Ethan pulled up a replay of the FCG world's most popular pundit show, "The Lower League Lowdown."

On one side of the screen was Gary 'The Gaffer' Stone, a grizzled, no-nonsense ex-manager.

On the other was 'Tactics Tim', a young, data-obsessed analyst.

"...and I'm telling you, Tim, we saw their true colors," Gary was saying, his face a mask of smug satisfaction.

"I said it from day one! All flair, no substance! They're a bunch of kids who get a bit of praise and their heads fall off. I'm not calling them Apex United anymore; I'm calling them 'The Tilted Toddlers'!"

"Statistically, Gary," Tim countered, pushing his glasses up his nose, "it was a one-in-a-million anomaly. The 'Team Complacency' modifier is a rare event. But it does expose a fundamental lack of professionalism in the squad, a weakness that a team like Port Vale will be perfectly equipped to exploit."

Ethan just smiled. Let them talk. Let them write their headlines. It was all just fuel for the fire.

The day of the match arrived. It was a top-of-the-table clash, first versus second, a game that the virtual press was billing as the biggest of the season so far.

Ethan logged in and appeared in the away dressing room at Vale Park. It was a small, functional room, but the atmosphere was electric.

His players were quiet, focused, but there was a new, dangerous edge to their silence.

The humiliation of the Burton match had been a bitter pill, but the fire it had ignited was plain to see.

He had spent the week drilling them, not just on tactics, but on mentality. He had shown them the press clippings, the pundit shows, the betting odds that were overwhelmingly stacked against them.

And now, it was time for the final push.

"Alright, lads. Gather 'round," he said, his voice calm, but with an undercurrent of steel. "You've all seen the news. You've all heard the pundits. 'The Tilted Toddlers'. A 'flash in the pan'. A 'chaotic mess due for another collapse'."

He let the words hang in the air, a poison they had all been forced to swallow for a week.

"The game itself," he continued, his voice dropping, "the system..... it's betting against us today. Its data says our morale is shattered. It says we're broken. It says we are going to lose."

He looked around the room, at the angry, defiant faces staring back at him.

"And you know what? Maybe it's right. Maybe we are just a bunch of kids who got lucky. Maybe we don't have the professionalism, the leadership, the composure to be real champions."

He paused, a slow, challenging smile spreading across his face. "Or... maybe the game is wrong. Maybe the data can't measure heart. Maybe the algorithm can't calculate 'Steely Resolve'. Maybe the code doesn't have a variable for a team that has been kicked to the ground and is ready to get back up and fight."

He started to pace, a new, powerful energy radiating from him.

"They have a player, Kaito Tanaka, 'The Silent Striker'. The game says he's the next big thing. An S-Rank wonderkid. They say he's better than our wonderkids. They say he's going to be the star of the show today."

He stopped and looked at his three young forwards. "Emre. Viktor. David. Are you going to let that happen?"

The trio just looked back at him, a silent, unified fire in their eyes.

"This match isn't just about three points," Ethan declared, his voice rising with a passion that sent a wave of goosebumps through the room.

"This is about respect! This is about proving to them, to the pundits, to the entire league, and to the game itself, that we are not a fluke! We are the best team in this division, and we are here to stay!"

He looked at every single player. "So you go out there today, and you leave every single ounce of doubt, fear, and frustration on that pitch. You fight for every tackle, you run for every ball, and you play for the man standing next to you. You go out there and you remind everyone who we are!"

He finished, his chest heaving, the silence in the room absolute. Then, from the back, a single, slow clap started.

It was Grant Hanley.

Then another player joined in, then another, until the entire room was a thunder of applause and defiant roars. The doubt was gone. They were ready for war.

The teams walked out into the roar of a packed, hostile Vale Park. The home fans were in full voice, a sea of white and black, creating an intimidating wall of sound.

"WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TO A CLASH OF THE TITANS HERE AT VALE PARK!" the commentator screamed, his voice already at a fever pitch. "IT'S FIRST VERSUS SECOND! The unstoppable force versus the... well, the other, slightly-less-unstoppable force! It's Port Vale, and their S-Rank assassin, Kaito Tanaka, against the fallen angels, the wounded lions, the tactical enigma that is APEX UNITED!"

He took a theatrical gasp of air.

"Can Apex bounce back from their 6-2 humiliation? Or will their season go completely off the rails today? This is more than a match, folks! This is a soap opera with studs on! AND WE ARE UNDERWAY!"

The whistle blew, and Vale Park exploded. The home fans, a roaring sea of black and white, created a wall of sound so intense it felt like a physical pressure.

From the first second, it was clear that Port Vale weren't just the second-best team in the league; they were a machine, hungry for the top spot.

They pressed with a ferocious, coordinated energy. Their star striker, the S-Rank wonderkid Kaito Tanaka, was a ghost. He didn't make explosive runs; he just drifted, appearing in pockets of space with an unnerving, silent intelligence.

"Don't let him turn! Don't let him turn!" Grant Hanley's voice was a desperate roar from the back, as the young Japanese striker received the ball, laid it off, and vanished again.

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