CHAPTER 122

"Ladies and gentlemen! Football fans around the world! Welcome to Wembley Stadium!"

From the commentary booth high above the pitch, Letkinson's voice echoed over the roar of more than 90,000 fans. Microphone in hand, he stood electrified by the moment.

"It's the 2008–2009 FA Cup Final! And what a stage we have today for this historic clash!"

"Liverpool versus Luton Town — a true David vs Goliath encounter!"

Down in the tunnel, both sets of players waited tensely in the player entrance, ready to walk out into the roar of Wembley.

The Liverpool supporters, a sea of red in their iconic home kits, broke into cheers, trying to assert their presence early. But they were quickly answered — and overwhelmed — by the passionate cries of Luton Town fans. Decked out in vivid orange, their faces painted with hope and pride, the underdogs' supporters roared from the stands:

"LUTON! LUTON!"

Among the 90,000 inside Wembley, around 40,000 fans backed each team, with the remaining 10,000 made up of neutrals — football lovers drawn by the magic of the FA Cup.

Luton's supporters were louder, more animated, and, above all, hungrier. For a club that had wandered the wilderness of the lower divisions, with no major silverware to their name, this final was more than a match — it was a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

The FA Cup Final was the highest summit Luton Town had ever reached, and their fans were determined to make their voices heard.

Liverpool fans, meanwhile, were more composed. They had been here before. With seven FA Cup wins to their name, Liverpool stood as one of English football's most storied clubs, trailing only Manchester United, Arsenal, and Tottenham in terms of FA Cup victories. To many of their fans, this was a step on the road back to glory — not the destination.

Back in the tunnel, both teams stood shoulder-to-shoulder. The contrast was striking.

Luton's players, rigid and focused, stared ahead as though they were about to take part in a sacred rite.

Liverpool's squad looked relaxed, chatting quietly, bouncing on their heels, casually stretching.

At the front of Luton's line stood Kevin Keane, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed straight ahead. At the end of the tunnel, lit by Wembley's floodlights, sat the gleaming FA Cup trophy. Its polished silver surface shimmered, catching the reflection of a thousand dreams.

Keane glanced briefly at the cup before snapping his eyes away. He didn't believe in superstitions — not really — but he still remembered the old football curse:

"The team that touches the trophy before kickoff is doomed to lose."

It was an unwritten rule of football lore. Kevin wasn't taking any chances.

Not today.

Could they really beat Liverpool?

He didn't know. But there was no turning back now.

"Let's go!"

As the referee signaled, Keane's voice rang out. His teammates straightened behind him. Across the tunnel, Liverpool captain Steven Gerrard nodded to his men. The final had begun before the whistle even blew.

With the referee leading, flanked by coaching staff, the players emerged to a wall of sound.

The light from the trophy danced across their faces — none dared meet its gaze.

As they walked out, Liverpool fans raised their traditional red scarves, creating a living mosaic of history and pride. From the opposite end of the stadium, their song began:

"When you walk through a storm,

Hold your head up high,

And don't be afraid of the dark..."

"You'll Never Walk Alone."

It wasn't originally written for Liverpool. But in football, the moment that melody plays, there's no mistaking it — it belongs to Liverpool now.

A great club. A legendary anthem. But for the 40,000 Luton fans, that history didn't matter today.

Today, Liverpool was just the enemy.

No matter how lofty your status, how rich your history, or how fearsome your reputation—today, you're just our opponent.

It's that simple.

The Luton Town supporters made their stance clear the moment the Liverpool players stepped onto the pitch, drowning out their anthem with a chorus of boos. The Liverpool fans, segregated to the opposite end of Wembley Stadium, couldn't dominate the soundscape as they usually would. The tension was immediate. They weren't going to make it easy for the Premier League giants.

As the teams walked out of the tunnel, Liverpool's iconic "You'll Never Walk Alone" clashed with the jeers and chants of the Luton faithful, creating a chaotic yet powerful medley that echoed across the historic venue. It was less of a clash and more of a symphony—one composed of passion, pride, and the drama of football.

Perhaps this was just the overture to what would become an unforgettable final.

The players lined up on the pitch, facing the royal box. A microphone stood at the ready, and beside it was a young girl.

She was Barry Smith, a 14-year-old singer who rose to fame on Britain's Got Talent just last year. Her presence commanded attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please rise," came the announcer's voice.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The chanting faded into respectful silence as both sets of fans stood united for the national anthem.

Barry began to sing God Save the Queen, her voice echoing through Wembley's vaulted canopy.

Luton manager Ethan stood with his coaching staff. While his English assistants like John placed hands on their hearts and sang with pride, Ethan, Lin Sen, and Haruko remained still. Foreigners to the land, they didn't sing—but their silent presence carried its own kind of respect.

Ethan didn't glance around. There was no need. This moment belonged to the nation and its people, and he honored it as best as he could.

As the final notes faded, the Luton supporters unveiled a massive tifo behind one goal. It depicted a faceless figure—wearing a Luton orange shirt and wide-brimmed hat, back turned to the viewer. In front of him stood the Football League Trophy, glinting under the Wembley lights.

Above it: 2008–2009.

This was more than art. It was a declaration.

A club that had spent over a century buried in the lower leagues now stood one match away from the first major trophy in its history.

Every Luton player took a glance at the tifo. The message was clear.

This was their moment.

Even the Liverpool supporters held back their boos. Say what you will about fairytales in football—but no one mocks the team brave enough to dream, especially one that's already defied the odds to reach Wembley.

This was more than a final.

It was a chapter in history being written, in Luton Town orange.

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