Saturday, August 15th. 11:30 AM The Away Dressing Room, Molineux Stadium.
Premier League. Matchday 1.
Wolverhampton Wanderers vs. West Bromwich Albion.
There is no grace period in English football. You can conquer Madrid, silence Barcelona, and parade the European Cup in front of half a million people, but once August arrives, all of that is forgotten.
The Premier League ignores your summer vacation. In the Black Country, a derby is always a derby, no matter how many gold badges you have on your sleeve.
Ethan Matthews sat in the cramped, notoriously unfriendly away dressing room at Molineux. The noise coming through the walls wasn't the awe of the Champions League; it was the harsh, fierce hatred of their fiercest local rivals. Wolves fans spent the whole summer watching their neighbors rule Europe, and they were eager to bring them back down.
Ethan took his phone from his bag. The group chat was already buzzing.
Group Chat: The Eastfield Boys
Callum: I've watched all their pre-season friendlies. They're setting up in a rigid back five today. They don't want to play football; they want to frustrate you and hit long balls over the top. Don't force it through the middle; it'll be a complete traffic jam. Keep swinging the ball wide and let Kalu and Hayes run at their wing-backs.
Mason: Exactly what Cal said. It's a derby, General. They'll kick you in the first five minutes just to see if the European Cup made you soft. Put a shoulder into their captain early. Remind them who runs this region.
Mia: The pub is packed. Everyone's wearing their new kits with the gold Champions League patch! Bring home the three points, Eth!
Ethan: Keep it wide and don't get sucked into the middle. Got it, Cal. And Mase, nobody is going soft. We rule the concrete.
Ethan locked his phone. He appreciated the new version of Callum's scouting. No theories or academic rambling—just clear football observations. Back five. Traffic jam in the middle. Use the wings. It was a straightforward plan for a chaotic derby.
Julian Vance walked into the center of the dressing room. The manager seemed unfazed by the deafening chants from the stands outside.
"They do not care about your medals," Vance said, his voice cutting through the noise. "They don't care that you beat Real Madrid. In fact, it only makes them hate you more. To them, you are not the Kings of Europe. You are the enemy."
Vance made eye contact with Ethan, then looked at the new signings, Keller and Hayes.
"This isn't a European chess match. This is a street fight in our own backyard. If you expect them to respect your crown, they will take it off your head and use it against you. Do not give them an inch."
12:30 PM. Kickoff.
Stepping onto the pitch at Molineux was a trial by fire for the new signings. The stadium was a sea of old gold and black, filled with boos that vibrated the pitch.
From the referee's first whistle, Wolves made their intentions clear.
3rd Minute.
Ethan received his first pass of the Premier League season from Liam Thorne. Before he could turn, the Wolves central midfielder rushed in with a reckless, two-footed challenge.
Ethan saw it coming just in time, jumping slightly to avoid injury, but the impact still sent him crashing hard to the ground.
The home crowd roared their approval. The referee blew his whistle for a foul, issuing a stern warning while keeping his cards in his pocket. The message was clear: it was a derby, and the whistle would not be used often.
Ethan didn't roll on the grass. He bounced back up, ignoring the burning scrape on his knee.
Lukas Keller, the new German player, jogged over, his eyes wide with intense focus.
"I have him," Keller muttered to Ethan in broken English, glaring at the Wolves midfielder.
"No," Ethan replied, adjusting his shin pads. "We control our own space. Let's play."
22nd Minute.
Callum's scouting report was accurate. Wolves had set up a five-man defense across their penalty area. The center of the pitch was a war zone, completely lacking space for passing.
Every time Ethan touched the ball, he was engulfed by gold shirts ready to rough him up.
He realized it was time to apply the new tactics.
Ethan dropped deep, pulling the aggressive Wolves midfielders with him. He got a heavy pass from Keller. Instead of trying to turn into the crowd, Ethan played a one-touch, blind pass backward to Thorne, relieving the pressure.
The Wolves midfield, eager to win the ball, charged forward.
That was the signal.
Thorne sent the ball right back to Ethan, who had already spun into the space vacated by the Wolves midfielders.
Without taking a touch, Ethan launched a forty-yard diagonal pass out to the left touchline.
Tyler Hayes, the new Championship winger, controlled the ball smoothly. He found himself completely alone against the Wolves right wing-back.
