It had been half a year since Redondo arrived at Newton Heath, and he had gradually adapted to Manchester's climate and surroundings.
As a professional footballer, he had accepted the reality of his transfer and made every effort to settle into his new environment.
He was also deeply grateful for everything Ethan had done for him.
At first, Redondo had wondered whether the transfer was little more than a publicity exercise tied to the charity donation involving AC Milan.
But after several conversations with Ethan, those doubts disappeared.
Ethan was simply too sincere.
He never gave Redondo the impression that he was putting on an act, and one thing became increasingly obvious whenever they spoke.
Ethan really was one of his biggest admirers.
From that point onwards, Redondo stopped questioning the motives behind the transfer.
More importantly, after signing him, Ethan never asked the commercial department to exploit his name for publicity.
Instead, the club deliberately kept attention away from him and created the quietest possible environment for his rehabilitation.
Every resource he needed was made available.
And because Redondo continued refusing to accept a player's salary while injured, Ethan arranged a part-time academy coaching contract for him instead.
The agreement required only a few hours each week working with the younger players.
For Redondo, who was already at Newton Heath almost every day for rehabilitation sessions and medical testing, it was hardly an inconvenience.
If anything, he became increasingly committed to the role.
All he had to do was look at the medical reports from the previous six months and the amount of work the sports science department had invested in his recovery.
Ethan had done far more for him than Redondo could reasonably have expected.
So Redondo repaid that trust by giving everything he could to the academy.
One youngster in particular had caught his attention.
Michael Johnson.
Redondo considered him an exceptional prospect.
The English media had already begun calling Johnson the next Gerrard.
Redondo understood the comparison.
The youngster had Gerrard's aggression, athleticism, attacking instincts, and willingness to shoot from distance.
But technically, Redondo thought Johnson was even more refined at the same age.
Especially when passing.
Johnson saw the pitch extremely well and possessed a distinctive range of distribution.
More importantly, he worked relentlessly at it.
That effort was producing visible improvement.
On several occasions, Redondo tried to thank Ethan personally.
Ethan always gave him essentially the same answer.
"If you really want to repay me, help produce a few more Redondos for this club."
Redondo always smiled.
But privately, he still felt that was not enough.
After six months of rehabilitation, his physical condition had improved enormously.
The pain in his knee had disappeared.
Even so, the medical staff insisted that the joint still needed more time before they could consider the recovery stable.
Redondo understood.
Since arriving at New Manchester United, he had learned one of the club's strictest principles.
No player returned to competitive football without clearance from the sports science department.
It did not matter who he was.
Redondo therefore remained patient.
His experience had taught him something simple.
Injury could not be rushed.
Trying to force a recovery usually made everything worse.
So he waited.
For more than six months.
And finally, the day arrived.
...
That morning, Redondo appeared at Newton Heath exactly on time.
He still rarely took part in full first-team training.
Professor Fryer believed the intensity remained too high for his knee.
Instead, Redondo usually worked alone nearby.
Sometimes he ran with the ball.
Sometimes he performed technical drills.
Sometimes he simply moved through passing patterns designed to restore his touch.
After two years without proper football, he could feel that some of his sharpness had faded.
Yet during those same two years, particularly over the last six months, his understanding of the game had become deeper than ever.
"Fernando!"
Redondo looked up.
Ethan was walking across the grass with Mourinho beside him.
"Morning, Mr Yu. José."
Redondo smiled, then flicked the ball backwards with his heel and guided it neatly into a small training goal nearby.
"How have you been feeling lately?" Ethan asked.
Redondo bounced lightly on his toes.
His explosiveness was not what it had once been.
But there was no pain.
"Very good.
"I think I'm ready to play."
Mourinho nodded immediately.
"Good.
"Then prepare yourself today.
"Tomorrow, you're travelling with us for the FA Cup."
Redondo stared at him.
For half a year, he had technically been part of the coaching staff.
But he had never travelled with the first team to an away fixture.
He had attended almost every home match and had grown to admire the atmosphere created by the Red Rebels supporters.
Was Mourinho short of staff?
Did they need him on the bench?
Then Redondo noticed something.
Cassell.
Faria.
The other coaches.
Almost the entire first-team squad.
They were all looking towards him.
Waiting.
His heartbeat suddenly quickened.
"Wait..."
Ethan smiled.
"Yes, Fernando.
"Professor Fryer has cleared you.
"You're eligible to play."
For a moment, Redondo simply stood there.
Ethan stepped forward and embraced him.
"Heavens..."
Redondo could barely get the word out.
Mourinho immediately ruined the sentiment.
"Don't get carried away.
"Our FA Cup opponents are weaker, but whether you actually play will depend on the match.
"And even if you do, twenty minutes is the absolute maximum.
"That's the agreement I made with Professor Fryer."
His tone left no room for negotiation.
Redondo nodded without hesitation.
Twenty minutes.
Ten minutes.
Five.
It did not matter.
He could play again.
"That's enough for me."
Mourinho pointed towards the first-team pitch.
"You've got another half-hour.
"Join the squad."
Ethan walked with the two men towards the rest of the players.
Then he stopped in front of the group.
"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the biggest, and only, signing of our winter window."
The players were already smiling.
Ethan gestured towards Redondo.
"One of the finest holding midfielders of his generation, former Argentina international Fernando Redondo."
