At seven o'clock in the morning on August 8, Ethan woke up on the camp bed in his office.
His schedule had been relentless. Determined to get the team in shape before the season opener, he ran training sessions during the day and analyzed player performances at night. Adjusting individual training programs based on daily results left him with only three to four hours of sleep. While his assistant coaches, including John Aston, could help with on-field drills, much of the tactical planning and squad management fell on his shoulders. As a result, he had practically moved into the club's training facility, barely setting foot in the apartment the team had rented for him.
Splashing cold water on his face in the office bathroom, Ethan tried to shake off the fatigue. He zipped up his training jacket, adjusting the whistle around his neck—a standard part of his attire when leading sessions.
He then removed a sticky note from the mirror:
August 8th Schedule:
Morning: Counter-attack drills + 45-minute intra-squad match
Afternoon: Passing exercises + Pre-match press conference
Unlike usual training days, today included a media obligation.
Luton Town was set to begin their new league campaign at home against Port Vale on August 9. With matchday approaching, Ethan shortened the afternoon session to allow the players some recovery time. That evening, instead of letting them return home, he enforced a strict pre-match protocol: all players had to stay at the training base unless given special permission. For away games, they would be accommodated in hotels.
Later, he and team captain Kevin Keane headed to the small conference hall on the first floor, which doubled as the pre-match press room for home games. The room wasn't large, but given that Luton was in the lower divisions, media interest was limited. Besides local press from Luton and Port Vale, only major outlets like Sky Sports and the BBC had sent reporters.
Journalists were sparsely seated across the room, their eyes fixed on Ethan. A Chinese head coach in English football was a rarity, and many reporters were seeing him in person for the first time.
Ethan hadn't changed for the press conference. He was still in his training gear, the whistle still dangling from his neck. To the reporters, any mystery surrounding him quickly faded—he didn't look the part of a typical manager. If anything, he seemed younger than some of his players, including Kevin Keane.
Sitting in the front row, Roy Saul, a sharp-eyed journalist in a sleek black suit, observed Ethan with a mix of skepticism and irritation. A reporter for The Hatters' Voice, Luton's biggest newspaper, she was also a lifelong fan of the club. Her family had supported Luton Town for generations, and to her, the appointment of an unproven 27-year-old Chinese coach was an insult.
To make matters worse, Luton's new owner was American. What did Americans know about football? And now, they had entrusted her club to someone with no top-flight experience.
As soon as the press officer, John Aston, announced the start of the Q&A session, Roy's hand shot up. She wasn't going to let this opportunity slip.
"Now we begin twenty minutes of open questions…"
Before John could finish, Roy was already on her feet, her fitted suit accentuating her tall frame.
Ethan, who had only seen her face while she was seated, now noticed just how imposing she was. His gaze involuntarily drifted downward—before he quickly coughed and looked away.
A few chuckles echoed through the room. The journalists had picked up on his momentary awkwardness.
Roy, however, was unfazed. She narrowed her eyes at Ethan.
You don't belong here.
She took a deep breath, ready to fire the first question.
Roy's expression darkened, her frown deepening as the frustration on her face became impossible to hide.
"Mr. Ethan! You've brought three players from the amateur leagues to Luton this season. Do you have any idea how intense League Two football is?"
Roy lifted her chin slightly, her eyes flashing with provocation.
Let's see how you get out of this one, you arrogant bastard.
Kevin Keane glanced at the head coach with concern. The Hat Seller was Luton's most influential local newspaper, and now even their tone toward Ethan was openly hostile. If even the local press was against him, his reputation among the fans could only be worse.
But Kevin knew better. He was convinced that Ethan was a top-level manager. His tactical system alone was enough proof of that. And as for the players he signed? Kevin firmly believed that each of them had the quality to start for a mid-table Championship side, at the very least.
Across the table, Ethan studied the English journalist who was glaring at him with such defiance.
He had long been aware of how ruthless the English press could be, so he had come to the press conference with no expectations—he hadn't even bothered changing into a fresh suit.
Still, if every press conference had such an attractive reporter in the front row, maybe these media events wouldn't be such a waste of time after all.
"My players are more than capable of holding their own in League Two," Ethan replied evenly. "In fact, even in League One—or the Championship—they would still be able to compete."
"The Football League is a professional competition, Mr. Ethan!" Roy shot back, her voice rising.
"Miss, I am currently managing a club in a professional league. I know more about professional football than you do."
The tension between the Luton manager and the club's own local newspaper was electric, and the other reporters in the room watched on with eager anticipation.
As the press conference wrapped up, Ethan rose from his seat. Before leaving, he turned his head and spoke one final time.
"Vardy and Charlie will be the best strike partnership in League Two. Kante will be the best defensive midfielder in the entire division. Once the season starts, you'll see for yourself, Miss Reporter."
With that, he walked away.
Best strikers?
Best defensive midfielder?
What a load of nonsense. He's dreaming!
Roy bit her lip, staring hard at Ethan's retreating figure.
The other reporters, still processing his words, exchanged confused glances.
Wait... we didn't even get to ask our questions.