The call came in January 2015.
Leonardo Jardim wanted Ethan to train with Monaco's first team.
Not permanently. Not yet. But twice a week—Tuesday and Thursday sessions—to expose him to the professional level, to accelerate his development, to prepare him for what was coming.
Kylian Mbappé had been doing the same for six months already, occasionally making the matchday squad as an unused substitute. Now it was Ethan's turn.
"You ready for this?" Mbappé asked the night before Ethan's first session.
They were sitting at their usual café in Monaco, discussing football over sandwiches as they'd done countless times over the past five years.
"I think so," Ethan said. "Nervous, though."
"Good. That means you care." Mbappé leaned forward. "Listen, these guys are professionals. They've played at the highest level. Some have won leagues, cups, played in Champions League. Don't try to impress them. Just be yourself. Show them what you can do, but also learn from them. Watch how they move, how they think, how they prepare."
"Who should I watch most?"
"Berbatov if he's still there," Mbappé said immediately. "Dimitar Berbatov. Bulgarian striker. He's near the end of his career, but his technical ability is insane. And his positioning—always in the right place at the right time. He's like you, actually. Sees the game differently."
"Anyone else?"
"João Moutinho. Portuguese midfielder. His passing, his vision—world-class. Study him. And be ready—some of the defenders will test you physically. They'll want to see if you can handle the professional game. Don't back down."
Ethan nodded, absorbing every word.
"One more thing," Mbappé said seriously. "Enjoy it. Training with the first team at sixteen? That's special. Most players never get this chance. Soak it in."
First Training Session
Ethan arrived at the training ground at 8:30 AM, thirty minutes early. The first-team facility was separate from the academy—more modern, more professional, with additional security.
He changed in the main locker room, surrounded by jerseys bearing names he'd only seen on television: Kurzawa, Raggi, Carvalho, Moutinho, Bernardo Silva.
And in the corner, lacing up his boots: Dimitar Berbatov.
The Bulgarian striker looked up, caught Ethan staring, and smiled. "You're the kid, yes? Loki?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't call me sir. I'm not that old yet." Berbatov stood, walking over. "I've heard about you. European champion at fifteen. Golden Boot. People say you see the game three moves ahead."
"I try to, yes."
"Good. So do I." Berbatov's eyes were intelligent, analytical. "We should work together. You can learn from my experience. I can learn from your youth. Deal?"
"Deal."
The training session was intense from the first whistle.
The pace was faster than academy level. The players were stronger, smarter, more efficient. Every pass had purpose. Every movement had meaning.
During a possession drill, Ethan found himself in a rondo—five players trying to keep the ball from two defenders in the middle. One of the defenders was Ricardo Carvalho, the legendary Portuguese center-back who'd won everything with Chelsea and Real Madrid.
Carvalho didn't go easy on him.
He pressed hard, using his body, his experience, his intelligence. Every time Ethan received the ball, Carvalho was there, forcing him to make quick decisions.
But Ethan adapted. He played one-touch. Moved constantly. Found angles. After ten minutes, Carvalho smiled. "Not bad, kid. You can actually play."
The small-sided game was where Ethan truly showed his quality.
Seven versus seven on a half-pitch. Ethan's team included Berbatov and Bernardo Silva. The opposing team had Carvalho and several other first-team regulars.
Jardim refereed personally, watching every movement.
In the fifteenth minute, Ethan received the ball on the edge of the box, back to goal. Carvalho was immediately on him, pressing, using his strength.
Three moves ahead. If I turn left, he'll tackle. If I pass back, we lose momentum. But if I...
Ethan executed a perfect roulette turn—spinning away from Carvalho's pressure, emerging with the ball at his feet and sight of goal. He struck immediately, low and hard.
The goalkeeper—Danijel Subašić, Croatia's international keeper—dove but couldn't reach it.
Goal.
The watching players applauded. Even Carvalho was smiling. "Okay, that was nice."
Berbatov jogged over. "See? This is what I mean. You don't think like a sixteen-year-old. You think like a professional."
After training, Jardim called Ethan into his office.
"Sit, Ethan."
The manager's office was filled with tactical boards, match footage, scouting reports. This was where games were won before they were played.
"You did well today," Jardim said. "Very well. The players respect you already. That's rare for someone your age."
"Thank you, Coach."
"But I need to ask you something important." Jardim leaned forward. "You're sixteen now. In one year, you'll be seventeen—eligible for professional football. I'm planning for the future. Building a team that can compete at the highest level. And I see you in that team."
Ethan's heart raced. "You want me in the first team?"
"Not yet. But soon. Maybe next season. Definitely the season after." Jardim pulled up footage on his computer—clips of Ethan playing for the academy and France youth teams. "You have everything I look for in a striker. Vision. Intelligence. Technique. Finishing. And something intangible—you make others better. That's rare."
He paused. "But here's my question: are you willing to wait? To develop properly? Or do you want to rush things?"
Ethan thought carefully before answering. "I want to be ready. Really ready. Not just good enough to play a few minutes. Ready to start. To make a difference."
Jardim smiled. "Perfect answer. That's exactly what I wanted to hear." He stood, extending his hand. "Keep training with us twice a week. Keep dominating at academy level. And when the time comes—when you're seventeen and truly ready—we'll make history together."
"We?" Ethan asked.
"You and Kylian. The Princes of Monaco. I've heard you call yourselves that." Jardim's eyes gleamed with ambition. "I'm going to build a team around you two. Young. Fast. Fearless. We're going to shock French football. Shock European football."
That evening, Ethan met Mbappé at their usual spot overlooking the harbor.
"How was it?" Mbappé asked.
"Incredible. Berbatov is exactly like you said. Carvalho tested me hard but was cool about it. Jardim talked about the future."
"What did he say?"
"That he's building a team around us. The Princes of Monaco. He actually used those words."
Mbappé grinned widely. "He told me the same thing last month. He's serious, Ethan. He's planning something big."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching yachts drift across the darkening water.
"One more year," Mbappé said quietly. "One more year and we go professional. Together."
"Together," Ethan echoed.
The Princes of Monaco.
The dream was becoming reality.
End of Chapter 15