c3: Favorite Pink Chrysanthemum
Vardy didn't think this game was particularly important. After all, his short-term goal was to complete the system's mission of joining a top club's youth academy. But with the system now bound to him, and his feet itching to test out whatever transformation had taken place, he couldn't deny the anticipation.
Had the system turned him into an unstoppable force? A footballing Superman?
Of course, that was just a fantasy. If the system had truly made him world-class in an instant, why would it assign him a mission to enter a top academy? If he were already at that level, he wouldn't need youth development at all.
"Jamie, look at that girl! Perfect curves, front and back she'd be amazing in bed!" David muttered, practically drooling.
Vardy sighed. Why does every protagonist seem to have a sidekick whose primary purpose is to make them look calm and refined by comparison?
"I don't know about her bed skills," Vardy replied dryly, "but I do know that if you go over there right now, you'll get your face rearranged."
David turned his head and spotted a towering, heavily built man standing protectively beside the girl. His confident smirk disappeared.
David hesitated. Was it Vardy's words that hit him, or the realization that the girl's boyfriend looked like he bench-pressed trucks for fun?
"I'll let her know that muscles aren't everything. Endurance is the real king," David declared, clenching his fists as if preparing for battle.
Vardy smirked. "By 'endurance,' do you mean your legendary two-second sprint? I'm sure that'll impress her."
David's face turned red. He wanted to bury himself or better yet, bury Vardy alive.
While the two bickered, the head coach nicknamed "the Roaring Emperor" suddenly turned and barked, "Jamie! Warm up! Get ready to go in!"
Vardy snapped his head toward the pitch and realized the opponent had scored again.
He shook his head, amused. Stoke Bridge Park's team was struggling against a low-level amateur side. It wasn't just a bad game it was a disaster. If a semi-pro team was losing to a group of part-timers, what did that say about their future?
But instead of dwelling on it, Vardy got up, stretched, and jogged along the sidelines.
Finally. My moment has arrived.
His plan was simple: finish this game, make an impression, and then leave the club immediately. Manchester United's youth academy was his destination specifically, the Carrington Training Centre.
Why United and not Liverpool or Arsenal?
Simple. Manchester is closer.
In his mind, there wasn't much difference between the youth setups of the top three clubs. He didn't have any strong loyalties. In fact, his past self had a favorite club Sheffield Wednesday. But their academy had rejected him long ago.
Now that fate had given him a second chance, he would make them regret it. One day, Sheffield Wednesday would look back and realize they had passed on a generational talent.
After warming up, Vardy approached the coach, expecting a tactical briefing. In his mind, it was a picture-perfect moment his coach placing a hand on his shoulder, giving him a nod of confidence, and imparting some wisdom before sending him onto the pitch.
Instead, reality hit like a sledgehammer.
"Jamie, listen up! Run forward and hit them on the counter. Just do it!" the coach roared, spitting with every syllable.
Vardy barely managed a nod, his ears ringing from the sheer volume. But even as the coach screamed at him, his attention drifted toward the field.
His nerves spiked as he stepped onto the pitch. It wasn't fear it was adrenaline. Something inside him ignited.
For the first time in his new life, he felt alive.
Go, kid.
Your journey is just beginning.
---
Sidelines - A Scout Watches
On the other side of the pitch, a scruffy middle-aged man watched Vardy enter the game. His unimpressed gaze assessed the 17-year-old, and after a few seconds, he muttered under his breath.
"Small frame. Lacks presence. Psychological weakness evident. No obvious technical qualities at first glance."
Despite the casual tone, his words carried the weight of a professional evaluation.
This was Drake Langley, a senior scout and youth director at Manchester United's Carrington Training Centre. His job? To find the next generation of Red Devils.
Normally, a scout of his level wouldn't bother watching a match between amateur teams. But he was visiting family nearby and, out of sheer boredom, decided to stay and observe.
By halftime, he was ready to leave. The match was chaotic, the players undisciplined, and the overall quality abysmal.
But professionalism kept him in his seat. He had seen enough surprises in football to know that a single player could be worth the wait.
And he was about to witness the greatest scouting discovery of his career.
---
On the Pitch - Vardy's Welcome
Vardy stepped onto the field, but his entrance barely registered with the opposition.
At 5'9" (175 cm), he wasn't particularly tall, and in a squad filled with physical, muscle-bound players, he looked more like a ball boy than a striker.
The opposing defenders smirked and exchanged glances.
"Oh, they've given up. They're sending in a kid!"
"Look at him probably doesn't even shave yet."
"We should go easy on him, right? Wouldn't want to break the little guy."
"Well, I do love pink, soft things…"
Their laughter was loud enough for Vardy to hear.
His fists clenched. His jaw tightened.
Maybe the old Jamie Vardy would have laughed it off. Maybe he would have ignored them.
But not this time.
The system was his lifeline. The mission was his first step toward greatness.
And these clowns?
They were just obstacles in his way.
The anger in his eyes said everything.
Game on.