The Sunday noon training session at the Cardiff City training facility was thick with anticipation. The team had reassembled after their brief one-week break, and the sense of focus had returned with a quiet intensity. This wasn't just another random training day. This was the final stretch of preparation before their first league match of the season: an away fixture against Burton Albion.
Ethan Voss stood at the edge of the pitch, bootlaces tight and fresh kit clinging to his frame. He glanced around at the rest of the squad, many of them stretching or chatting in low voices. A few offered nods of acknowledgment, and Ethan returned them with a slight smile. The friendly against Livingston had given him his moment, but he knew it wouldn't mean much if he couldn't hold it up in the grind of season's league games.
Coach Jepson gathered them in a huddle near the sideline, clipboard in hand, his expression stern as usual. "Alright, lads," he began, voice carrying through the morning fog. "This training session is about getting back in formation. There's no room for boasting and unnecessary flair. Every pass, every movement—we keep it clean, tight, and purposeful. Burton's a tough team to go and nick a win against, especially at their ground. So we stay alert, play compact, and work with each other."
The team nodded, listening.
Jepson glanced over the sheet, pausing before he looked up and caught Ethan's eye. "You'll be in the substitution for this match," he said, voice calm "Not because you haven't done well—we just want you to go with the flow, of the Championship properly."
Ethan gave a small nod, understanding between the lines. It wasn't a demotion; it was strategy. "Understood, Coach. I know it's a long season, I'll take one step at a time."
As the drills began, Ethan adjusted his shins once, and stepped into position, eyes sharp with intent. With the shrill sound of the coach's whistle everything kicked into motion. Every pass, sprint, and turn felt like part of something more than just practice—it was a rehearsal for real minutes that he would soon face on the pitch. The ball zipped from foot to foot, no one was holding it for long. In this practice session was pressure was constant, decisions had to be made in the blink of an eye, and hesitation could see you lose your spot in the pecking order. Though he didn't just follow the rhythm—he tried to set it, matching the tempo with crisp passes and quick transitions, showing he could keep up when it mattered.
Late in afternoon, Warnock, joined the coach and staff on the touchline, observing silently. They were soon asked switched to a simulated match environment.
Ethan found himself at the center of a midfield trio, flanked by a more defensive partner Aron Gunnarsson and an attacking midfielder Joe Ralls. The trio started to pass with purpose, gradually shaping the practice with their own rules—a touch limit, an extra point for a backheel assist, a callout for misplaced passes. It was their own mini-session within the bigger drill, both competitive and fun. The ball was skimming over the grass, passed around with a more purpose each time. Ethan caught the change in energy—this was no longer just a practice drill; it was about rhythm, cohesion, and understanding when to press and when to pull back. Their midfield soon became a chessboard, and he played with purpose, trying to keeping the tempo active without getting caught out of shape.
"Shift right!" Warnock's voice sliced through the noise. "Ethan, close the space—don't let them slip through the midfield!"
Ethan sprinted into position, intercepting a low pass and immediately feeding the ball through the channel to the winger. It was a clean, precise action—exactly what the staff wanted.
From the sideline, Warnock continued scribbling notes.
The next few hours followed a rhythm: tactical knowledge, defensive shape drills, and formation transition exercises. The medical staff checking in regularly, monitoring recovery and load.
As the sun dipped low, casting darkness across the training ground, the Cardiff City players and staff lined up for team bus bound for Burton-on-Trent. The air inside was thick with a quiet energy—muted chatter, and the occasional clack of boots against the floor. Ethan too stepped in, scanning for an empty seat. Spotting one by the window, he slid in, dropped his bag beneath his legs, and putting his earbuds in. Outside, the unfamiliar roads soon began to blur, as bus got on the highway. He glanced toward the back of the bus where a few players were huddled around a game of cards, light laughter escaping as they exchanged playful jabs. Though some had already leaned back on their seats, their eyes closed, conserving energy for tomorrow's match.
As Ethan stared out the window, lost in thought, a voice cut through.
"Oi, Voss. Why didn't you call me in morning? I could've given you a lift to the Club," Sean Morrison said, sliding into the seat beside him.
Ethan blinked, startled, then chuckled. "Didn't want to be a bother again. Figured train would do just fine."
Sean shook his head, grinning. "You're part of the team now, mate. Don't act like you've got to go it alone. Next time, just give me a ring."
Ethan smiled, appreciation in his voice. "Alright. I will."
It took them just under three hours to reach Burton. Upon arrival in city, the squad was checked into a modest hotel near the Pirelli Stadium. Dinner was served early, in a private dining room on the first floor.
Once everyone had eaten, they were ushered into a conference room. Warnock stood at the front beside a large projector screen displaying clips from Burton Albion's recent matches.
He ended the tactical debrief with, "Right, listen up. Keep your with your formation, and don't get dragged around chasing them. Manage the tempo—we set the rhythm, not them. They're disciplined, especially at home, and they'll punish us if we're sloppy."
Later after the debrief, Ethan spent quiet moments in his room, staring out at the dim street lights beyond the window. He felt the anticipation building up inside him, the same kind he used to feel before big school matches—only this time, the stage was far bigger.
Now it wasn't just about trying to find a place, it was about being prepared, being sharp, and doing the work. Tomorrow, he'd step onto the pitch not as an underdog, not as someone hoping for a break—but as a Cardiff City player ready for the fight.