Maddox arrived at Northcastle's training facility forty-five minutes early. The morning air was crisp, and dew still clung to the grass pitches that stretched out behind the main building.
He sat on a side bench for a moment, watching groundskeepers drag nets across the fields, preparing for the day ahead.
The facility was impressive. Modern buildings, pristine pitches, the kind of setup that spoke of serious investment. This wasn't some amateur operation like his former team. This was professional football, even at the youth level.
He walked through the main entrance, his footsteps echoing off polished floors. A few trophies lined the walls—three Youth League D cups and external awards. The history of success was everywhere.
"You're early," a voice said behind him.
Maddox turned to see Marcus Webb approaching, carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a clipboard thick with papers.
"Couldn't sleep," Maddox admitted.