John Aston was on his feet, roaring with the rest of the away fans as the ball hit the back of the net.
He remembered Ethan's words before the match had even started. The young manager had looked him dead in the eye and said with quiet confidence, "We have a one to two percent chance of winning the FA Cup—and that's all we need."
At the time, John had thought it was a contradiction. Ethan had spoken with such conviction, but one or two percent? That wasn't confidence—that was blind hope. Or so John had thought.
Now, watching the scoreboard flash the decisive goal, he found himself believing.
Luton Town had just punched their ticket to the FA Cup semi-finals.
A feat that not long ago would have sounded like madness. A League Two side, sitting in the fourth tier of English football, now standing shoulder to shoulder with Premier League giants in the final four of the oldest domestic cup competition in the world.
Ethan had told him plainly weeks ago:
"I want to win the FA Cup."
Not just compete. Not just make a good run. Win it.
If he actually pulled this off, it would go down as one of the most astonishing fairy tales in the history of the tournament. John couldn't recall the last time a team this far down the pyramid had even reached the semis, let alone lifted the trophy. If Ethan could complete this run, it wouldn't just be an upset—it would be a legend.
It was this calm, intense young Chinese manager who had pulled Luton out of the gutter and somehow, seemingly with sheer will, launched them into the spotlight.
The clock had ticked well past the announced stoppage time. The celebrations after Luton's goal had taken a while, and the referee seemed to be allowing Coventry one final throw of the dice.
Ethan wasn't taking any chances.
He called over N'Golo Kanté—barely out of obscurity at the time—and gave direct, final instructions. For this last passage of play, there was no room for mistakes.
"Unbelievable!!"
In the commentary booth, veteran broadcaster Mark Letkinson's voice trembled with emotion.
"Luton Town have scored in the dying moments! If this result stands, they'll reach the FA Cup semi-finals—a League Two team! Even in a competition famed for its upsets, this is historic!"
Back on the pitch, Coventry launched one last desperate attack.
Midfielder Liam Henderson wound up and fired from range—but the shot struck Jamie Vardy, who'd sprinted all the way back to help defend, and the ball deflected out for a corner.
The home crowd held their breath.
The referee paused, then pointed to the corner flag.
"HEY!!! TIME'S UP!!!"
Ethan was animated on the touchline, tapping his wrist furiously and yelling toward the fourth official.
"It's ninety-five now! Added time was only three minutes!"
The fourth official approached, possibly drawn by the outburst.
"Mind your language, Coach!"
But Ethan didn't press the issue. He knew better than to risk a dismissal with his team seconds away from glory.
Coventry sent everyone forward. Even their goalkeeper came up for the final corner.
"It's the last play!"
Chinese commentator He Hongfa sounded just as tense from thousands of miles away.
"This is it—Luton are ten seconds from the semi-finals!"
The corner came in.
Claude Rondo, Luton's keeper, rose above the crowd, clutched the ball mid-air, and dropped to the turf like a man protecting gold. He wasn't moving. Not until the final whistle blew.
And then—
Beep!
Ethan clenched his fists.
BEEP!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!!
Full time!
The pitch erupted. Players streamed off the bench. Coaches embraced.
In the stands, Luton's away fans sang louder than ever.
Ethan stood still for a moment, letting it sink in. His team—his Luton Town—were going to Wembley.
Even in a competition known for its magic, this was something else.
This was a miracle carved from discipline, belief, and the will of a coach who never cared what the odds said.
...
"The game is over! The game is over!"
Letkinson stood up in the commentary booth, his voice trembling with excitement.
"Two-one! Two-one! Luton Town have done it! They've beaten Coventry City, and as a League One side, they've reached the FA Cup semi-finals!"
"In his very first season in charge, manager Ethan has led Luton to a historic achievement—something never before accomplished in the club's history! It's a miracle! They are this season's biggest dark horses!"
"And now… they're going to Wembley!"
Letkinson's voice echoed through the stadium as he shouted into the microphone.
Down on the pitch, Ethan was already leading his substitutes onto the field. The players on the pitch raised their arms in triumph, embracing one another in celebration.
Kevin Keane, the captain, dropped to his knees and covered his face with his hands, overcome with emotion.
"Don't cry, Kevin!" Ethan laughed as he pulled his captain up.
"We're going to Wembley, no matter what!"
The two shared a fierce hug before being swarmed by the rest of the squad. Ethan was lifted into the air by his players, tossed up in jubilation, and caught safely each time—celebrated like a hero.
Back in Luton, the entire town had erupted into celebration. It felt like a local carnival, more spirited than ever before. Citizens poured out of their homes, waving flags and donning the familiar red and white of the Hatters. Car horns echoed through the streets and alleys, chants filling the air.
"We're going to Wembley!"
"Wembley! Wembley! Wembley!"
Luton had become one giant stage for a celebration that would go down in club folklore.
Meanwhile, Coventry City could only taste the bitterness of defeat.
Chris Coleman, the Coventry manager, stood on the touchline watching the Luton players and staff revel in their moment. His gaze lingered on Ethan—the young Chinese coach, full of energy and charisma, starkly contrasting Coleman's own weary figure, his grey hair a symbol of battles fought and lost.
Only 28 years old. The realization was sobering.
Coleman's expression was unreadable. Perhaps it was time… time for the old guard to make way for a new generation of coaches—bold, modern, and fearless.
The Coventry players trudged off the pitch, heads down. Their fans in the stands were already dispersing. Yet, in a show of class, the Ricoh Arena staff kept the stadium lights on, allowing Luton's post-match celebrations to continue.
Letkinson's voice returned to the broadcast.
"At the start of the season, who would've believed that Luton Town would reach the FA Cup semi-finals? What they've achieved tonight is nothing short of incredible. This is a night the Hatters faithful will remember forever. Congratulations, Luton. Truly, congratulations!"
"Tonight… belongs to them."
Eventually, the celebrations wound down. This was, after all, an away fixture.
Ethan gathered his squad, and together, they walked off the pitch—heads held high.
The next time they appear in the FA Cup… it will be at Wembley Stadium.
And who knows? Maybe there's still another miracle waiting for them.
Letkinson sat back in his seat, the stadium slowly quieting.
"I, for one, can't wait to find out."