale understood immediately. One pass. Vale received between the lines. The midfielder closed him. Blake ran beyond. Vale slipped the ball into Blake’s path. Blake crossed. Johansson attacked the near post.

Goal.

Carter nodded. Sean hadn’t touched the ball after the first pass. But he’d changed the structure twice. That was the lesson. The defense hadn’t reacted to him. So he had made them react to someone else.

---

Later, Carter made the exercise harder. This time Sean wasn’t allowed to receive inside the final third for the first three minutes. The instruction was deliberate. If the defenders wanted to ignore him, they could. If the team wanted to use him, they couldn’t. Sean had to influence the attack without becoming its immediate solution.

It was frustrating. Then interesting. Then addictive. Sean had started noticing things he normally wouldn’t have noticed. Blake’s positioning. Vale’s timing. The full-back’s body orientation. The distance between the centre-back and the defensive midfielder.

A small gap appeared. Sean didn’t attack it. He pointed toward it.

"Doyle, switch."

Doyle moved. Blake immediately rotated. Vale dropped. The defensive line shifted. And Johansson found himself alone. The pass came.

Goal.

Carter blew the whistle. "That’s it." Sean looked toward him. Carter pointed at him. "You didn’t need the ball."

Sean nodded. He was beginning to understand something. The more dangerous he became, the less often he actually needed to touch the ball to prove it.

---

By the end of training, the rain had stopped. The pitch was wet and heavy. The squad moved into finishing work. That was where Carter finally gave the players what they had been waiting for.

"Enough tactics."

Blake smiled. "Finally."

Carter ignored him. "Ten minutes." He pointed toward the goal. "Crosses. Cutbacks. Second balls. Finish everything."

The energy changed immediately. Sean took his position on the left. Blake stood centrally. Vale waited outside the box.

The first ball came. Sean attacked it. Header. Saved. Second. Low cross. Blake finished. Third. Sean received wide, cut inside and fired across goal. Goal. Fourth. Sean beat the full-back and squared it. Johansson finished. Fifth. Vale played the ball into Sean. Sean took one touch. Shot. Goal. Sixth. Blake won the ball high. He immediately found Sean. Sean accelerated. One defender. Second defender. He shifted the ball onto his right foot. Shot. Goal.

Blake shouted. "That’s five!"

Sean laughed. "Count properly."

"Five for you!"

"Four."

"Same thing."

"It isn’t."

Vale walked past. "He’s right."

Blake looked offended. "You’re both against me."

The next ball came. Sean didn’t shoot. He saw Blake making the run. He slipped the ball across the box. Blake finished first time. He turned immediately. "Assist."

Sean pointed at him. "Exactly."

Blake grinned. "Write it down."

---

The match came three days later. Ravenford arrived with a plan. Sean knew it within the first ten minutes. The full-back didn’t chase him. The winger didn’t follow him. The defensive midfielder stayed close to Vale. They were willing to let Sean receive wide. They were willing to let him stand there. They simply refused to panic.

Northbridge struggled. For twenty minutes, the match became ugly. No space. No transitions. No clean chances.

Then Sean changed the question. He stopped asking where the space was. He started asking who was controlling it.

He dropped deeper. Received. Turned. Carried the ball forward. Ravenford’s midfielder followed. Sean released it. Then sprinted beyond him. Blake received. One touch. Through ball. Sean was in. The goalkeeper came out. Sean could shoot. Instead, he squared it. Johansson arrived.

Goal. 1–0.

The stadium erupted. Sean pointed at Blake. Blake pointed back. Carter simply nodded from the technical area. The plan had worked. Not because Sean had beaten Ravenford’s defensive strategy. Because he’d made them abandon it.

---

Ravenford responded immediately. They pushed their full-backs higher. Northbridge absorbed the pressure. Then, in the fifty-eighth minute, Vale won possession. He looked up. Sean was already running. The pass came over the top. Sean controlled it with his first touch. The full-back recovered. Sean slowed. The defender slowed. Then Sean accelerated again. The defender committed. Sean cut inside. Left foot. Shot.

Goal. 2–0.

This time Sean celebrated. He slid toward the corner, fists clenched. Blake reached him first. "That’s what I’m talking about!"

