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Chapter 9 – Lights, Music, Ego
August 23rd, 2003 – London, Evening
The youth cup buzz was still alive in the Arsenal academy halls, but Jeremy had his mind elsewhere. One of the older lads had slipped him an invite earlier that week.
"Big house in Enfield, parents out, proper event. You in, mate?"
Jeremy didn't even think twice. "Course."
By Saturday night, he found himself outside a two-story detached house, music already rattling the windows. He caught his reflection in the glass door: slim build, clean Arsenal windbreaker, and that short curly fade he used to rock back then. He tilted his head and grinned.
"Man… I really thought this was the look. Not bad though — clean enough."
The door swung open before he knocked. A fellow academy lad, Jason, grinned and pulled him in. "Jeremy! Man's here. Come on, drinks in the kitchen."
Inside, the place was chaos. Music thumped, red cups everywhere, the air heavy with teenage confidence. A few of the girls turned their heads when Jeremy walked past. He didn't miss it.
[DING!]
System Message: Off the pitch, dominance is everything. The egoist shines wherever he goes. Tonight, be the centre. Outshine, outtalk, outlive them.
Jeremy almost laughed. "Even here, bruv?"
And then that familiar, sharp voice boomed in his head — Jinpachi Ego.
FOOTBALL IS LIFE. BUT LIFE IS ALSO THE GAME. Parties are pitches too. There are no defenders here, only rivals. Take their attention. Make them orbit YOU."
Jeremy grinned. "Say less."
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He slid into the kitchen, grabbed a cup, and started chatting like he owned the place. He wasn't loud, but every word carried.
When someone cracked a joke, he topped it. When a track came on, he called the next one before it hit. Slowly, the circle in the kitchen shifted so Jeremy was in the middle, everyone looking at him when they laughed.
One of the older lads clapped his shoulder. "Bruv, you're moving like you're captain already."
Jeremy smirked. "Captain? Nah. I'm the striker of this whole party."
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Later, out in the garden, a group had set up a mini kickabout with a half-deflated ball. Someone spotted Jeremy and called out, "Oi, Lynch, let's see that Arsenal flair then!"
He didn't hesitate. Rolled up his sleeves, flicked the ball onto his foot, and started juggling. Around the world, neck stall, rainbow — the kind of flashy touches he'd perfected years later as a freestyler. Only now, he was dropping them at 15.
The crowd ooh'd and shouted. He finished with a sharp flick into the garden wall and held the pose. Cold. Calm. The Cole Palmer point-to-the-temple celebration — years before Palmer himself would do it.
A couple of the lads laughed. "What's that celebration, mate? You look like a mad professor."
Jeremy smirked. "Remember it. One day you'll see this on TV."
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Inside again, the music was louder, the drinks flowing easier. A girl leaned on the counter near him. "You lot all think you're gonna make it, don't you?"
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "Think? Nah. I know. Some of these boys—" he waved at the room—"they're passengers. Me? I'm the driver."
She laughed, but her eyes lingered.
DING!]
System Message: Egoist Mission: Always declare yourself inevitable. Belief bends reality. Your words tonight are seeds for tomorrow's dominance.
Jeremy smirked into his cup. "Man, you're relentless," he muttered under his breath.
Ego's voice came again, sharp and clear.
"Good. Relentlessness is the only thing that survives. YOU will not be another forgotten academy name. Say it. Live it. Make them all remember."
And so he did. Every conversation, every glance, every laugh — Jeremy made sure his presence was felt.
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By midnight, the house felt like it revolved around him. A couple of teammates were buzzing about the youth cup, others trying to pull girls, but somehow Jeremy was at the centre of both worlds — leading football talk one second, cracking jokes the next.
Jason leaned in with a grin. "Bruv, you're everywhere tonight. Didn't know you had that in you."
Jeremy tapped his temple, repeating his new trademark move. "That's 'cause I'm thinking ten steps ahead, mate. Always."
The system didn't chime this time. It didn't need to. Ego's laugh echoed in his head instead, approving.
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When Jeremy finally stepped outside for air, the street was quiet. His reflection glinted faintly in the car window — short curls still neat, grin sharp. His phone buzzed with a reminder of tomorrow's training session.
He tilted his head back, smirking at the night sky. "Man… football, parties, whatever. Doesn't matter where I am — I'm still the one."
Ego's voice rumbled.
"Yes. But never forget, Jeremy. Football is the only stage that matters in the end. These parties, these games — they are warm-ups. The real pitch is waiting. There, you will not charm. You will conquer."
Jeremy nodded to himself. "Then let 'em enjoy this version of me while it lasts. The real show's coming."
He turned, slipped back inside, and the music swallowed him whole again.
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