Chapter 171: Startling Lineup
David stepped out of the bus, the roar of the stadium faint behind the concrete walls. He could feel the pulse of the crowd already forming outside Old Trafford, even though the match wasn’t until the next day. The air had that familiar scent of grass and old ambition, of legacy and expectation. The sun hung low over the famous red-brick fortress, casting golden shadows across the car park as he adjusted the strap of his gym bag. His boots thudded softly against the walkway, and with each step, he felt the ache in his legs creep higher—a dull, stubborn reminder of the week’s brutal training.
He walked slowly toward the players’ entrance, his head buzzing. Inside that stadium, history had been made—glory written in sweat, blood, and tears. But today, David felt none of the glory. Just pressure. Pressure so thick he could barely breathe. His heart thumped against his ribs, a silent war drum leading him into battle.
He reached for the door, took a breath, and just as he was about to push it open, it swung out toward him.
Ed Woodward.
The man who had once fought for him, the man who had made sure David even had a chance to show up today, walked out with a face like cold steel.
David froze. "Ed..." he said, voice soft, uncertain.
Ed paused.
David took a step forward, fumbling for words. "I just wanted to say... thank you. For earlier. I mean it. You didn’t have to—"
But Ed didn’t reply. Not a smile. Not a nod. Just a glance.
A look that carried a thousand buried meanings. One that made David feel smaller than he’d ever felt. Then, without a word, Ed turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the corridor.
David stood there, the silence heavy around him. His thank-you hung in the air like a feather falling in slow motion. He swallowed hard, his chest tightening. What had that look meant? Had he disappointed him already? Was it regret in Ed’s eyes? Pity?