It was not yet four o'clock in the afternoon, but the Stadium was already packed to capacity.
This was the opening match of the new season. Despite Luton Town being widely predicted to face relegation, their loyal supporters still filled the stands, eager to rally behind their team.
On the pitch, John Aston was leading the players through their warm-up routines. Meanwhile, Ethan stood in a private box at the top of the stadium, taking in the panoramic view of the ground.
Beside him stood the club's owner, David Morton.
"This game should be fine, right, Ethan?" Morton muttered, pacing back and forth in the box, occasionally glancing at his watch.
"Relax, David. You saw the impact of our pre-season friendlies. No team in League Two can match us," Ethan replied calmly. His eyes shifted from the players warming up on the field to the sky above.
The weather looked perfect for football.
Ethan nodded in satisfaction and rolled up his sleeves.
"The warm-up is almost done. I'm heading to the dressing room," he said, turning to leave. Just before stepping out, he stopped and added with a smirk, "David, you might want to start thinking about how to celebrate after our win."
Seeing the unwavering confidence in his manager, David Morton finally felt a bit more at ease.
This wasn't just Ethan's first official match as head coach—it was also his first game under the ownership of David Morton.
Up in the press box, Roy sat with her usual poised demeanor, dressed in a sharp black business suit, her blonde hair neatly tied back.
She observed the Luton players as they went through their drills. It was impossible to gauge a team's true quality just from warm-ups, but from an outsider's perspective, Roy had little optimism for their chances.
Her eyes first landed on N'Golo Kanté, the lean and unassuming French midfielder. He looked unremarkable, far from a star. Danny Drinkwater, while composed, still had a boyish inexperience about him, prompting Roy to shake her head.
Jamie Vardy at least had a rugged, aggressive presence, but this was football, not a street fight. Physicality alone wouldn't win matches.
Roy frowned. She had no faith in Ethan's squad. If Luton hoped to climb out of their struggles, they needed a manager with real experience, not some arrogant, unproven upstart.
And just thinking about Ethan made her blood boil.
In the away dressing room, Port Vale's Sam Parker was briefing his teammates.
"Just watch out for Kevin Keen. The rest of them aren't worth worrying about. The so-called 'talents' Ethan brought in wouldn't even cut it in League Two."
Parker, brimming with confidence, was relishing the chance to face his former club in the first game of the season. He silently thanked fate for giving him the perfect opportunity to embarrass Ethan.
Port Vale's manager didn't mind Parker taking the spotlight—if anything, he appreciated having an insider who knew the opposition well.
The rest of the Port Vale squad nodded along. Most of them weren't familiar with the current state of Luton Town, but if Parker, a former Luton player, spoke with such certainty, they had no reason to doubt him.
Meanwhile, in the Luton dressing room, Ethan was unfazed. He wasn't concerned about Port Vale's preparations—he had done his own homework.
He had analyzed several of their matches from last season. They were a classic lower-league English side, relying on long balls and aerial duels. Solid but unspectacular. Mid-table material at best. There was nothing in their game that warranted special attention.
Instead, Ethan focused on his own team.
There was no need to go over tactics—his players had spent weeks drilling their approach. The team had developed a strong understanding of their game plan. Now, all that was left was the final mental push before kick-off.
Ethan stepped forward, holding a stack of newspapers.
"These are all the articles about us," he said, his voice steady but firm.
He spread the papers on the floor. The headlines were all the same—pundits and reporters predicting Luton Town's demise.
"They think we're finished! They believe we'll be out of the professional league system by next season!"
With a sharp motion, Ethan threw the newspapers to the ground.
"Well, they can go to hell! The only people who decide our fate are us! And the only thing that matters is winning—three points at a time!"
He turned to the tactics board, wiping it clean before writing a bold number:
-30
"This is our current points tally," he declared.
Then, with deliberate strokes, he wrote another number beneath it:
-27
"Ten games."
He raised a hand, fingers spread wide.
"We just need to win ten games! That's it! Ten wins, and we wipe this deficit clean!"
The players, previously quiet, were now fully focused, adrenaline surging through the room.
As the final minutes before kick-off ticked down, the battle was no longer just about tactics or skill.
It was about proving everyone wrong.
"This match is just the beginning! We need ten straight wins to claw back those deducted points—that's our goal! Think about it, lads! Imagine what happens when we do it—when we win ten in a row! Some people think we're destined for relegation!"
"Go out there and prove them wrong! Show them with your performance on the pitch!"
Ethan clenched his fist and roared.
"Victory!!!"
Vardy shot up from his seat, raising his fist with a determined look.
"Victory!!!"
The energy inside Luton's dressing room exploded.
As the players from both sides lined up in the tunnel, the stadium DJ began announcing Luton's starting eleven.
"Our captain leads the way! Kevin…"
"Keane!!!"
A roar of cheers erupted from the stands as Kevin Keane stepped out onto the pitch.
Next came George Parker, another fan favorite, followed by a warm reception for academy graduates. But when Jamie Vardy's name was called, the noise dipped—only a smattering of applause and cheers followed.
The same reaction greeted N'Golo Kanté and Charlie Austin. The fans weren't convinced by players picked up from the lower leagues.
In the press box, Roy smirked.
See that, you bastard? The players you brought in aren't winning over the fans at all.
Then, it was the turn of head coach Ethan. As his name echoed through the stadium, the entire ground fell into an uneasy silence. A few scattered boos rang out, growing in volume.
English fans were skeptical, even dismissive of outsiders. They barely trusted coaches from mainland Europe—so why would they back a Chinese manager from the far East?
By the time Ethan reached the dugout, the boos had reached their peak.
His expression remained unreadable. He had arrived in England to jeers—now, he had to make them believe.