CHAPTER 88

Ricoh Arena was cloaked in a fine drizzle, casting a gray tone over the stadium and muting the atmosphere.

Before kickoff, Coventry supporters were lively and optimistic, but now they looked distracted and uneasy. The match had begun cautiously, with both sides showing little ambition in the early stages.

Luton Town weren't pressing forward, and Coventry City—playing at home—were surprisingly conservative. Luton had only Jamie Vardy leading the line, barely venturing past the halfway line.

On the touchline, Luton's young manager Ethan was animated, barking orders and waving his arms, trying to stabilize his team's defensive structure.

Just moments earlier, Luton's young players had looked overwhelmed. Their inexperience showed, and emotionally they were struggling to settle. After back-to-back wins against Premier League sides Chelsea and Manchester City in the FA Cup, some complacency might've crept in. But they hadn't anticipated Coventry manager Chris Coleman would opt for a deep, counter-attacking setup—especially at home.

Caught off guard, Luton's shape wasn't designed for patient buildup. Yet Coventry, rather than taking the initiative, seemed content to play the waiting game.

"They're not even trying to attack…" muttered assistant coach John, clearly uneasy. Luton had lined up in a compact 4-5-1, with Vardy isolated up front and midfield packed with workhorses and ball-winners.

"Relax, John," Ethan replied, glancing back with calm confidence. "We're away from home—the pressure's on them."

On the pitch, full-back Lewis Emanuel looked tempted to surge forward on the dribble. Ethan noticed and shouted quickly, "Easy, Lewis! Move it! Just pass it!"

On the opposite bench, Coleman overheard the command and frowned slightly. Things weren't going according to plan.

He had assumed the youthful Luton side—average age around 21—would struggle to stay composed. Combined with their inexperienced manager, he expected rashness and impatience. Instead, Ethan's side was showing a surprising level of discipline.

Despite their recent giant-killings, Luton weren't letting their emotions dictate the tempo. And Coleman began to realize—this wasn't going to be as simple as he thought.

Nearly 20 minutes had passed, and neither team had registered a shot on target. The fans' frustration was starting to boil over. Coventry supporters, in particular, were growing restless. Watching their team play passively at home against a League Two side was hard to stomach.

In the 19th minute, Luton launched a long ball toward Vardy, which Coventry easily recovered. But even then, faced with Luton's quick retreat into shape, Coventry made no push to counter. Instead, they recycled possession, passing laterally and cautiously.

"Both sides are being extremely cagey," said commentator Steve Letkinson from the press box. "Coventry are sitting deep at home, clearly wary of Vardy's pace on the counter. Luton, meanwhile, are using the same lineup that beat Manchester City, but aren't committing men forward. Vardy's all alone up top."

Ethan remained on his feet, eyes locked on the pitch, waiting patiently for an opening.

From the stands came the first signs of discontent. A smattering of boos echoed around the Ricoh Arena. Coventry were in possession—but doing nothing with it.

The boos grew louder.

For all their loyalty, English fans have one line they rarely tolerate being crossed: a lack of intent.

They can accept defeat, even poor form—but not a team that refuses to try.

Against a Premier League heavyweight, maybe Coventry fans would've understood. But this was Luton Town—two divisions below them. And Coventry, playing at home, had yet to show any real attacking intent. No wonder the crowd was turning.

"Come on!! Are you lot even trying?!"

"Coleman, wake up!!"

"This is pathetic!!"

The pressure wasn't just on the pitch anymore—it was in the air.

　　...

Booing rang out from the stands. Chris Coleman could still hear the abuse from the home fans behind the dugout. It was nothing new.

Ever since Coleman took charge of Coventry City two seasons ago, the club had failed to secure promotion to the Premier League. Frustration among the fans had been simmering, and now, with their hopes dwindling again, the supporters were venting that frustration full force.

Coleman's expression darkened. Realistically, their promotion hopes this season were slim. But in the FA Cup, things looked more promising—Coventry had reached the quarter-finals. Beating Luton Town today would put them into the semi-finals at Wembley. From a cup perspective, at least, his performance as manager wasn't terrible.

Of course, the fans didn't see it that way. They couldn't appreciate the tactical planning or the risks he had to take. But Coleman knew: the opposition was just waiting to hit them on the break.

He glanced at the pitch. Luton had lined up in a deep 4-5-1. That Chinese manager—Ethan—was clearly setting up for a counterattack.

Coleman clenched his jaw. We can't play into their hands. Stay composed!

He mentally tuned out the noise from the crowd. He could ignore the boos—but his players couldn't.

Midfielder Jordan Henderson received the ball near the halfway line. Luton's defensive line was tight and compact, a brick wall in front of him. According to Coleman's instructions, Henderson should have recycled possession and passed backwards to retain control.

But Coventry striker Clinton Morrison had drifted in from the left wing and was now gesturing for the ball. He was isolated up front, but the temptation to try something different was growing.

The jeering from the stands unsettled Henderson.

It's just Luton, a League Two side. Do we really need to play this cautiously?

That mindset had already crept into the squad. Some Coventry players weren't taking this FA Cup tie seriously. Upsets happen every year, sure—but how often does a fourth-tier side go this far?

Henderson made up his mind. He spotted Morrison's run and, trusting their chemistry and understanding, sent a long, arching ball forward.

Morrison read it instantly. The striker accelerated, slipping past full-back Sol Davis with ease, and latched onto the ball at the edge of the box. He struck it first time.

The shot whistled past the goalkeeper, just inches wide of the far post!

"Morrison!!! Out of nowhere! Coventry almost break the deadlock!"

The crowd's boos transformed into a wave of cheers.

Luton manager Ethan was momentarily caught off guard. Was that a planned move, or just instinct?

He glanced across the touchline at Coleman. The older manager didn't look triumphant—he looked tense. His hands were outstretched, palms down, shouting toward the pitch: "Settle! Stay calm!"

But whether the players heard him—or wanted to hear him—was another matter.

Coventry pushed forward again. This time, more players were joining the attack. Both strikers advanced into the final third.

Ethan's eyes narrowed. He focused on the positioning of Coventry's midfield. Aside from Henderson, none of the midfielders had crossed the halfway line. There was a clear disconnect between their forward line and the engine room.

They're not coordinated. Some of them are freelancing.

Ethan didn't hesitate.

He glanced toward N'Golo Kanté and barked out, "N'Golo!!!"

His voice carried across the pitch, cutting through the noise. He raised his hand, signaling a transition play.

The message was clear: time to counter.

Luton's players snapped into motion.

Kanté, always alert, drifted toward Morrison—unseen—and prepared to pounce...