After a day of intense training, the gates of Luton's training ground slowly creaked open.
Magis stood watchfully at the entrance, eyeing the group of reporters waiting outside. Ethan had made it very clear—no one apart from team personnel was allowed to witness what happened inside the camp. To block any outside view, the original iron-railed gate had been covered with solid steel sheeting.
The players exited in a roar of engines, each car speeding past without giving the press a single chance to snap photos or ask questions.
Ethan had imposed a strict media blackout—no interviews, no press interactions. For now, the team was completely off-limits.
Adam was riding in Jamie Vardy's car, along with N'Golo Kanté and a couple of others.
"New ride? Damn, this is slick!" Adam said, running his fingers over the dashboard, clearly impressed.
Wearing mirrored sunglasses, Vardy smirked and floored the accelerator. The car bolted forward with a growl.
Normally, Adam and Kanté would walk or take public transport. It wasn't a question of money—despite playing in League Two, their wages were better than most average earners in the UK. But neither had a driver's license yet. Kanté was still working with his English tutor, and Adam… well, Adam just hadn't gotten around to it.
Vardy, on the other hand, had recently signed a new deal. Under pressure from Ethan, club owner David Morton had agreed to break the team's previously strict salary cap.
Vardy's new contract put him on £12,000 per week—astronomical for a third-tier side. He now ranked among the highest-paid players at the club, alongside Kanté.
For context, even top players in League Two rarely earn more than £5,000–6,000 per week. Vardy's wages were already approaching those of a mid-table Premier League player.
Luton could afford this sudden leap in expenditure thanks to their unexpected success in the FA Cup. Ticket sales alone had brought in over a million pounds. Combined with TV revenue and bonuses from each round of progression, the club had earned nearly £3 million from the tournament.
That kind of money was unheard of for a League Two side.
Add to that the fact that Kenilworth Road had been sold out for weeks, and Sky Sports had begun broadcasting some of their league matches, and it was clear: the club's finances were booming.
Transfer rumors were heating up, too. Charlie Austin's valuation kept rising, with Manchester United reportedly offering £5 million.
With income up, wage increases for key players became a logical next step.
After all, salaries aren't just compensation—they're motivation. Ethan knew that loyalty only went so far in professional football. If the money wasn't right, players would walk. So he made sure that the team's backbone was taken care of, raising salaries of the core players above the £10,000 mark.
Owner David Morton—an American investor with Wall Street instincts—was already eyeing the capital markets. For clubs, players are the most valuable assets, and Morton understood that keeping top talent happy was an investment in the team's future stock value.
From a construction worker earning £300 a week to a professional footballer earning over £10,000, Vardy's life had flipped upside down in just six months.
"You're starting the final, Adam!" Vardy said, keeping his eyes on the road. "Better make it count. Don't burn out before half-time, yeah?"
"I've improved a lot," Adam replied from the back seat. "I want to be a machine like N'Golo…"
He glanced over at Kanté, who smiled faintly but said nothing.
Lately, training sessions had focused on a new tactical shape. Everyone could sense that Ethan was preparing something special for the final. The intensity in practice had skyrocketed.
Outside the training ground, the reporters continued their fruitless vigil. They hadn't managed to get a single quote, let alone a hint of Luton's game plan.
"Luton have been on media lockdown for nine days," one journalist reported. "No press, no interviews—total silence. Their Chinese manager has shut the team off completely ahead of the FA Cup final. No one knows what he's cooking."
Back in Liverpool, Rafa Benítez folded the newspaper and frowned.
His assistant, Pako Ayestarán, guessed what he was thinking. "They'll play compact and wait to counter. That's their only option."
Benítez nodded. He'd put himself in Ethan's shoes and come to the same conclusion—without the ball, Luton had little choice but to defend and strike back on the break.
Liverpool would dominate possession. Luton would absorb pressure.
That was the script everyone expected for the final.
But… was there room for a surprise?
Benítez set the newspaper aside.
This Chinese coach, he thought, is playing mind games. And they're working—because now I'm second-guessing.
Unlike Luton, Liverpool had been open and confident in their pre-match preparations.
But confidence didn't guarantee control.
And somewhere behind those closed doors in Luton… something was stirring.
Team captain Steven Gerrard spoke candidly in a pre-match interview:
"This season, we didn't manage to make a breakthrough in the Premier League or the Champions League, which is something I know our fans are disappointed about. But bringing home the FA Cup would at least give them something to cheer about—it would be a silver lining to an otherwise frustrating year."
The reporter blinked, confused. "But... Liverpool haven't played the final yet?"
Gerrard smiled confidently. "That's what I mean—this is the FA Cup final. And I don't believe there'll be much suspense. We're Liverpool."
"But your opponents knocked out Chelsea—"
"We are Liverpool!" Gerrard cut the reporter off mid-sentence, raising his hand with conviction. "Our players won't be underestimating anyone. Not in the final."
To Gerrard, this wasn't just another match. In his mind, the trophy already belonged to Liverpool.
Manager Rafa Benítez, however, didn't quite share his captain's certainty. But with Gerrard's comments already circulating in the media, there wasn't much the Spaniard could do.
Was he supposed to publicly criticize Gerrard?
The truth was, Benítez knew exactly how important Gerrard was to the team. He was the heart and soul of Liverpool—more than any strategy or substitution. And certainly more than any foreign manager's opinion.
"At this point, the FA Cup is our last shot at silverware," Benítez acknowledged in his press conference before the final. "We're going to give it everything we've got."
Meanwhile, Ethan, the manager of underdog side Luton Town, had been silent in the media for over ten days. But with the final fast approaching, the press finally cornered him at the pre-match briefing.
"Does Luton really have a chance against Liverpool?"
"Football is a round ball," Ethan replied calmly. "Every game is a new chance."
"Okay, but whose chance is better?"
He smirked faintly. "Flip a coin. Maybe you'll find the answer."
"What's your opinion of Liverpool?"
"They're one of England's biggest clubs. Strong, experienced."
"Luton's been in closed training for over ten days. Was that to prepare for Liverpool?"
"You said it, not me."
With a blank expression, Ethan fielded the rapid-fire questions with brief, calculated responses.
The press conference ended quickly, and Ethan made the decision: the team would head to Wembley a day early to finalize preparations.
As the players boarded the team bus, Ethan lingered at the door for a moment, gazing at the fading sunset.
To London we go.
Let the sunrise greet us in victory.
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