---
Chapter 14 – Youth Cup Final (First Half)
Location: Highbury Stadium, London
Date: April 2003
The stands of Highbury buzzed like a hive, packed with fans and scouts who came to watch the FA Youth Cup Final. For most, it was just another academy showcase. But for Arsène Wenger, it was a proving ground.
Sitting in the directors' box, Wenger adjusted his glasses and leaned forward. His eyes scanned the pitch as Arsenal's U18s warmed up. He knew many of these boys. Nicklas Bendtner, full of confidence. Justin Hoyte, sharp and focused. A few had potential.
But his gaze kept drifting to one player.
Jeremy Lynch.
Wenger had only recently been alerted to him. One of the staff had pulled him aside after the semi-final. "He's raw, boss. Cocky. But the way he changes matches…"
Wenger had built a reputation for spotting talent where others saw only arrogance. Henry. Anelka. Fabregas. If this boy was truly different, tonight was the test.
The whistle blew. The Youth Cup Final was underway.
---
Jeremy jogged onto the pitch with a grin tugging at his lips. Highbury's grass was slick under the floodlights, and the crowd's roar was thick in his ears. He tugged at his shirt collar and glanced at the opposition: Manchester United's youth squad. Names he recognized — Gerard Piqué at the back, Kieran Richardson on the wing, Giuseppe Rossi up top. Strong side.
"Oi Lynch, ready to make history?" Bendtner said, smirking.
Jeremy smirked back. "Mate, I'm not here for history. I'm here for headlines."
[Ding!]
> Egoist System Notice
"Remember: tonight is yours. Six goals. Nothing less. Steal the spotlight, steal the future."
Jeremy chuckled under his breath. Six? Madness. But the system had never steered him wrong.
---
Kick-off.
Arsenal started with possession, moving the ball patiently. Hoyte pinged it to Randall, who laid it off to Bendtner. Jeremy drifted wide on the left, hands loose at his sides, waiting.
"Ball! Ball!" he barked.
Randall hesitated, then passed. Jeremy's first touch was silky, dragging the ball past United's full-back with ease. He drove forward, crowd lifting.
He faked a cross — then cut inside. Another shimmy, the defender gone. A flash of Ronaldinho's borrowed dribbling instincts surged through him, still lingering in his body memory. He lined it up, swung his boot—
GOAL!
Top corner. Keeper frozen.
Highbury erupted. Jeremy spread his arms wide, ice in his veins, before tapping his temple with his finger. A celebration the crowd didn't know yet — one that would belong to another English player in the future.
He smirked. "Cold. Remember this one, lads."
[Ding!]
> Goal Logged – Ego +1
Current Stats:
Shooting: 72
Dribbling: 74
Passing: 60
Defence: 48
Technique: 71
Instinct: 77
Endurance: 68
Strength: 65
Ego: 80
"Good start," the system whispered. "But you promised six."
---
United tried to hit back quickly. Rossi drifted between the lines, slick with his touches, but Arsenal's backline held strong. Piqué pushed forward on corners, commanding even at his young age.
Jeremy, though, barely tracked back. He hovered high, waiting for the counter. Hoyte barked at him: "Lynch, help out!"
Jeremy smirked. "Relax, mate. You'll thank me when I score again."
And score he did.
25th minute. Bendtner won a header, flicking it down the line. Jeremy pounced, sprinting into open grass. The United right-back chased but couldn't keep up.
One-on-one with the keeper, Jeremy slowed, gave a cheeky look over his shoulder, then dinked the ball effortlessly over the diving hands.
2–0 Arsenal.
He wheeled away, fingers to his lips, silencing the crowd. A celebration stolen from the future, cocky and sharp.
The Arsenal lads mobbed him, but Jeremy only shrugged. "Light work, mate. More to come."
Wenger leaned forward in his seat, lips twitching into the faintest smile. Composed. Arrogant. Clinical. He liked it.
---
The game grew tense. United pressed harder. Richardson surged down the flank, whipping in dangerous balls. Rossi forced a big save from the Arsenal keeper. The momentum shifted — until Jeremy decided otherwise.
41st minute.
Randall won the ball in midfield and sent it Jeremy's way. Jeremy took one touch, spun his man with a burst of flair, then cut through two defenders like they were cones.
He could've squared it. Bendtner was screaming, arms wide.
But Jeremy didn't even glance. He rifled a rocket into the near post. Keeper got a hand but couldn't stop it.
Hat-trick. First half.
Jeremy dropped to one knee, hand cupped to his ear, soaking in the boos from the United fans in the away section. He grinned. "Can't hear you, lads."
[Ding!]
> Goal Logged – Hat-trick Bonus
Ego +10 | Instinct +2 | Shooting +2
---
Half-time: Arsenal 3 – 0 Manchester United.
Jeremy jogged off with swagger, shirt clinging to his sweat, dreads bouncing. The rest of the squad were buzzing, clapping him on the back.
"Unreal, Lynch!" Hoyte said. "Proper killer instinct."
Bendtner muttered, half-jealous, half-admiring. "Man's hogging everything…"
Jeremy smirked, tossing his water bottle aside. "I told you, lads. I'm not here to play fair. I'm here to own it."
In the stands, Wenger adjusted his glasses again. Three goals in one half. Flair, arrogance, but deadly. The boy wasn't just talented. He had presence.
Wenger leaned toward Liam Brady, academy director. "This Lynch… I want him to train with the first team after the season. He has something."
Brady nodded, though his brow furrowed. "Yes, boss. But… he's reckless. Cocky."
Wenger smiled faintly. "So was Anelka. So was Henry. Sometimes, arrogance is only the surface of brilliance."
---
In the dressing room, Jeremy sat apart from the group, legs stretched, head tilted back with a grin.
[Ding!]
> System Alert
"Halfway there. Three more goals. The crowd is yours. Wenger is watching."
Jeremy's smirk widened. "Six, yeah? Easy money."
He looked around at his teammates — Hoyte, Bendtner, Randall — all buzzing but tired. Jeremy knew it already. Second half? It would be his show.
"Oi lads," he called out, voice cocky. "Hope you're enjoying the view. But this is my night."
A few groaned, some laughed, but no one could argue. Three goals already spoke louder than words.
---
And so, the stage was set. The second half awaited.
Jeremy Lynch: three goals down, three more to go.
And in the directors' box, Arsène Wenger's eyes never left him.
---