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Chapter 23 – First Taste of the Stage
London Road, July 19, 2003.
The away stand shook with red and white scarves as Arsenal's players jogged out for the second half. The summer evening was sticky, the kind of air that clung to shirts and slowed legs. Wenger had made his usual wholesale changes, resting the big names. Henry, Bergkamp, and Vieira sat on the bench in tracksuits, towels around their necks, half-watching, half-talking among themselves.
Among the group of fresh-faced youngsters stepping over the white line was Jeremy Lynch. Boots gleaming, socks cut just below the knee, he carried himself like someone who wasn't there to "learn" but to take something.
The crowd didn't notice him much. To them, he was just another academy kid. But on the Arsenal bench, Henry leaned forward slightly.
"Petit nouveau," Henry murmured, smirking. "Let's see what he does."
Bergkamp said nothing, eyes tracking Jeremy as he jogged to his position.
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Sky Sports commentary cut in as the ball was placed for the restart.
Martin Tyler: "Second half underway here at London Road, Arsenal leading two-nil… plenty of changes at the break. You'll see some of Arsène Wenger's academy talents given a chance."
Alan Smith: "That's right, Martin. It's a big moment for some of these lads. One name to keep an eye on is Jeremy Lynch, a sixteen-year-old forward. Arsenal rate him highly, apparently."
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Jeremy's first touch came within a minute. A simple pass rolled into his feet near the halfway line. He didn't take it simple. He let the ball run across his body, spun sharply, and drove forward.
The Peterborough defender stepped in to block. Jeremy pushed the ball through the man's legs and accelerated, shoulders pumping. He didn't even look at his teammates pulling wide—he went straight for the goal.
From the bench, Wenger rose a little, eyes narrowing.
Jeremy cut inside, unleashed a shot from twenty-five yards. The ball whistled past the post, smacking the advertising board. Gasps from the crowd, a murmur running through.
Alan Smith chuckled. "Well, he doesn't lack confidence, does he?"
Martin Tyler: "Not shy about having a go. You'd expect a youngster to take the safe option there, but… he's clearly got ideas."
On the bench, Henry laughed, shaking his head. "Mon dieu, the boy thinks it's a playground."
Vieira grinned. "Remind you of anyone?"
Henry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
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For the next fifteen minutes, Jeremy kept demanding the ball. Sometimes he beat his man, sometimes he lost it. Teammates were getting frustrated—Kanu waved his arms after being ignored on a cutback.
"Pass the bloody ball, kid!" one of the midfielders barked after another selfish shot sailed over.
Jeremy didn't even look back. He was locked in.
The System's voice slipped in, cold and cutting.
> "You are here to dominate, not to blend. Passing is for those without conviction. Keep forcing your way forward. Fear comes before respect."
Jeremy smirked under his breath, trotting back for the goal kick. "Yeah. They'll remember me, not the sideways pass."
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In the 68th minute, it came.
Ball fed into his feet outside the box. Defender is tight on him. Jeremy dropped a shoulder, dragged the ball with his sole, spun—Marseille turn, clean and fast. The defender was gone.
Two strides, low strike across the goal. The keeper got a hand but couldn't hold. Net bulged.
Arsenal's youngsters swarmed him, shouting. The away stand roared, the small section of travelling fans rising to their feet.
Martin Tyler: "And there it is! Jeremy Lynch, remember the name! A brilliant turn and finish from the sixteen-year-old!"
Alan Smith: "Lovely bit of skill, that. Had the confidence to spin his man, and he struck it sweet. That'll please Arsène Wenger, no doubt about it."
On the bench, Henry leaned back, grinning. "Okay… that was nice."
Bergkamp gave a small nod, murmuring under his breath: "Good instincts. Still wild."
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Jeremy didn't celebrate much. Just a sharp point to the ground, chin high, as if to say: this is mine.
The crowd caught it. Some cheered louder, others jeered. But all of them noticed.
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After the match, Arsenal won 3–0. The headlines were already circling.
Evening Standard: Teen Lynch announces himself with stunning strike in Arsenal friendly.
Sky Sports ticker: Who is Jeremy Lynch? 16-year-old forward scores on senior debut.
Back in the dressing room, Kanu slapped his shoulder. "Good goal, kid. But sometimes, eh, the easy pass is better."
Jeremy just shrugged. "Je i know im the best"
Kanu laughed, shaking his head. "You remind me of someone. Just don't forget—football is eleven men."
Jeremy didn't answer. In his head, the System's voice cut sharper.
> "Eleven men? Wrong. One winner, ten side characters. They will forgive your selfishness when the net shakes."
Jeremy tied his laces tighter, smirking. "Exactly."
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Later that night, he was back in his flat, TV flickering. He had the Champions League odds spread on the table. AC Milan had just been crowned in 2003, but the bookmakers were already setting numbers for next season. Real Madrid were the favourites with their Galácticos.
Jeremy placed a quiet bet on Porto, long odds. He already knew Mourinho's rise was coming. Easy money.
His mate Ryan rang again.
"Ar You mad, bro. Porto? Over Madrid, Milan, Juve?"
Jeremy grinned, leaning back. "Watch. The Special One's coming. I know what I'm doing."
Ryan laughed. "One day you'll go broke, fam."
"Not me. I see it all."
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By Sunday morning, the newspapers were filled with his name. Small blurbs, but enough. "Arsenal's next prodigy?" "Another gem from Wenger's academy?" Scouts from other clubs had already made notes.
Wenger read it all in silence. When Jeremy walked into Colney for training, the manager stopped him outside the changing room.
"You did well," Wenger said, calm as always. "But this is just one friendly. Do not believe too much too soon."
Jeremy looked him dead in the eye. "I'm not here for friendlies. I'm here to take someone's spot."
Wenger didn't react, only adjusted his glasses. "Then you must prove it every day. Otherwise, talent is wasted."
The System's voice whispered as Wenger walked off.
> "He does not understand. They never do. You are not fighting for a spot—you are fighting to erase them all."
Jeremy grinned, pulling on his boots. "Good. Let them notice. This is just the beginning."
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[End of Chapter 23]