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Chapter 6 — The Mirror and the Mud
The door to the changing room banged open. The smell of sweat, damp socks, and muscle rub filled the air. Boots clattered against the tiles. Shirts came off, banter bounced around like another ball still in play.
Jeremy strolled in last, shirt untucked, grin plastered across his face. Two goals. Match winner. He dropped onto the bench like he owned it.
"Oi, look at him," Kieran Gibbs smirked. "Bruv thinks he's Okocha."
"More like Ronaldo at Sporting," Lansbury snorted, pulling off his boots. "Ball hog, mate. Could've squared it to me twice."
Jeremy leaned back, arms spread, grin wide. "Nah, nah, listen mate. At the end of the day, goals win games. Who scored? Who's sitting pretty now?" He tapped his chest. "This guy."
Wilshere laughed. "He's not wrong though. Chelsea couldn't handle him."
Jeremy tilted his head. "Course they couldn't, mate. I'm built different." He crossed his arms in that cold little celebration, chin high.
A few of the lads groaned. "Five minutes in the academy and he's already chatting like he's captain," someone muttered.
DING!
> [Ego Rating +3 → 106.]
[Trait Unlocked: Self-Perception — You see yourself as the main character, and others start to see it too.]
The system's voice cut through the noise, sharp as glass.
> "Do you hear them? Their laughter? Their envy? Mud clings to diamonds, Lynch. Be the diamond. Be untouchable."
Jeremy smirked at nothing. "They'll get it soon enough, mate. They'll see."
"See what?" Gibbs asked, hearing him.
Jeremy leaned forward, smirk sharper. "That I'm the difference, mate. Cold." He hit the celebration again, arms folded. Half the room jeered, half laughed.
"Safe, Lynch," Wilshere chuckled. "But if you try that against United next month, Keano might break your legs."
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The banter rolled on. Someone started singing "Greedy, greedy Lynch!" like a terrace chant, and the others joined in, clapping hands. Jeremy bowed like a showman. "Thank you, lads, thank you. Keep singing—man loves the soundtrack."
The laughter stopped when Steve Bould walked in. The U17 coach scanned the room, voice steady.
"Good win, boys. Hard graft, some quality on display. But I'm hearing selfish play too." His eyes fixed straight on Jeremy. "Football's a team game. You don't buy into that, you won't last here."
Jeremy nodded, face respectful. "Yes, coach."
Inside? He was laughing.
DING!
> [Directive: Ignore coaches. They shape mud. Ego shapes diamonds.]
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Showers steamed up, water echoing across the tiles. Gibbs leaned against the wall divider. "Oi, Lynch, you bag like that next week, Nando's is on you."
Jeremy chuckled. "Safe, mate. But don't get used to it. I'll be bagging every week. You'll starve waiting on me."
Lansbury muttered, "Not if you keep ignoring us, you won't."
Jeremy shot him a grin. "Mate, if you keep running like you're invisible, maybe you are invisible."
The room cracked up. Lansbury tried not to laugh.
Wilshere slapped Jeremy's shoulder. "One thing's for sure—Arsenal's never had this much banter."
Jeremy smirked wider. "Nah, mate. Arsenal's never had me before."
DING!
> [Proficiency: Charisma +2 → 57.]
[Note: Diamonds don't just shine—they blind. The more you talk, the more they look.]
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When the room emptied, Jeremy stayed behind. He caught himself in the cracked mirror, still dripping, hair plastered. Fifteen again. Skin clear, body fresh, legs buzzing.
He leaned closer. "Bruv… this is mad."
The voice slid back into his head,Cold and ruthless.
> "You've been given what no one else has—time reborn. Don't waste it on humility. The world doesn't remember those who have passed. It remembers those who took."
Jeremy raised his arms in front of the mirror, crossing them in his cold celebration. A grin spread slowly across his face.
"I'm him, mate," he whispered. "I'm really Him."
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