The Football Legends System

Chapter 19 - Tomorrow... I'll show them

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-AFTER 2 MONTHS-

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December had sunk its teeth into Leeds, painting the skies a bleak gray and sending freezing winds knifing through the city's bones.

In the club cafeteria, the heater rattled weakly against the cold. Nathan sat slouched over a chipped mug of tea, steam curling upward, fogging his vision slightly. Across from him, Marco Reed was demolishing a plate of spaghetti like he hadn't eaten in days.

"You look like someone kicked your dog, mate," Marco said between mouthfuls, grinning.

Nathan's gaze drifted to the leaderboard pinned to the wall.

Position- Team- Won- Drawn- Lost- Points

-1- Leicester City--7-1-1-22

-2- Leeds United--6-2-1-20

-3- Norwich City--5-2- 2-17

So close. Two points behind Leicester. Breathing down their necks.

The hum of conversation around him faded into background static. His mind raced ahead, calculating, dreaming, burning.

He had 6 goals so far. Not world-class numbers. Not the stuff of legends.

But enough to make him Leeds United's top scorer.

Enough to make his name echo through Elland Road every time he touched the ball.

Still... it wasn't enough for him.

"I'm just getting started," Nathan told himself. Every. Single. Morning.

The critics had begun whispering now, too.

Miss a chance? "Is he losing his touch?"

A poor game? "Maybe he peaked too soon."

Nathan welcomed it. Each snide comment felt like flint against steel inside him, sparking more fire.

More fuel.

Training became his sanctuary and his battlefield.

While others trudged toward the showers after practice, Nathan stayed behind under the fading winter light.

One ball, one goalpost, one purpose.

WHUMP! — shot with the weaker foot.

THUD! — mistimed, sent spinning wide.

Tch... Nathan clicked his tongue, resetting.

Again.

CRACK! — this time, a clean strike, ripping into the top corner.

His breath misted in front of him like smoke from a dragon's nostrils. His muscles screamed. His calves cramped. His fingers numbed.

But he stayed until darkness swallowed the pitch whole.

The day before the Norwich match, the entire squad gathered in the meeting room.

The air was thick — heavy with nerves and ambition. Players sat forward in their chairs, shoulders tense, legs bouncing unconsciously.

Coach Grayson stood at the front, hands tucked behind his back, his presence larger than the room itself.

The projector flickered on: highlights of Norwich's games — their fluid passing, their aggressive high press, their deadly counters.

But Grayson didn't bother pointing at tactics or diagrams.

He simply let the screen go dark and faced them.

"We're close..." he said, voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Closer than you realize."

He paced slowly, letting his words settle deep into their guts.

"The Norwich match could define our future."

A pause.

"Don't let tiredness... don't let doubt... steal all the work you've put in."

For a long second, silence reigned.

Then Jamal Carter leaned forward, voice low and firm. "We're not letting anyone steal it, coach."

A ripple of murmurs, fists tapping against tables, shoes tapping against the floor — small signs of growing belief.

Nathan felt it blooming inside him, too.

Not just a hope.

A certainty.

After the meeting, the team scattered — some to the gym, others to recovery sessions.

Nathan stepped outside onto the training pitch, boots crunching over frozen grass.

The sky overhead was the color of bruised steel, the air so cold it burned the inside of his nose.

He inhaled deeply, chest swelling.

There was no hesitation anymore.

Two months ago, he had been a boy trying to survive.

Now?

........

Marco jogged up beside him, hands tucked into his jacket.

"You nervous?" Marco asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Nathan smiled — a slow, dangerous smile that even he didn't fully recognize yet.

"No," he said simply.

Marco laughed. "Tch... That's scary, mate. Remind me to stay on your team."

Nathan turned back to the empty pitch, where tomorrow, thousands would watch, thousands would judge, and maybe — just maybe — thousands would remember.

His mind flashed back to old memories — cold early mornings, muddy fields, his father's sharp criticisms, lonely evenings practicing free kicks until his toes bled.

All of it led here.

He whispered to himself, so low even Marco couldn't hear:

"Tomorrow... I'll show them."

That night, as Nathan lay in bed, the sounds of the city drifted in through the cracked window — distant car horns, the occasional shout, the low hum of life carrying on.

He stared at the ceiling.

Not anxious.

Not restless.

Just... ready.