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Chapter 3— Diamonds in the Rough
The sun beat down over Hale End as the Arsenal U15s and trialists jogged onto the training pitch. The whistle shrieked twice — time for the trial match to kick off.
Jeremy still couldn't believe it. Arsenal crest on his chest. Boots laced up tight. Fifteen years old again. He smirked to himself.
"Nah, man… this is actually mad."
Henri Lansbury, the midfield general of the group, clapped him on the back. "You alright, Lynch? You've been daydreaming all morning."
Jeremy shot him a cheeky grin. "Just waitin' for you to give me a decent pass, bruv."
The other lads chuckled. Kieran Gibbs, already confident and loud, shouted across the pitch: "Oi, bet he loses it on his first touch!"
Jeremy rolled his shoulders, pretending not to care. Inside, his chest buzzed
DING!
> [Mission: Win every 1v1 duel. Reward: +3 Dribbling, +5 Ego.]
The voice again. Calm but sharp, like it was cutting into his thoughts.
> "These boys are not teammates. They are diamonds in the rough. Cut deeper. Shine brighter. Ego is the only truth."
Jeremy muttered under his breath, "Here we go again."
The whistle blew and the game kicked off. Lansbury kept the ball moving quickly in midfield, Gibbs sprinted down the left flank, barking for passes like he owned the place. Jeremy hung near the right side, eyes scanning for the ball.
Finally, Lansbury slid it into him. Defender tight on his back, pressing hard.
Jeremy trapped it under his studs. Quick chop left, spin right. A street move from his freestyle days. The defender froze for a second — just enough. Jeremy burst into the box, Lansbury raising his arm for the pass.
Jeremy ignored him. One touch. Shot. Bottom corner.
The ball smacked the net.
Jeremy spread his arms wide, expression stone cold — Cole Palmer's celebration before Cole Palmer even existed.
The lads groaned.
Lansbury jogged over, annoyed. "Bruv, I was wide open in the middle!"
Jeremy winked. "Yeah, but I was more open, fam."
DING!
> [Mission complete. Dribbling +3 → 73. Ego +5 → 95.]
The voice hummed with approval.
> "That is ego. That is football. No apologies."
Jeremy bit back a laugh. "Madness… this thing really wants me to be a prick."
The game went on. Gibbs came at him harder the next play, crunching into a tackle. Jeremy hit the ground but bounced up instantly.
Gibbs smirked. "Not so flashy now, eh?"
Jeremy grinned back. "Safe, Gibbs. Next time you're buying tickets to my show."
Minutes later, Jeremy did exactly that — nutmegged Gibbs in midfield clean, sending a few boys howling on the sideline. Jeremy collected the ball again, cut inside, and rifled another shot. This one clipped the bar and in.
He ran to the touchline, arms folded, ice-cold face. Cole Palmer cold arms.
The lads burst out laughing. Even some of the defenders couldn't hide their grins. But coach Steve Bould wasn't amused. He cupped his hands, voice booming across the pitch:
"Lynch! Enough of that nonsense! Play the game properly!"
Jeremy raised his hands innocently. "Nah, coach, this is proper football. Promise."
"Less circus, more football!" Bould barked.
Jeremy just smirked and jogged back into position. The teasing started instantly.
"Oi, Lynch, man thinks he's Premier League already!"
"Cold celebration, though…"
"Suuure you meant that shot, yeah?"
Jeremy took it all in stride, grinning. Inside, he was buzzing. Two goals already. Nutmeg. Stolen celebration from the future.
DING!
> [Hidden Mission: Celebrate like you own the pitch. Reward: +2 Ego.]
Jeremy tilted his head, muttering: "Nah, that's light work. Easy XP."
The voice cut back in, calm, commanding.
> "Remember, Jeremy. Ego is not given. Ego is taken. You are not here to fit in. You are here to dominate."
Jeremy's smirk widened. "Say less."
The ball was back in play. He sprinted after it, legs pumping, demanding it at his feet again. Every touch felt sharper, every dribble more alive.
This wasn't about passing. This wasn't about pleasing teammates.
This was about him.
Jeremy Lynch was back — and this time, he was going to take everything for himself.
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