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Chapter 18 – Clash of Egos
London Colney, May 2003
The following morning Jeremy walked into Colney like he owned it. Same jacket, same swagger. The security guy at the front gate barely glanced this time. One day in with the first team and already the ground felt smaller, like Hale End had once felt after he'd outgrown it.
But the dressing room wasn't smaller. If anything, it looked bigger now. The atmosphere is sharper. He'd scored yesterday, shut some mouths. But that only made the giants notice him more.
Thierry Henry was the first to speak. "Eh, petit," he called as Jeremy walked in, "one goal, and you think you belong?"
Jeremy dropped his bag and sat down calmly. "Didn't think. I proved it."
A couple of the lads whistled. Ashley Cole chuckled. "Oi, Thierry, the kid doesn't back down."
Henry grinned, shaking his head. "Non, he doesn't." But there was steel in his eyes. He was watching now. Really watching.
---
Warm-ups were sharp, harder than the day before. Wenger had them on pressing drills, high intensity, two-touch max. Jeremy kept demanding the ball, firing quick passes, making himself the focal point even when he wasn't supposed to.
Halfway through, Parlour snapped. "Lynch! Move the bloody ball. It's not a show."
Jeremy fired it back to him, voice flat. "If I can beat him myself, why give it to you?"
Parlour's face went red. "You cheeky little—"
Vieira's voice cut through, heavy with authority. "Enough." He glanced between them. "We train. We win. Not argue."
Jeremy didn't apologise. Just jogged back to position.
The system chimed, cold as ice:
> "Conflict triggered. Effect: hostility from peers increased. Response: irrelevant. Prioritise individual dominance."
Jeremy smirked. "Good. Let them hate."
---
The main session was eleven vs. eleven again. This time Wenger loaded one side with veterans — Henry, Pires, Vieira, Gilberto. Jeremy was placed on the opposite team with Bergkamp, Kolo, and some reserves.
The whistle blew.
Straight away Jeremy demanded the ball. First touch, he drove at Gilberto, shoulder dropped, cut inside, snapped a shot. Blocked.
Henry's voice cut sharply from the other side. "Selfish again!"
Jeremy grinned, jogging back. "Scared I'll outscore you?"
The next play, Henry answered. A one-two with Pires, a glide past Kolo, and the calmest finish low into the corner. He didn't even celebrate, just pointed at Jeremy as he jogged past.
"Watch and learn."
Jeremy's jaw tightened. He wanted to answer immediately. Next chance, Bergkamp slipped him a ball. Jeremy ignored the overlap and forced a shot from a tight angle. Side-netting.
Bergkamp just shook his head quietly. "You're chasing, not creating."
Jeremy ignored him.
---
The game grew heated. Vieira thundered into challenges. Campbell shoved him off the ball more than once. Ashley Cole chirped every time Jeremy lost it.
But Jeremy kept coming back. Every mistake, every block, he turned into fuel. He wanted more.
And finally, in the dying minutes of the scrimmage, it came. A loose ball rolled free twenty-five yards out. Jeremy snapped onto it, shifted right, and rifled. The ball dipped, smashed against the underside of the bar, and bounced in.
Silence for half a second. Then a few laughs, whistles. Even Vieira clapped once.
Jeremy turned straight to Henry. No celebration. Just pointed, smirk on his face.
Henry laughed, but it wasn't friendly. "This boy…" he muttered.
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After training, Wenger called Jeremy into his office. The room was small, lined with shelves of dossiers, match reports, and VHS tapes. Wenger sat behind his desk, glasses low on his nose.
"Sit."
Jeremy dropped into the chair, leaning back like it was his living room.
Wenger studied him for a long moment. "You have talent. No one denies this. But talent is dangerous when it blinds."
Jeremy tilted his head. "I score goals. Isn't that what matters?"
Wenger's voice stayed calm, but his eyes were sharp. "At Arsenal, we do not play for the individual. We play for the team. If you cannot understand this, you will never play here."
Jeremy smirked. "Maybe the team should understand me."
Silence. Wenger set his glasses down. "Thierry had to learn. Dennis had to learn. Even Patrick. All great players bend for the team. You… you refuse."
Jeremy leaned forward now, eyes burning. "They bend because they need to. I don't. I'll make them bend to me."
Wenger's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't raise his voice. "Then you will walk a thin line. One mistake, and you fall."
The system's voice cut in, cold, mechanical:
> "Observation: Wenger resists egoist philosophy. Solution: temporary compliance until the authority is irrelevant. Strategy: nod, survive, strike later."
Jeremy gave the faintest smile. "I'll show you, boss. Just give me the pitch."
Wenger sighed, but there was something in his eyes — not approval, not yet, but curiosity.
---
That evening, Jeremy sat with his mum in the small kitchen. The TV in the corner played highlights of Arsenal's league campaign. Henry's goals. Vieira's tackles. Wenger on the touchline.
His mum poured tea, watching him carefully. "So? How was it?"
Jeremy smirked, sipping. "Easy. Scored again. Henry doesn't like it."
She raised an eyebrow. "And the manager?"
Jeremy leaned back in his chair. "Told me to pass more. Told me to fit the team. Same as always."
She stayed quiet for a while, then said softly, "You don't want to be the boy who no one plays with, Jeremy."
Jeremy shook his head, grin sharp. "They'll play with me. Because I'll make them need me."
The system whispered, almost approving.
> "Correct. When necessity is created, resistance collapses."
His mum didn't hear. She just sighed, putting the cups in the sink.
---
Later that night, Jeremy sat in his room with the radio on, phone in hand. The bookies' lines were out for the FA Cup final: Arsenal vs Southampton.
Ryan called. "Bruv, Arsenal are heavy favourites. Not even worth betting, is it?"
Jeremy smirked. "Depends on the details. Henry first goalscorer. Two-nil final score. Mark it."
Ryan laughed. "You think you're Nostradamus, innit?"
Jeremy flicked through his betting slip. "Not think. I know."
The system chimed, cold:
> "Projection: high accuracy sustains reputation. Risk: overexposure. Recommendation: conceal predictive edge."
Jeremy grinned. "Nah. Let them all see I'm right. Makes the legend bigger."
---
The next morning, back at Colney, the air was different. Henry stretched on the sideline, eyes cutting across at Jeremy. Vieira stood tall, arms folded. Even Bergkamp's gaze lingered longer than before.
Jeremy pulled his bib on, a smirk tugging at his lips.
He wasn't in their team yet. But he wasn't out of place either.
Among giants — and already, he wanted to be bigger.
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End of Chapter 18