Hayes didn't attempt flashy moves. He dropped his shoulder, tapped the ball past the defender, and used his incredible pace to leave his man behind.
Hayes raced to the byline and delivered a low, hard cross into the box.
Armando was there, overpowering the massive Wolves center-back, and smashed a first-time finish into the roof of the net.
GOAL.
Wolverhampton Wanderers 0 - 1 West Bromwich Albion.
The away section, filled with three thousand traveling fans, erupted into joy.
Ethan jogged over to the corner flag, pointing at Hayes. The new winger had just introduced himself to the Premier League. Keep it wide. Avoid traffic. It was disturbingly simple.
Halftime.
Wolverhampton Wanderers 0 - 1 West Bromwich Albion.
The dressing room was charged with tension. The physical toll of the derby was huge, with ice packs wrapped around several players' legs.
"They're going to come out swinging in the second half," Vance warned, writing the number 45 on the tactical board. "Forty-five minutes of pure survival. They will pump long balls into the box and try to turn this into a wrestling match. Keller, Thorne—you control the air. Ethan, you manage the clock."
The Second Half.
65th Minute.
Molineux was furious. Wolves had completely abandoned their defensive setup, throwing players forward in a frantic attempt to equalize.
The game became messy. The ball spent more time in the air than on the ground.
A loose ball dropped near the center circle. Ethan and the Wolves captain went up for it together. It was a brutal clash of heads. Both players fell to the ground.
The referee blew the whistle immediately.
Ethan sat up, his vision slightly blurry, feeling blood trickle down from a cut just above his eyebrow. The physios rushed onto the pitch, wrapping a thick white bandage around his head.
"You good, General?" Thorne asked, hovering over him.
Ethan stood up, swaying slightly before steadying himself. He looked at the blood on his white jersey and the hostile crowd of gold and black screaming for him to be taken off.
"I'm fine," Ethan said, a cold smile spreading across his face. "Let's finish this."
81st Minute.
Wolves were putting everything they had into the West Brom penalty area. A dangerous free kick was launched into the mix.
Lukas Keller rose like a giant, heading the ball forcefully clear.
It fell to Ethan on the edge of the box. He didn't clear it blindly. He controlled the ball, freezing the frantic pace of the game. Two Wolves players rushed at him. Ethan rolled his foot over the ball, executing a perfect, slow pirouette that sent both defenders sliding past him into empty space.
The away end roared. It was an impressive display of confidence and control.
Ethan calmly passed the ball to Kalu on the right, breaking the Wolves press and starting a rapid counter-attack.
Kalu pushed the ball toward the corner flag and won a crucial corner, effectively running down three minutes of the clock.
90+6 Minutes.
Whistle. Whistle. Whistle.
Full Time.
Wolverhampton Wanderers 0 - 1 West Bromwich Albion.
A massive, gritty win on opening day. They hadn't played beautiful football, but they faced one of the toughest crowds in the region and came away with three points.
Ethan walked off the pitch, his head still wrapped in a bandage, his kit stained with mud and blood. He clapped for the traveling away fans, who sang his name loudly enough for it to echo across Wolverhampton.
3:30 PM. The Team Coach, M6 Motorway.
The coach ride back to West Bromwich was quiet. The players were exhausted from the tough derby. Ethan sat in his seat, an ice pack pressed against the side of his bandaged head.
He took out his phone.
Group Chat: The Eastfield Boys
Mason: Now THAT is how you play a derby! You got your head split open, you got kicked all over the pitch, and you still made them look like amateurs in the midfield. Welcome back to the Premier League, General.
Callum: You perfectly used the wide channels. When the middle was blocked, you took advantage of the new winger's speed to get past their entire defense. That was a smart tactical move.
Mia: Your head looks terrible on TV, Eth! Please tell me you don't need stitches!
Ethan: Just a scratch, Mia. The physio said it gives me character. Cal, you were spot on about the traffic jam. We couldn't play through the middle at all. Hayes is a beast on the wing.
Mason: One game down, thirty-seven to go. The crown looks good on you, mate. But don't get too comfortable. Arsenal next week.
Ethan locked his phone and rested his head against the cool glass of the window. The European tour was over. The Premier League would be a long, grueling battle. But as he watched the familiar, gray skyline of the Black Country pass by, the Dictator of The Hawthorns knew one thing for sure.
He was ready for the mud.