Time ticked by, minute after minute, but the score remained unchanged.
"Luton are dominating Coventry here—something you rarely see in their games," Letkinson commented.
But that was a misread. In League One, Luton often dictate the tempo like this. Most teams in the division adopt a defensive posture against them. Only in cup competitions like the FA Cup do opponents have the freedom to play on the counter.
On the touchline, Ethan remained composed, eyes fixed on the stadium's big screen.
Ten minutes left!
Luton had been pressing hard for more than ten minutes, creating several chances, but their finishing had let them down.
Still, Coventry weren't panicking. Luton's aggressive forward play had left gaps at the back, and Coventry had managed a few dangerous counterattacks of their own.
Both sides looked capable of snatching a goal.
The stalemate continued, with neither side able to break the deadlock. As the match ticked into the 90th minute, nerves were starting to show.
"Should we pull back?" John asked, concerned.
Luton had been on the front foot for so long, but with the match nearing added time, there was always the risk of conceding from a late counter.
A 1–1 draw wouldn't be the worst result. They could settle for a replay back at Kenilworth Road.
"No! Keep pushing!" Ethan barked without hesitation.
Three minutes of stoppage time!
Ethan glanced at the fourth official's board as it was raised. He clenched his teeth—he didn't want a replay. Not if they could win it here and now.
Stoppage time began.
Charlie Austin got a shot off inside the box, but it was blocked. Coventry immediately launched a counterattack.
But their break was cut short at the halfway line—N'Golo Kanté intercepted brilliantly. The French midfielder had been immense all game, breaking up attacks and recycling possession flawlessly.
Kanté quickly shifted the ball to Danny Drinkwater, Luton's midfield anchor and playmaker.
Drinkwater wasn't flashy, but he was composed and reliable. He spread the play out wide to Kevin Keane.
Luton's captain glanced up, saw bodies moving in the box, and whipped in a cross.
Matt Schmidt was on the pitch now, a towering centre-forward brought on specifically for moments like this. Luton had adjusted their strategy to play more aerial balls into the box.
But this time, the delivery didn't reach him—Coventry's centre-back rose first and headed it behind.
Corner kick!
It was the 92nd minute, just seconds remaining. Likely Luton's final chance.
On the touchline, Ethan raised his right hand, pointing skyward—a pre-rehearsed signal.
It was time for a set-piece routine drilled countless times in training.
Kevin Keane saw it and mirrored the gesture.
Luton's two centre-backs pushed forward, while the full-backs remained near the halfway line to guard against a counterattack.
"Luton are loading the box for what could be their last opportunity!" Letkinson shouted, rising from his seat as the fans around him did the same.
"Coventry have dropped everyone back. Even their forwards are helping defend this corner!"
The camera zoomed in on Matt Schmidt, marked tightly by both Coventry centre-backs.
"Standing at 198 centimeters, Schmidt is Ethan's go-to aerial threat—an absolute powerhouse in the air. He's a nightmare to mark on set-pieces. Coventry have to be alert!"
Keane lowered his hands, took a deep breath, and prepared to deliver.
In the box, bodies jostled. The tension was unbearable.
Then—chaos.
Everyone surged forward.
The referee rushed into the penalty area, blowing his whistle sharply. He sternly warned Matt Schmidt and Coventry's center-back Dann, who had been tangled up in a physical scuffle just moments ago.
"Watch your hands! I can see everything!" the referee barked, tapping his fingers to his eyes for emphasis.
Matt pointed to his jersey, visibly stretched and marked. "He was pulling my shirt! Did you see that?"
"And you're no angel either!" Dann snapped back, gesturing toward Matt's arm.
"No tricks in front of me!" the referee shouted, glaring at both players. With that, he backed out of the box and blew the whistle to resume play.
Tension crackled in the air.
On the touchline, Luton manager Ethan stood frozen, eyes fixed on the penalty area. His heart was pounding—this was a crucial moment. Players from both sides jostled for position inside the crowded box.
But this time, Luton had a surprise.
Hidden behind Matt was Jeffrey, their young Dutch center-back and secret weapon on set pieces. Matt often drew defenders away, and in the chaos, Jeffrey—who possessed incredible heading technique despite being slightly shorter—could make his move.
Kevin Keane stepped up to take the corner.
Matt made a sudden movement toward the near post.
Jeffrey followed closely… then cut back the other way!
Keane struck the ball low and fast—an unexpected delivery.
"The corner's coming in low... it's Jeffrey!!" commentator Letkinson shouted.
Jeffrey darted toward the near post, catching Coventry's defense flat-footed. Before they could react, he met the ball perfectly with his forehead—no need to jump, the ball was placed just right for his height.
Bang! A powerful header rocketed toward the far post.
"Jeffrey!!! Brilliant!!! Absolute brilliance!!!" Letkinson roared over the noise.
"It's a last-minute stunner! Luton take the lead—2-1 against Coventry!"
The Ricoh Arena fell into stunned silence.
Only the roar of around 200 traveling Luton fans pierced the quiet. On the pitch, Jeffrey was buried under a pile of ecstatic teammates. Even Claude, the Luton goalkeeper, sprinted the length of the field to join the celebration.
They were on the brink of history—reaching the FA Cup semi-finals!
On the sidelines, Ethan leapt into the air, pumping his fist with a primal roar. His face twisted with raw emotion, adrenaline surging through him.
As he landed, he caught sight of the chaos behind him. Lin Sen and Mel were embracing, John had dropped to his knees in tears, and Haruko was running straight toward him.
Ethan scooped Haruko up in a hug and joined the celebration in full.
This was the joy of victory.
They had done it. They were one step away from the final.
One more win... and they'd be playing for glory.