Match Day. 6:00 PM. Madejski Stadium, Berkshire.
Deep inside the concrete bowels of the stadium, the locker rooms were vibrating with pre-match tension.
Up on the television gantries, the red broadcasting lights clicked on.
The official Sky Sports EFL Championship feed was going live to millions of screens across the globe.
"Welcome, viewers, to a freezing Friday night under the lights!" Sky Sports commentator Gary Weaver's voice echoed through the broadcast.
"We are live at the Madejski Stadium for a massive Round 31 clash. It's Reading hosting Aston Villa!"
"And a very Happy Lunar New Year to all our international fans tuning in tonight," his co-commentator, Don Goodman, chimed in.
"They are in for an absolute treat. Villa sits in seventh, desperately hunting the playoff spots, while José Gomes's Reading are fighting tooth and nail in twelfth."
The broadcast cut to the tactical graphics.
"Let's look at the home side," Weaver continued. "Reading lines up strong tonight. The Arsenal loanee, Emiliano Martínez, starts in goal. A back four of Yiadom, Moore, Blackett, and Miazga. Lewis Baker anchors the midfield, providing a platform for an aggressive attacking trio of Onomah, John Swift, and Mo Barrow. Nélson Oliveira leads the line up top."
The graphic flipped to the iconic claret and blue.
"As for Dean Smith's Aston Villa, they deploy a 4-1-4-1," Goodman broke down the sheet.
"Kalinić in net. Taylor, Mings, Elphick, and Hutton form the backline. Mile Jedinak takes the lone defensive midfield pivot. But the real story is ahead of him. Jack Grealish returns to the starting eleven after shaking off that nasty ankle knock! He's joined by McGinn, Andre Green, and the 17-year-old sensation everyone is talking about—Theodore Bjorn. Tammy Abraham is your lone striker."
"Grealish and Bjorn sharing the pitch from the first whistle," Weaver noted. "That is a terrifying prospect for the Reading defense."
...
Oslo, Norway.
6:10 PM.
Inside the warm, wood-paneled walls of The Fjord tavern, the dinner rush hadn't quite started yet.
Xia Dongguo wiped down the wooden bar top, checked the clock on the wall, and immediately aggressively tapped his wife's shoulder.
"Marianne! It's time!" Dongguo urged, pointing at the television mounted above the liquor shelf.
"Switch it to the sports channel! Theo's game is starting!"
Marianne dropped her dish towel and scrambled for the remote.
She punched in the channel, holding her breath as the Sky Sports camera panned across the players lined up in the tunnel.
"Look!" Dongguo shouted, leaning over the bar. "He's starting! Number 33! That's our boy!"
A deep wave of relief and overwhelming pride washed over Marianne's face.
She didn't say a word, just smiled softly at the screen, keeping one eye on the match as she went back to prepping the evening's service.
...
6:15 PM. Kickoff.
Aston Villa took the opening kickoff, and within five minutes, they were already suffocating the home side.
Jack Grealish was playing like a man possessed.
Frustrated by his injury in the previous match, the Villa captain was demanding the ball at every opportunity.
Dropping into the center circle, Grealish received a sharp pass from Theodore.
Reading's Lewis Baker instantly stepped up to press him. Grealish didn't even flinch. He dropped his left shoulder, selling a heavy fake, and rapidly chopped the ball to his right.
Baker went sliding completely the wrong way, grasping at thin air.
With the midfield cracked open, Grealish drove forward and whipped a deadly curling cross into the penalty area.
Tammy Abraham was completely surrounded.
Two Reading center-backs were actively holding his shirt, trying to drag the striker down.
It didn't matter.
Abraham fought through the physical abuse, using his massive body to win the aerial duel.
He snapped a vicious, downward header straight toward the bottom corner.
It was supposed to be a guaranteed goal.
But Emiliano Martínez had other ideas.
The Argentine goalkeeper launched himself off his line, fully extending his body to punch the ball away with both fists in mid-air.
"Unbelievable save from Martínez!" Weaver shouted on the broadcast. "He keeps Reading alive early on!"
The punched clearance flew out to the midfield, landing perfectly at the feet of Reading's Andy Rinomhota.
Seeing Aston Villa overcommitted on the attack, Rinomhota instantly triggered the counter.
He zipped a low, driving pass straight to the feet of John Swift.
Wearing the number 10 jersey, the 24-year-old Chelsea academy product was the undisputed creative brain of Reading.
The second Swift turned with the ball, the Madejski Stadium erupted.
"Go on, Swifty!"
"Take 'em on!"
"Break their damn legs!"
Fueled by the roaring home crowd, Swift dropped his head and drove the ball furiously down the center of the pitch.
Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his wingers, Ovie Ejaria and Alen Halilović, burning down the flanks in miles of open space.
Swift ignored them.
He had tunnel vision for the Aston Villa penalty box.
Standing directly in his path was Mile Jedinak.
The massive Australian international braced himself, preparing to use his sheer physical size to completely bulldoze the Reading playmaker.
Swift didn't panic. He didn't try to outmuscle the veteran. Just as Jedinak committed to the heavy challenge, Swift executed a lightning-fast, delicate flick with his right boot.
The ball rolled smoothly right between Jedinak's violently planted legs.
A textbook, humiliating nutmeg.
"Oh, what an absolute filth from John Swift!" Goodman laughed on the Sky Sports feed.
Jedinak was utterly humiliated!
Realizing Swift had completely broken the defensive line and was about to go one-on-one with the center-backs, the Australian's veteran instincts kicked in.
It was a cynical, calculated decision.
Jedinak turn around, grabbed a handful of Swift's jersey and violently hauled the playmaker down from behind.
Peep!
The referee was pulling the yellow card out of his pocket before he even reached the spot of the foul.
"And Jedinak goes into the book," Weaver noted, the tone of his voice turning serious. "That is a disaster for Dean Smith. Your lone defensive midfielder picking up a yellow card just ten minutes into the match. He's going to be walking a tightrope for the next eighty minutes."
"It's worse than that, Gary," Goodman replied, analyzing the pitch. "Look where the foul occurred. Dead center, right on the edge of the D. This is prime John Swift territory."
Down on the pitch, the Reading number 10 dusted himself off.
He grabbed the ball, placed it meticulously on the grass and took three deliberate steps back.
Theodore stood in the Aston Villa wall, his jaw tight.
He knew exactly what Swift was capable of.
The referee blew the whistle.
Swift took a short, explosive run-up and struck the ball with vicious topspin.
The ball vaulted effortlessly over the jumping Villa wall.
It dipped with terrifying speed, crashing perfectly into the top-right corner of the net!
Lovre Kalinić didn't even bother diving.
He just turned and watched it go in.
"Absolute perfection!" Weaver roared as the stadium exploded into absolute delirium. "John Swift paints a masterpiece! Reading draws first blood against the run of play!"
1-0.
Ten minutes in, and Aston Villa was already bleeding.