Wenger was fighting hard for Arsenal's league title, but elsewhere, Luton Town were chasing their own dream: FA Cup glory.
Luton's team bus had just exited the M1 motorway and rolled into the heart of London. They still had to make their way across the city to reach their hotel for a brief rest before the match.
As expected, once the bus entered London's busy streets, the pace slowed to a crawl. London was a massive metropolis, sprawling on the same scale as New York City.
To the surprise of the Luton players, the Londoners lining the streets seemed very enthusiastic. Locals waved and cheered as the Luton bus crept along the roads.
For a team that had clawed their way into the FA Cup semi-finals, Luton had earned the respect of neutral fans across the city — as long as they weren't Arsenal or Chelsea supporters. Everyone else had a soft spot for the underdogs.
"I didn't expect us to be this popular in London..." Drinkwater muttered as he stared out of the window, clearly amazed.
"Oi, oi! Jamie!!! Look!" Drinkwater said, shaking the half-asleep Vardy beside him. "Is that girl winking at me?!"
Vardy opened one eye lazily, glanced out of the window, and spotted a girl wearing a Tottenham Hotspur shirt blowing kisses towards their bus.
"She's obviously a Spurs fan, mate," Vardy said, smirking. "Tell you what, Danny — score a hat-trick against Arsenal in the semi-final, and you'll have her queuing up outside the hotel room!"
"Really?!" Drinkwater's eyes lit up with naïve excitement.
"Don't flatter yourself, lad," Vardy chuckled. "Only the forwards get that kind of attention... blokes like me," he said, thumbing his chest proudly. "You? Just stick to your midfield job, yeah?"
Drinkwater slumped in his seat, a bit deflated. Strikers always hogged the spotlight. That was just how football worked.
Still, he rubbed his smooth face thoughtfully, glancing again at the girl disappearing into the crowd.
"I just wanna ask for her number..." he sighed dreamily.
"Maybe she'll track you down at the hotel!" he said hopefully, elbowing Vardy.
...
Unfortunately for Drinkwater, even if the girl did show up, he wouldn't be allowed to see her. Their manager, Ethan, ran a tight ship — absolutely no distractions during rest time.
At 3 PM, two hours before kickoff, assistant coach John bustled around, waking the players from their nap. The squad boarded the bus once again, setting off toward Wembley Stadium.
As they wound their way through London's streets, the players spotted Wembley's iconic arch appearing on the horizon.
The newly rebuilt Wembley was one of the most modern stadiums in the world, and its most striking feature was the 133-meter-high arch — the longest single-span roof structure on Earth. At night, the illuminated arch looked like a shining rainbow, competing with the nearby London Eye for sheer spectacle.
But the arch wasn't just decorative — it supported the stadium's roof structure, allowing Wembley to do away with the view-blocking columns of the old stadium. Now, every one of Wembley's 90,000 seats offered a perfect view of the pitch.
As the stadium loomed larger, the bus passed by Wembley Stadium Station and then over White Horse Bridge — named after the famous "White Horse Final" of 1923, when a mounted policeman on a white horse helped control the massive crowd at the original Wembley's opening match. (Some cheeky German fans had taken to calling it "Dietmar Hamann Bridge," after the German midfielder who scored the final goal at the old Wembley before it was demolished.)
"Oi! Bobby!!!" George Parker suddenly shouted out the window.
The players all turned to look. In front of the stadium stood the statue of Bobby Moore — the legendary captain who had led England to World Cup glory in 1966.
Moore stood tall and proud, one foot atop the ball, immortalized in bronze.
The players waved at the statue as if it were alive — a good-luck ritual before the biggest match of their careers.
Bobby Moore, the legendary captain who led England to their 1966 World Cup victory, remains one of the most revered figures in English football. The players of Luton Town are using today's occasion to honor the memory of the great champion.
The atmosphere around Wembley Stadium was electric, brimming with the tension of an impending battle.
As Luton Town's team bus crossed the iconic White Horse Bridge — a nod to the legendary "White Horse Final" of 1923 — the players could see a sea of orange. Thousands of Luton fans, clad in the club's traditional orange jerseys, lined the roads and filled the surrounding areas with chants and songs.
All 30,000 tickets allocated to Luton had already been snapped up. Counting those who had secured seats in the neutral sections, at least 40,000 Luton fans had made the pilgrimage to Wembley. For a smaller club like Luton Town, this turnout felt like the entire town had emptied to support them. Families, friends, and lifelong fans all made the journey — among them, even the ever-dedicated Uncle Magis, who had brought his grandson Alexander along to witness the historic day.
"Oh, just look at all these people!" Mrs. Magis exclaimed, clutching Uncle Magis's arm. The pair, both sporting silver-gray hair, wore vintage Luton jerseys from years past, paired with well-worn jeans. Together, they looked every bit the picture of long-time supporters.
"It's not quite the same as the atmosphere at Kenilworth Road," Uncle Magis grumbled affectionately, stroking his beard — he stubbornly insisted on calling their beloved ground by its traditional name, even as others nicknamed it "Wollinovel."
"Why are there so many fans just for the semi-final?" Mrs. Magis asked, a little puzzled.
"Because we might not get another chance," Uncle Magis said seriously. "For a club like ours, reaching the semi-finals is an incredible achievement. Opportunities like this don't come often — no true supporter would waste it."
"But I thought you said Wembley wasn't as good as our ground?"
"Well... Wembley can hold a lot more people than Kenilworth Road. Back home, it's always hard to get a ticket. But here—look!" He pointed excitedly at the orange-decorated team bus appearing through the crowd.
The fans surged toward the roadside barriers, waving flags, chanting, and cheering as the players passed by. Inside the bus, manager Ethan asked the driver to roll down the windows. Smiling, he stretched his hand out and waved to the adoring Luton supporters.
Photographers and reporters swarmed around the scene. When Ethan leaned out of the window, camera flashes lit up like fireworks, capturing every moment.
Soon, the bus pulled into the designated parking area.
Ethan was the first to step off. He took a deep breath, taking in the view: the famous arch of Wembley Stadium illuminated in the evening sky, the bustling crowds filling Olympic Way (known as Wembley Way), and thousands of Luton fans singing and chanting behind the security barriers.
This was the kind of atmosphere normally reserved for Premier League giants, but today, it belonged to Luton Town.
For Luton's supporters — used to their humble 10,000-capacity home — today was more than just a match. It was a festival, a celebration of how far they had come. Three generations of families had made the journey, many for the first time seeing their team on such a grand stage.
This was Wembley.
And for Luton Town, today was unforgettable.