The old doorman, Magis, sat at the gate of the training base. As the match kicked off, he turned on his vintage radio, cranked the volume to the maximum, and settled back into his chair in the gatehouse, ready to enjoy the game in peace.
"Beautiful!! Kanté strips Robinho of the ball again!! Robinho is helpless against Kanté!!"
The voice of commentator Letkinson rang out from the radio, and Magis smiled, the whiskers on his chin twitching with delight.
"That's our midfielder, Kanté!"
"Kanté! Oh oh oh, Kanté!! He's a Frenchman, just 168 centimeters tall, but he plugs every gap—oh oh oh, he plugs every gap!"
This was the chant created by the fans for N'Golo Kanté. Magis hummed along with the tune, the lyrics drifting from the radio and filling the small room.
On the pitch, Robinho picked himself up from the ground yet again. It was his third attempt to beat Kanté, and once again, the Frenchman had cleanly taken the ball from him. Not once had Robinho even drawn a foul.
"Kanté!! What a tackle!!" Letkinson's voice came through, full of praise for the midfielder's tenacity.
"Unlike the last match where Luton beat Chelsea, this time they've lined up with five midfielders," added co-commentator Redknapp. "It looks like a 4-2-3-1, but the three in front of the two holding midfielders barely push forward. Facing two tight defensive lines in midfield, Manchester City haven't even reached Luton's danger zone!"
"Now you see Luton's strength, Jamie!" Letkinson grinned, clearly leaning toward the underdogs.
"I honestly didn't expect their defense to be this disciplined," Redknapp admitted. "Credit to Ethan—his work with Luton has been impressive. That win over Chelsea wasn't a fluke."
Before kickoff, Mark Hughes had believed he'd prepared well enough for Luton. But now, just ten minutes into the game, it was clear he'd underestimated them.
Manchester City had managed just one shot so far—a speculative long-range effort from Bellamy after cutting in from the wing, which sailed high and wide into the stands.
Luton hadn't taken a shot yet either. Jamie Vardy, deployed as a lone striker, had barely touched the ball. City's defense wasn't pressing tightly, but Vardy still hadn't found a way through.
Mark Hughes, despite City's early defensive solidity, wasn't relaxed. After all, they were facing a team from the Championship...
Ethan, on the other hand, was calm. He knew his squad couldn't match City in terms of individual talent, so he had packed the midfield to fortify the defense.
Robinho, still regarded as City's most dangerous player, had been singled out for special attention. Kanté had been assigned to shadow him, and so far, it was working brilliantly. Robinho, whose form had started to decline, was finding it impossible to deal with the ever-improving Kanté.
Ethan's focus, however, wasn't entirely on the match. He was waiting—waiting to see if the mysterious system that had activated during the Chelsea match would return. So far, ten minutes in, there was nothing. No prompts, no notifications.
Eventually, he gave up on the thought and refocused on the match.
It was a cagey affair. Manchester City had more possession, but they couldn't break through Luton's midfield barrier. The five midfielders—Kanté, Drinkwater, Kevin Keane, Lewis, and Hassan—all had excellent stamina and defensive awareness. Ethan wasn't worried about them running out of gas in the second half.
City's attack was overly reliant on Robinho, and with him shut down, their options were limited. Mark Hughes's team wasn't known for intricate possession play—they preferred individual brilliance from the front three.
But with Robinho neutralized and Bellamy's few crosses from the wing going unanswered, the threat was minimal. Neither Robinho nor Elano had the aerial presence to trouble Luton.
Even Pablo Zabaleta, playing in midfield, tried pushing forward several times. But Luton's young center-back Jeffrey, buoyed by recent performances and Ethan's encouragement, was playing with growing confidence. The Dutchman was solid, reading the game well and holding the line with maturity beyond his years.
Most of Bellamy's early crosses were effectively cleared by Jeffrey, who remained solid at the back.
Manchester City struggled to break through the middle, and the effectiveness of their wide attacks was limited. It was no surprise to see Mark Hughes frowning on the touchline.
Ten minutes into the match, the expected offensive surge from Manchester City had yet to materialize. The game remained tense and evenly balanced.
Standing on the sidelines, Mark Hughes glanced across the pitch at Ethan, who sat calmly like a general on the Diaoyutai. The memory of Luton's stunning victory over Chelsea flashed through Hughes' mind. In that match, Ethan had pulled off a masterstroke—introducing the lightning-fast Adam in the second half, catching Scolari completely off guard.
"Trying that trick again, are you?" Hughes thought, smirking to himself. "You underestimate me, young man."
At 56, Mark Hughes was a seasoned veteran of the game. Compared to him, Ethan was still a newcomer in the coaching world.
Determined not to be outmaneuvered, Hughes signaled for Manchester City's backline to push higher up the pitch.
"Stacking the midfield? Let's see if you can handle the pressure."
But if Ethan had known what Hughes was thinking, he might've felt wrongly accused.
"I've already played that card. They'll be expecting it." Ethan had no intention of repeating the same tactic.
Instead, he focused on the clock. According to his pre-match plan, City would come out aggressively—after all, they were a Premier League side facing a League Two underdog. There was no way they'd sit back. Ethan's strategy was to absorb the early pressure, then flip the script around the 15-minute mark—just as City's initial burst of energy began to fade. At that moment, his team would raise the tempo and force City to match them stride for stride.
The core of any tactical setup, Ethan believed, was to make the opponent uncomfortable while playing to your own strengths.
He recalled a line from a great strategist:
"When the enemy retreats, we advance; when they advance, we retreat."
The key was to never let Manchester City find their rhythm.
So when Hughes signaled both full-backs to push forward, Ethan simultaneously made a gesture from his technical area.
Suddenly, the game accelerated.
16th minute. Bellamy whipped in a cross from the left, but once again, Jeffrey was there to clear the danger.
Zabaleta picked up the loose ball on the edge of the box and shifted it to Robinho.
But just as Robinho received the ball with his back to goal, N'Golo Kanté came storming in and won it cleanly with a textbook sliding tackle.
Danny Drinkwater picked up the ball and immediately scanned upfield—looking for Vardy.
At that moment, City's defenders had pushed beyond the halfway line. Vardy, lurking near the center circle, was poised to pounce.
Drinkwater launched a long ball forward—perfectly timed!
"Luton on the counterattack!!!" The roar from the stands exploded!
Ethan sprinted to the touchline, clenching his fists.
This was the moment he had been waiting for.
Vardy took off down the middle like a bullet. Kompany gave chase, but despite his own pace, he was caught flat-footed against a striker already in full flight.
Vardy controlled the ball brilliantly, cushioning it with the tip of his toe without breaking stride. Kompany was left trailing in his wake.
As Vardy approached the edge of the penalty area, Manchester City's goalkeeper, Shay Given, charged out to close the angle.
But Vardy remained ice-cool.
With a deft flick of his right foot, he lifted the ball over the onrushing keeper. The football arced perfectly into the net behind him.
Ethan leapt into the air, punching the sky in celebration.
This was his tactical masterpiece. When a plan unfolds exactly as envisioned, any manager would feel the same surge of euphoria.