---
Chapter 19 – The Cup Final Lesson
Cardiff, May 17, 2003
The Millennium Stadium roared like a furnace. Red and white flags waved in the stands, drums echoing, chants bouncing from tier to tier. Arsenal against Southampton. The FA Cup final.
Jeremy Lynch sat high in the players' section, tracksuit zipped, badge sharp on his chest. Not on the bench, not in the squad. Just there to watch. But even from here, it mattered. This was the highest stage he'd ever seen up close.
Next to him, a couple of academy lads whispered to each other, their wide eyes glued to the pitch. They looked like tourists. Jeremy leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching every detail: Vieira's first touch, Henry's off-ball runs, Bergkamp's spacing. He wasn't here to be entertained. He was here to study.
Down on the pitch, the game started with Arsenal in control. Pires floated wide, Bergkamp dropped into pockets, and Henry kept pulling defenders into bad positions. Southampton chased shadows.
Jeremy muttered under his breath. "They can't handle Pires cutting inside. Ball's gonna drop for him soon."
One of the academy lads glanced over. "You think so?"
"Not think. Know."
Minutes later, Henry glided past two men, the ball squared loose in the box. Pires arrived, slotting it calmly into the net. Arsenal 1–0. The red end of the stadium exploded.
Jeremy didn't even flinch. He just smirked. "Told you."
---
At half-time, the lads around him buzzed, talking about the goal, the atmosphere, the chants. Jeremy sat still, arms crossed, eyes locked on the tunnel where the players disappeared.
His phone vibrated. A text from Ryan.
Mate you bet on this?
Jeremy typed back fast. Of course. Pires first scorer. Arsenal lift the cup. Easy money.
The reply came seconds later. You're a cheat man. How do you always call it?
Jeremy tucked the phone away, a smile tugging at his mouth. He wasn't guessing. He was reading the game, clearer than they could. Betting wasn't luck. It was proof that he saw things before anyone else.
The system's voice cut in, cold and sharp.
> "Analysis: Prediction accuracy builds influence. Leverage foresight into authority. You must be the one others rely on to see the outcome."
Jeremy breathed out slowly. Yeah. That's what makes me different.
---
Second half, Arsenal held the line. Southampton never looked like scoring. Vieira bullied the midfield, Gilberto swept everything behind him, and Henry kept terrorising defenders even without a goal.
When the final whistle blew, red smoke poured out of the stands. Arsenal players sprinted toward the fans, shirts waving, arms raised. Pires lifted the trophy, silver shining under the Cardiff lights.
Jeremy stayed seated, eyes narrowed, committing every detail to memory.
The academy lads jumped up, cheering. One of them nudged him. "Come on, we won! Why are you sitting like you lost?"
Jeremy leaned back, calm. "'Cause it's not my trophy. Not yet."
The lad frowned, but Jeremy didn't explain further.
---
Later, on the team bus, Wenger stood near the front, quiet pride in his eyes as he spoke to the squad. "You played with intelligence. With control. That is what brings consistency, and consistency brings victory."
Jeremy sat toward the back, half in the shadows, listening. The veterans laughed and sang, Vieira with the cup on his lap, Henry joking with Cole, Bergkamp quietly sipping water with a faint smile.
No one looked at Jeremy. He wasn't part of it. Not yet. But his jaw was set.
He whispered under his breath, only for himself. "Next time, I'm not watching. I'm on that pitch."
The system answered, cold as ever.
> "Observation: They celebrate. You calculate. That is why you will surpass them."
Jeremy stared out the window at the Cardiff night, the noise of victory ringing around him. He didn't cheer, didn't clap. He was already thinking about what came next.
---
End of Chapter 19