Applause immediately broke out.
Loud applause.
Several of the younger players who had worked with him in the academy came forward first.
Some shook his hand.
Others embraced him.
It did not matter whether they competed for similar positions.
They were teammates.
And everyone understood what this moment meant.
...
Redondo joined the reserve side during the training match and took up his familiar position at the base of midfield.
At first, the rust was obvious.
His timing was slightly off.
A few touches escaped farther than intended.
On several occasions, he carried the ball when he should have released it earlier.
Two years away from competitive football could not disappear in a few minutes.
But it was only training.
His teammates understood that.
Whenever he made a mistake, they encouraged him immediately.
Redondo did not need to prove who he was.
His career had already done that.
As his body adjusted to the pace and his teammates began moving more naturally around him, his influence grew.
Then came the first glimpses of the old Redondo.
A disguised pass between two players.
A perfectly weighted switch of play.
A turn away from pressure.
His defensive challenges remained noticeably cautious.
That was hardly surprising.
After two operations and such a long absence, part of him was still protecting the injured knee instinctively.
Then Redondo looked up and spotted Villa moving behind the defence.
He struck a long diagonal pass over the top.
Perfect weight.
Perfect angle.
Villa controlled it and scored.
Mourinho stared for a moment.
"He really is extraordinary."
Ethan smiled, although there was something wistful in his expression.
"He isn't the Redondo who once controlled matches for Real Madrid anymore.
"But he doesn't need to be.
"As long as he's still Redondo, he can help us.
"On the pitch or off it."
Mourinho nodded.
"That's what separates truly great players from everyone else."
"Use him carefully, José.
"I want him to leave football with some good memories."
There was sadness beneath Ethan's words.
He had done everything he could.
Professor Fryer and the entire medical department had done the same.
But nobody could restore Redondo's knee to what it had been three years earlier.
Two surgeries had changed it permanently.
Even now, the joint remained a risk.
Nobody knew how long it would hold.
Six months.
A year.
Two years.
Perhaps less.
There was no way to know.
Sometimes imperfection made something more memorable.
Perhaps that was part of why Redondo had become such an almost mythical figure in Ethan's previous life.
For now, Ethan wanted only one thing.
Let him stay healthy.
...
New Manchester United's opponents in the FA Cup third round were Hartlepool United of League Two.
Mourinho used the match to rest most of his regular starters.
Almunia replaced Čech in goal.
Chiellini, Terry, Vidić, and Lahm formed the defence.
Essien, De Rossi, and Yaya Touré played in midfield.
Ribéry and Palacio started on the wings.
Villa led the attack.
Redondo was named among the substitutes.
Hartlepool knew New Manchester United well.
Two years earlier, the clubs had met under very different circumstances.
Hartlepool were still in League Two.
The Red Rebels, meanwhile, had climbed rapidly and were now one of the strongest sides in League One.
For some of the home supporters, the contrast was almost surreal.
But nostalgia disappeared once the match began.
Hartlepool remembered the 5-0 defeat they had suffered against New Manchester United two years earlier.
They had no intention of allowing the same thing to happen again.
Despite playing at home, they defended deep and looked to counter.
Against such a compact block, the midfield trio of De Rossi, Essien, and Yaya initially struggled to create openings.
None was a natural organiser in the mould of Juninho.
Even so, New Manchester United simply possessed too much individual quality.
Ribéry, Palacio, and Villa gradually tore Hartlepool apart.
By half-time, the Red Rebels led 3-0.
They did not slow down after the interval.
That had become part of Mourinho's identity for the team.
For ninety minutes, the Red Rebels competed.
Scoreline did not matter.
They were expected to keep moving, pressing, and attacking.
Like predators that never quite felt satisfied.
In the sixty-fifth minute, Mourinho checked his watch.
Then he turned towards the bench.
"Fernando.
"Warm up."
Redondo stood immediately.
Five minutes later, Mourinho made the change.
Essien came off.
Redondo entered.
The response from the stands was immediate.
The travelling Red Rebels supporters rose to applaud him.
Then something unexpected happened.
Large sections of the Hartlepool support joined them.
The applause spread around the ground.
They were not applauding New Manchester United.
They were applauding a great footballer returning after two years of injury.
Redondo took his place at the base of midfield.
Almost immediately, he began directing De Rossi and Yaya higher up the pitch.
"Push on."
"Higher."
"I've got this."
He remained deep and controlled possession from behind them.
The effect was striking.
New Manchester United suddenly looked calmer.
More organised.
The rhythm changed.
Redondo slowed the game when necessary.
Then, with one pass, he accelerated it.
De Rossi and Yaya handled much of the physical work ahead of him, which meant Redondo rarely had to expose himself defensively.
That allowed him to concentrate on what he still did best.
Reading the pitch.
Controlling space.
Choosing the next pass.
From the stands, Ethan watched in silence.
There he was.
Not the Redondo of Madrid.
Not the player who once seemed capable of ruling an entire midfield by himself.
But still elegant.
Still intelligent.
Still unmistakably Redondo.
For twenty minutes, in an otherwise ordinary FA Cup tie, he became the centre of everything.
To everyone else, it was only twenty minutes.
To those who understood what he had endured to reach that moment, it felt like twenty years.
(To be continued.)