WebNovels

Chapter 18 - Streets and Screens

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Chapter 21 – Streets and Screens

Hackney, late May 2003

The weekend stretched long, rainclouds sagging over East London. Jeremy had no training that day, no call-up, no games. Just hours to fill. But he wasn't the type to sit still.

By noon, he was out the door, hoodie pulled tight, boots slung over his shoulder. He cut through Mare Street, past the corner shop and the shisha café with its peeling red paint. A couple of older boys leaned on the railings, nodding to the music booming from a parked car. Jeremy kept walking, chin high.

He had cash in his pocket, folded neatly. Some from the Youth Cup bonus, some from small bets already paying off. Not much, but enough for what he wanted.

The shop was cramped, the kind of independent game store tucked between a kebab joint and a laundrette. Posters of Lara Croft and Pro Evolution Soccer clung to the windows. Inside, a row of glass cases displayed PS2 discs. The air smelled faintly of dust and plastic.

The owner, a heavy-set guy with a shaved head, looked up as Jeremy walked in. "What are you after, kid?"

Jeremy's eyes scanned the racks until they stopped on the bright blue case: FIFA Football 2003.

He picked it up, grinning. "This one."

The owner smirked. "Good choice. Arsenal's got their whole squad in there. Henry's rated sky-high."

Jeremy slapped the cash down. "Perfect."

The man slid the case into a plastic bag, handed it over. "Don't let it keep you off the pitch."

Jeremy shot him a look. "It won't. It'll just remind me where I'm heading."

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By late afternoon, Jeremy was squeezed into Ryan's living room with three other academy mates. The telly buzzed, the PS2 whirred, controllers tangled in their hands.

"Right, I'm Arsenal," Ryan declared, already scrolling through the team.

Jeremy leaned back on the sofa, smirking. "Nah, you're not. I'm Arsenal."

Ryan groaned. "Mate, you can't always hog Arsenal. Every time!"

Jeremy shrugged. "They're the best. And I'm the best. It fits."

The others laughed, shaking their heads. One of them, Darnell, picked Real Madrid instead. "Fine. Galácticos against your lot, then. Zidane's about to rinse you."

The match kicked off. Henry darted down the flank, Pires linking with Bergkamp. Jeremy leaned forward, controller locked in his hands. He was ruthless even here, no sideways passes, no patience. Straight at the goal.

"Fam, you're selfish even in FIFA," Ryan muttered as Jeremy ignored an open Ljungberg and tried a thirty-yard strike with Henry.

Jeremy grinned. "If it goes in, it's not selfish."

The ball clattered against the post. Darnell countered instantly, Zidane feeding Ronaldo, who smashed it past Seaman.

"1–0!" Darnell jumped up, arms wide.

Jeremy's jaw tightened. "That's lucky."

Ryan laughed. "It's not luck, bruv. You just can't defend."

Jeremy's eyes narrowed. He leaned closer to the screen, body tense. For the next ten minutes he barely blinked, threading through defenders, step-overs with Henry, flicks with Bergkamp. Finally, he hammered one into the top corner.

He leapt up, pointing at the screen. "See? That's how it's done."

The others groaned. "Man celebrates FIFA goals like they're real life," Ryan muttered.

Jeremy just smirked, slumping back onto the sofa. "Everything's real when I do it."

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They played for hours, swapping teams, arguments flaring every few minutes. Jeremy refused to play anything but Arsenal or Brazil. When he lost, he claimed the controller was broken or the game was scripted. When he won, he rubbed it in until the others told him to shut up.

Eventually, Ryan's mum shouted from the kitchen: "Time to clear out, boys! Enough shouting in there."

The lads groaned but started packing up. Jeremy tucked the FIFA disc back into its case, slipping it into his bag.

As they stepped out into the evening, rain drizzling lightly, Ryan nudged him. "You ever think about just chilling? Not everything's competition, fam."

Jeremy smirked. "For you, maybe. For me? Everything's competition."

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Later that night, the cage pitch buzzed again under the floodlights. Jeremy was back, ball at his feet. The older boys had already started a game, shirts damp from the drizzle, trainers squeaking on concrete.

"Yo, Lynch!" one called. "You in?"

Jeremy nodded, tossing his bag to the side. He jogged in, joining the team already a goal down.

From the first touch, he was electric. He nutmegged one defender, rolled it past another, and shot hard against the keeper's legs. The rebound fell to a teammate, who tried to tap it in but missed.

"Pass earlier, man!" the teammate barked.

Jeremy shook his head. "If I wanted you to score, I'd have passed. I wanted to score."

The game got rougher, shoves at the fence, kicks flying in late. Jeremy thrived in it. He wanted the fight, wanted the chaos. Every tackle only fuelled him more.

At one point, he stole the ball off a bigger lad, spun him, and chipped the keeper from close range. The fence rattled as everyone shouted.

"Little man's mad," one of the older boys laughed.

Jeremy smirked, jogging back. "Mad's what wins."

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By the time he got home, it was past eleven. His mum was still up this time, folding laundry in the living room. She looked up as he came in, trainers muddy, hoodie damp.

"You've been out all day," she said quietly.

"Playing," Jeremy answered simply.

She sighed, but there was no anger in it. Just worry. "You need to rest sometimes."

Jeremy shrugged, heading for the stairs. "I'll rest when I've won everything."

She didn't reply, just shook her head and turned back to the clothes.

Up in his room, Jeremy set the FIFA disc on the shelf, beside the football magazines and his stack of betting slips. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of London drifting through the window.

The system's voice cut in, cold and sharp.

> "Observation: You chase victory in all arenas. This is in alignment with the ego. Continue escalation."

Jeremy smirked to himself. "Don't worry. I will."

He closed his eyes, but his mind didn't rest. It buzzed with matches, bets, the street, the screen, and the pitch at Colney. All different arenas, but all the same to him. Places to win. Places to prove he was bigger than anyone else.

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End of Chapter 21

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