WebNovels

Chapter 3 - Youth Cup Quarterfinal

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Chapter 7 — Youth Cup Quarterfinal

February 2004 – Emirates Academy Stadium, North London

The crowd wasn't massive—just a few hundred scattered across the terraced stands—but Arsenal U18s felt like they played at Highbury. The winter air wrapped cold around them as Jeremy stepped onto the pitch. The quarterfinal. One win from the semis. One night away from real attention.

Fabrice Muamba took his place next to him in midfield, ready for the kickoff. Jay Simpson nodded, panting, and Fàbregas adjusted his boots with calm focus. Jeremy's heart thumped—not nerves, excitement.

The system buzzed.

[DING!]

System Check—Quarterfinal Stage

New Shop Stock Refresh

Full Stamina Core (+15% for tournament) — 400,000 points

Precision Finishing Pack (+5 Finishing for 3 games) — 150,000 points

Acceleration +5 (Permanent) — 75,000 points

Jeremy glanced at the options. None were within reach. The big-ticket mindset would have to wait.

Tonight—every touch is magnified. Egoists step up when the goal stands tall. Don't pass to be nice. Pass to win. Or take the shot and finish."

He nodded. Game time.

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They lined up. Arsenal faced Tottenham's U18s—a true North London battle. Real under-18 derbies, siblings, scouts, future headlines.

Kickoff. Tottenham pressed early, physical and sharp. Arsenal settled, kept possession.

In the 20th minute, Fàbregas lofted a perfect ball wide to Jeremy. He raced onto it, coldly controlled on the edge, and rifled it inside the near post. One-nil.

The stadium noise rose for a moment. Jeremy ran to the corner, stared across the crowd, and mimed the frozen-finger-to-temple celebration—unmistakable even here.

"Thought that was dangerous," Muamba shouted as he trod back.

Jeremy just winked. "Danger looks like this."

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The second half started ragged for Arsenal. Tottenham equalized quickly through a scrappy header from a corner. The game teetered.

Jeremy felt the system's edge.

"This isn't a game for passers. This is a killer match. Step inside, take the ball, and destroy."

The ball came to him inside the box. He feinted, body swerved, and dinked it right. Keeper beaten. Arsenal lead again—2-1.

The crowd went buzzing, even the parents looked stunned.

The assistant coach gave Jeremy a sharp nod. Not criticism. Respect.

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By the final whistle, Arsenal held on for the win. Quarterfinals Wikipedia notes show they never reached this stage in reality—but tonight, Jeremy made history.

In the tunnel, his teammates slapped his back. "That finish…naughty," Simpson said, breathless.

Muamba laughed. "Greedy, mate—but lethal."

Fàbregas offered a look. "You had space. Good finish."

Jeremy just smirked. "Don't worry. I'll keep giving it."

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Later, in the locker room, sweaty and buzzing, Jeremy poured his name all over the day.

He checked the system:

[Stats Updated]

Finishing: +2

Stamina: -10 (needs recovery)

[Shop Reminder]

Full Stamina Core is available until Sunday.

The voice was sharp:

Every match brings weakness. Fix it—or the next one will expose you. You don't get rest. You get more minutes. Buy recovery. Be ready."

Jeremy stared at the shop panel, conflicted. Big upgrades meant ego fuel, but he needed stamina first. He shut it off, head buzzing.

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That evening, he headed home under cold streetlights. Ahead: family had dinner ready, a warm sofa, the real world waiting. But in his head, the night still roared.

The quarterfinal glow wasn't just about football. It was about control—momentum. With every goal, every celebration, Jeremy wasn't just playing. He was being built.

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