Sean laughed. The noise from the stands rolled over them. For a moment, none of the tactical language mattered. No reports. No scouts. No market value. Just football. A goal. A teammate. A crowd. That was enough.

---

Ravenford scored in the seventy-second minute. 2–1. The match became tense again. Carter shouted instructions. Sean looked around. The team was tiring. He could feel it.

So he changed his game again. Less sprinting. More positioning. He began drifting between the full-back and midfielder, forcing both to keep checking him. Then, in the eighty-sixth minute, he received the ball near the corner. Two defenders approached. Sean didn’t attack either. He waited. Blake arrived. Sean played the ball backward. Blake returned it immediately. The defenders stepped forward. Sean crossed. Vale attacked the second ball. Header.

Goal. 3–1.

Sean’s second assist. Vale pointed toward him as he celebrated. The stadium erupted again. Three goals. Two contributions from Sean. And the final whistle came four minutes later.

---

The dressing room was loud. Music. Shouting. Boots being thrown into corners. Someone sprayed water across the room. Blake was already replaying the goals on his phone. "Look at this."

Sean glanced over. "You’re watching your own goal."

"It’s a good goal."

"It was my assist."

"Exactly. That’s why it’s good."

Vale laughed from across the room. For several minutes, football became simple again. Win. Goals. Assists. Noise. Teammates.

Then Carter entered. The room quieted slightly. "Good." That was all.

Blake waited. "That’s it?"

Carter looked at him. "You won."

"Yes."

"Then enjoy it." He turned toward the room. "Tomorrow we recover." Then he looked at Sean. "And the day after that, we start preparing for the next problem."

Carter left. Blake shook his head. "Man doesn’t know how to celebrate."

Vale smiled. "He does." He looked around the room. "He just celebrates differently."

---

Later that night, Sean sat in the back of a car heading home. His legs were tired. His shirt still smelled faintly of grass and sweat. His phone contained dozens of notifications. He didn’t open them.

Instead, he watched the city pass outside the window. A group of young supporters stood outside a shop. One wore a Northbridge shirt. Another was wearing Sean’s number. Sean looked away quickly. The sight stayed with him anyway.

This was the part nobody had explained. The goals were exciting. The assists were exciting. The victories were exciting. But somewhere between the final whistle and getting home, football became something else. People carried pieces of it with them. A shirt. A photograph. A memory. A name.

Sean reached his apartment. Before entering, his phone finally vibrated.

Brandt.

Good match.

A second message followed. Three clubs requested updated footage this week.

Sean stared at it. Then another message. *None has approached you.* A pause. *I made sure of that.*

Sean smiled slightly. The final message arrived. *For now, keep playing.*

Sean put the phone away. He understood. The world was watching. Manchester was watching. Other clubs were watching. But nobody had been allowed to turn watching into something that controlled his life.

Not yet.

Sean entered his apartment. Dropped his bag. Opened the fridge. Nothing useful. He stared inside for several seconds. Then his phone rang.

Blake.

Sean answered. "What?"

"Food."

Sean closed his eyes. "You called me for food?"

"You have money."

"You’re unbelievable."

"Tomorrow."

Sean laughed. "Fine."

Blake hung up. Sean stood alone in his kitchen. A professional footballer. A match-winner. A player being watched by clubs across Europe. And somehow, his biggest immediate problem was deciding what to eat before bed.

He smiled. Maybe that was exactly how it was supposed to be. The football could become bigger. The attention could become louder. The numbers could become more impressive. But Sean still needed to wake up tomorrow. Train. Recover. Eat. Sleep. Play. Improve. Again. And again. Because being wanted was not the destination. It was simply proof that someone had noticed the work. And the work wasn’t finished.

---

FOOTBALL MONARCH SYSTEM

Match Performance Complete

Goals: 1

Assists: 2

Key Passes: 5

Successful Dribbles: 4

Chance Creation: 7

Tactical Influence: High

External Attention: Increasing

Development Principle Updated

Do not chase being wanted. Become impossible to ignore.

---

Sean looked at the final line. Then smiled. The interface disappeared.

Tomorrow was another day. And somewhere, another defender was waiting.