Chapter 28 – “The Calm Before the Storm”

21 October 2012

Carrington was quiet.

Not silent — the hum of a recovery session, the soft pings of passes during light drills, and the occasional bark of a physio checking on hamstrings — but it had a different weight. The kind of silence that comes before something loud.

Alex tied his laces slowly. The soreness was setting in — not the good kind from scoring goals or late winners, but the grind of starting two senior games back-to-back.

Alex Marshall had started twice in the space of two weeks — and for all the nerves that came with it, he hadn't buckled. Not once.

The first test came away at St. James' Park, under the grey skies of Newcastle on October 7th. It was a tough place for any teenager to start, but Alex embraced the chaos. Positioned on the right wing, he played with composure beyond his years. In the opening twenty minutes, he made a smart run to the byline and cut a pass back into the box — it didn't go down as an assist, but it set up Rooney's opener and gave United a foothold.

He didn't do anything flashy. But his touches were clean, his movement sharp, and his decisions — under pressure — made people take notice.

"Marshall doesn't light it up, but plays mature," read one review in the Manchester Evening News. "Movement excellent. Decision-making clean."

He was subbed off after 70 minutes with a professional performance in the bank. United took the win, 2–1.

The second start came nearly two weeks later, back at Old Trafford, this time against Stoke City on October 20th. Valencia was rested, and Alex once again got the nod.

And this time, he delivered on the scoresheet.

Midway through the second half, with Stoke sitting deep, he received the ball just outside the right channel of the box. He didn't panic. Instead, he shaped to cross, then slipped a disguised through-ball between the lines. Kagawa darted onto it and finished first time.

Alex didn't celebrate wildly. Just a smile and a small fist pump — like he belonged here. Like this wasn't a fluke.

"You watch Marshall and forget he's sixteen," said the Sky commentator. "The game's not too fast for him — he's already inside it."

The match ended 3–1. The buzz around him wasn't deafening yet, but it was growing. Quietly. Purposefully. Just like him.

✦ Present – Carrington, Recovery Day

"Two games, two wins, and you're still walking," Tom Cleverley teased, rolling out his calves on a foam roller nearby.

Alex groaned, slumping onto the massage table. "Barely. My legs feel like they've been steamrolled by Vidic."

Vidic, who was sipping protein shake across the room, raised an eyebrow. "I don't steamroll teammates. Only opponents."

Laughter broke out.

Carrick walked by, casual as ever, a water bottle in hand. "Wait until Chelsea double-pivot you to death. That'll really humble you."

Alex blinked. "Double what now?"

Rooney, already half-changed, smirked from the far corner. "Don't worry about the jargon. Just know they'll try to kick you, foul you, and press you till you beg for mercy."

Valencia chimed in, deadpan. "And when you think you're free, Mikel will step on your ankle."

Alex gave an exaggerated shiver. "Lovely. Can't wait."

Danny Welbeck leaned over from the next bench. "You'll be fine. Just do that magic little turn again — the one you pulled on Stoke's right-back. Bloke's still lookin' for his knees."

Giggs wandered in at that point, toweling off from the shower, and caught the end of the joke. "Confidence's good. But don't forget — Chelsea ain't Stoke."

"Sir Alex won't let me," Alex muttered.

Cleverley nodded solemnly. "Aye. He was already drawing tactical arrows in the air before breakfast."

Alex grinned. "Never asked for a holiday anyway."

Rooney laughed. "Keep saying that, kid. But wait until the fourth match in eleven days — you'll be begging for a hamstring strain."

Alex threw a sock at him. "If I pull anything, I'll pull a Van Persie — score and jog off like I'm royalty."

Everyone howled.

Even Scholes, perched on a bench flipping through a tactics sheet, gave the faintest smile and said, "We'll see."

✦

Sir Alex's Office – Later That Afternoon

The soft hum of an old desk fan and the distant sound of boots on tile were the only noises in the room. Trophies lined the shelves behind the desk like silent reminders of decades of dominance. A framed photo of the Class of '92 sat beside a stack of match reports.

Alex stood stiff, sweat still clinging to his forehead, shirt damp from training. He shifted on his feet but kept his posture straight. This wasn't the kind of room you slouched in.

