CHAPTER 123

Ethan stood calmly on the touchline as the national anthem echoed through the grand stands of Wembley. After the pre-match formalities concluded, he stepped forward to shake hands with Rafael Benítez.

For Ethan, this was a long-awaited encounter. He had often heard of Benítez's tactical genius—his meticulous game-planning, his emphasis on structure and control. Now, to face him as an opponent on one of football's grandest stages was surreal.

The electric atmosphere of Wembley was deafening, like a furnace of anticipation. As the two managers briefly clasped hands, no words were exchanged. It was not the time for pleasantries—respect was understood, but this was battle.

Both coaches returned to their technical areas. The air was thick with tension. Though there was no personal history between them, today they stood on opposite sides of a clash that could define careers. In football, professionalism often hides the edge of competition—but when the whistle blows, an opponent is an opponent.

Ethan cut a sharp figure on the sidelines—black tailored blazer, crisp white shirt tucked into fitted trousers, the clean silhouette giving him a composed and commanding presence. In contrast, Benítez's familiar round figure and relaxed posture painted a different image. The difference in demeanor was stark, but appearances don't win football matches.

This wasn't a catwalk—it was a clash of ideologies. Despite Ethan's impressive presence, few believed Luton Town had a realistic chance against the might of Liverpool.

In fact, Ethan's youth worked against him in the cynical world of football management. At just 31, he looked even younger, and to many observers, he resembled an enthusiastic academy coach rather than the man entrusted with leading a team at Wembley.

"The contrast is striking," said Letkinson in the commentary booth. "In many ways, this mirrors the matchup on the pitch. Liverpool, experienced and world-renowned—Luton, raw, unproven, brimming with youth."

Sitting beside him was Liverpool legend Jamie Redknapp. Letkinson chuckled as he scanned Luton's squad sheet. "Hard to even name a Luton legend still active in football media…"

"Valdy—22 years old!"

"Kanté—only 18!"

"Charlie Austin—20!"

"Danny Drinkwater—19!"

Letkinson rattled off the names with amusement. "It's clear Ethan has a gift for nurturing young talent. This Luton side—call them a Youth Brigade if you like—has been molded in his vision. High energy, high press, fearless football!"

"Looks like Ethan's made some changes," Redknapp added, studying the team sheet. "Adam White and Hassan Ali start today, replacing Lewis Emanuel and Solomon Day-Wes. That could mean a tactical switch."

"Both are raw but promising. Interesting that Luton kept the media in the dark during their ten-day training camp," Letkinson said. "Makes you wonder if Ethan's cooking up something."

"It's not the first time he's sprung a surprise," Redknapp noted. "Remember when Adam White made that unexpected appearance against Chelsea? He lit it up!"

Back on the touchline, Ethan's gaze was locked on the pitch. His strategy for the first half was focused: unleash Adam White.

He tapped his wrist discreetly, activating the interface of his secret weapon—the football card system.

The screen flickered to life with a mechanical hum.

"Card switch cooldown: 5 hours."

Ethan sighed. He had hoped to rotate his enhancements between halves—perhaps start Adam White with a speed and dribbling boost, then transfer the bonuses to Jamie Vardy or Charlie Austin in the second half. But the system's cooldown mechanic dashed that plan.

Still, he moved swiftly to allocate his five card slots:

[Blue Card: +15% Team Interception Rate]

[Blue Card: +15% Counterattack Efficiency]

These two were essential—his philosophy relied on aggressive pressing and lethal transitions.

Now for the player-specific cards:

[Green Card: +15% Speed – Assigned to Adam White]

[Green Card: +15% Dribbling – Assigned to Adam White]

With these enhancements, Adam White on the left wing could become a left-footed Robben—cutting in, ghosting past defenders, igniting chaos.

And finally:

[Green Card: +15% Save Success – Assigned to Goalkeeper Claude Rondo]

The last line of defense had to be unshakable. If Adam was his ace in the front half, Claude was his wall at the back.

"If this works," Ethan muttered to himself, "we'll make history today."

He glanced toward the tunnel, then up to the massive crowd. All around Wembley, the noise swelled like a tide.

Kickoff was moments away.

　　...

Both teams stood on the pitch, waiting for the kickoff.

On the sidelines, the referee was finalizing checks with the assistant referees and the fourth official.

Benítez furrowed his brow as he glanced over at Luton's formation.

4-3-3?

While traditionally seen as an attacking setup, Benítez was no stranger to the more conservative variant of the 4-3-3.

Mourinho often employed a version with three defensively-minded midfielders, where even the wingers would drop back to help defend—a formation that functioned more like a grinding press than a free-flowing attack.

A meat grinder 4-3-3, Benítez thought.

He suspected that Ethan might be adopting a similar strategy. Still, the switch to 4-3-3 hinted that Luton had plans beyond simply absorbing pressure. With a front three, they would have more options on the counter—more outlets to transition quickly from defense to attack.

The more Benítez considered it, the more plausible it seemed.

And with that thought, he felt a measure of calm.

4-4-2 vs. 4-3-3—different shapes, same core philosophy: defend deep and counter hard.

Benítez stole a glance across the technical area at Ethan, who stood calmly, arms folded.

Do you really think you can win playing tricks like that?

Benítez muttered internally, trying to read his counterpart's poker face.

What cards are you holding, Ethan?

But before he could finish the thought, the referee blew the whistle.

The final had begun.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the FA Cup Final of the 2008–2009 season is officially underway!"

Commentators across the globe brought the moment to life in their respective languages.

Torres tapped the ball back to Gerrard, then surged forward.

Both wide players—Riera on the left, Kuyt on the right—immediately began their runs.

Like Luton, Liverpool were lined up in a 4-3-3. But unlike Luton, theirs was aggressively offensive.

Gerrard, positioned high up the pitch, played more like a No. 10 than a traditional central midfielder. He had the freedom to drive forward, to press, to create—or even to shoot from distance.

The two wide forwards stretched the play. Alonso, finding space in midfield, received the ball cleanly.

Unmarked and with time, the Spaniard scanned the pitch and then launched a precise diagonal ball toward the flank.

From the very first touch, Liverpool were on the front foot.

Luton's lines were deep. Even Vardy, nominally the striker, hadn't ventured past the halfway line.

Benítez allowed himself a breath of relief.

They're not trying anything outlandish. Just another parked bus with a different license plate.

He exhaled slowly, feeling more at ease.

All that mystery and misdirection... in the end, it's just a defensive counterattack.

He glanced at Luton's setup again and scoffed internally.

We're ready for this.

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