Sir Alex didn't look up at first. He flipped through a few printed pages, his reading glasses balanced on the edge of his nose.

Finally, he glanced up — eyes sharp, yet not unkind.

"You've earned your breath, lad," he said, setting the report aside. "But don't mistake routine for rhythm. These next four — they're tests. Real ones."

Alex swallowed. "I'm ready."

There was a pause. A long one.

Sir Alex leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. He didn't answer right away. He just studied the boy in front of him — his calm exterior, his confident voice, and those eyes that didn't blink.

"You think you're ready," he finally said, slowly. "But football has a way of humbling early bloomers. It doesn't care if you're sixteen or thirty-six. It asks the same question every time: Can you do it again?"

Alex nodded, more serious now. "I'll answer it."

Sir Alex stood up from behind his desk and walked toward the window, hands in his pockets, eyes drifting out over Carrington's training ground. The Manchester sky was a blanket of clouds, grey and low.

"Talent's a spark," he said quietly. "But character — that's the fire. You've got the spark, Alex. But these next matches... against European sides, Chelsea, Arsenal? I'll see what kind of fire you really have."

He turned back to face him.

"Play smart. Play brave. But more than anything — play with purpose. You're not just playing for yourself now. You wear a badge that demands more."

Alex took a breath, letting those words settle. They weren't just advice. They were permission. A challenge. A torch being passed, even if only temporarily.

Sir Alex walked over, patted his shoulder — just once — and nodded.

"I'll be watching."

Alex nodded back, silent. Words felt too small for the moment.

He stepped out of the office, the door clicking shut behind him. The hallway outside was quiet, just the distant murmur of staff and the soft squeak of boots from the indoor pitch down the hall.

He made his way outside and leaned against the cold stone wall near the side entrance of Carrington. A breeze rolled through, cool and damp — Manchester weather, through and through.

He exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease out of his chest. The weight of everything — the goals, the praise, the sudden spotlight — had been building, creeping in under the radar like fog. And now, Sir Alex had made it real.

Four matches. Four storms.

Braga. Chelsea. Chelsea again. Then Arsenal.

"Can you do it again?"

He didn't have the answer yet. But he knew he wanted to find it. Not just for himself. Not just for the badge.

For his dad, who dreamed of these pitches but never stepped on them.

For his mum, who beamed every time his name was mentioned on the telly.

For his brother, who no longer looked at him with jealousy, but pride.

And now… for Sir Alex. The gaffer. The legend. The one who had seen fire in his spark.

He looked out across the empty training pitch, dew settling on the grass under the grey skies.

"I will," he whispered to himself.

Then he turned and walked back inside.

The next storm was coming.

And he was ready to run into it.

The Brutal Stretch Ahead

Pinned to the tactics board were four fixtures, each one underlined in red.

Braga (Champions League – 23 Oct)

Chelsea (Premier League – 28 Oct)

Chelsea again (Carabao Cup – 31 Oct)

Arsenal (Premier League – 3 Nov)

Even seeing them lined up made the air feel heavier.

Meanwhile – Across England

BBC Sport Panel

"The kid's done alright against mid-table sides," said Alan Shearer."But let's see what happens when he gets pressed by Chelsea or Arsenal."

Red Café Forum Thread

User101: "Marshall's tidy. Not flashy, just sharp. Like a young Mata.

"Glory4Life: "Still don't get the hype. No way Sir Alex trusts him vs Chelsea.

"RooneyFan88: "He will. He's already giving him minutes."

A Quiet Night in

Alex lay on his bed, scrolling through the calendar. Four games in eleven days. Not just games but playing againts big teams. He could feel his muscles twiching just thinking about it.

Then came a message from Rooney.

Wayne Rooney :

Buckle up, kid. Stamford Bridge ain't friendly.But you've earned your place on that list. Just don't blink.

Alex exhaled and locked his phone. Tomorrow, the real gauntlet began.

[A little filler chapter to prepare for a brutal matches ahead, when i research the match and i'm like "did the FA drunk when making this". 4 matches in 11 days is brutal for any team]