The Football Legends System

Chapter 30 - [Legendary Spirit Unlocked]

50th minute.

Martinelli broke loose.

Like a red comet, he surged down the left flank, ball glued to his feet, hips swaying, pace electric.

Tch-tch-tch!

Rapid touches. A blur of motion. He cut inside, eyes scanning for space—then—

CRACK!

A brutal clash. His knee collided hard with a Leeds defender's thigh—an ugly, twisting fall.

Martinelli hit the turf with a cry.

"Haaagh!!"

He clutched his leg, agony written all over his face.

The stadium froze.

The referee's whistle pierced the silence.

BWEEEEEE!!

Medical staff burst onto the pitch. Players from both sides stepped back, jaws clenched.

Nathan stood near midfield, fists tightening at the sight.

Marco muttered under his breath, "Damn... that looked bad."

Jack frowned. "Could be ligaments. That's not a dive."

Tyler exhaled, lips pursed. "Doesn't matter who you support. That's not how you wanna see someone go off."

Grayson's jaw was set like stone on the sideline. Eyes tracking every movement.

Martinelli was stretchered off, hands covering his face.

The announcement came a minute later.

Substitution for Arsenal: Leandro Trossard replaces Gabriel Martinelli.

Nathan's heart pounded. Not from fear. But from the tightening awareness.

That even giants bled.

And in their place, came others just as dangerous.

—

52nd minute.

Arsenal didn't hesitate.

Thomas Partey, calm as ever, took possession near the center circle. One look. One elegant flick of the boot.

Pah!

A sublime through ball cut through Leeds' midfield like a surgeon's scalpel.

Trossard was already sprinting into the gap.

"Track him!" Marco shouted.

But the Belgian winger moved like quicksilver. One touch. Then another. He juked past the first defender with a body feint so smooth it made the crowd gasp.

"Tch!"

He tried the second... lost balance.

But instead of forcing it—he adapted.

A slick step back.

A simple layoff.

Ødegaard.

Ball at his feet. Eyes gleaming.

No hesitation.

He ghosted past Leeds' midfielder like he wasn't there.

Nathan saw it unfolding, like slow motion.

Boom!!

Ødegaard unleashed a thunderous strike from outside the box.

It was perfect.

No bend. No swerve.

Just raw, blistering speed.

WHOOMPH!!

The ball screamed into the top left corner—beyond the keeper's reach.

GOOOOOAAAALLLL!!!

The stadium split in two.

The Arsenal end erupted.

The Leeds stands?

Silent.

Stone-still.

Shellshocked.

Scoreline: Arsenal 3 – 0 Leeds.

Nathan stood frozen. Eyes locked on the ball in the net.

His lungs burned. His chest tightened.

Not from the running—but from the feeling.

That sickening, helpless feeling.

Of being behind.

Of watching greatness... without answering it. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

The whistle blew for the restart, but it felt distant.

A death knell.

Leeds players looked to the ground. Some with hands on hips. Some not moving at all.

Even Jack, usually the loudest, was quiet.

But then—

It started.

Faint at first.

One voice.

Then a dozen.

Then hundreds.

"Leeeeds! Leeds! Leeds!"

They chanted—not in joy—but in defiance.

They refused to fall silent.

The whole stadium—Elland Road—shook with it.

Nathan blinked. The roar rising around him wasn't shame. It was fire.

A reminder.

They weren't dead yet.

Marco stepped into the center circle, chest heaving.

"Don't give up, lads," he said. "We can still restore our pride!"

Some nodded. Some didn't speak.

But Nathan... Nathan stepped forward.

His eyes gleamed. Focused. Calm.

"Let me speak to them."

Marco raised an eyebrow but stepped aside.

Nathan turned to his teammates.

His voice rang clear, not loud—but sure.

"I want any ball inside the 18-yard box."

He looked each one of them in the eye. Not begging. Not commanding.

Just... belief.

"Trust me," he said.

"I'll score."

For a moment, there was stillness.

Then Tyler grinned. "I like that."

Jamal gave a low chuckle. "You better."

Marco slapped Nathan's shoulder. "Alright then. We'll find you."

Even Jack nodded. "About time we put one past them."

---

59th minute.

The tension hadn't cracked yet—but it trembled, just beneath the surface.

Leeds pressed higher. Harder.

Marco surged through midfield like a man possessed. One shoulder-drop, one sharp cut—he slipped past Thomas Partey, the Ghanaian caught flat-footed for the first time in the match.

"Hup!"

Tch! A crisp touch forward.

He fed it to Tyler Brown in stride. Tyler didn't hesitate—his first touch was already a through ball.

Skrrt!

The ball slid like a blade through the grass.

Nathan read it instantly.

He took off.

Boots digging into the turf, arms pumping, breath shortening—he raced toward the pass like it held his last chance to breathe.

THUMP THUMP THUMP—

The crowd roared, sensing the break.

But standing between him and glory was one of the Premier League's finest walls—

William Saliba.

Nathan didn't slow down.

He feinted left.

Then cut sharply right.

A classic move.

But—

CRACK!

Saliba didn't even flinch.

He timed his foot perfectly, snapped the ball off Nathan's toes, and turned away like he was brushing dust off his shoulder.

"Shit—!"

Nathan stumbled forward, hands clenched into fists.

"Damn it... damn it...!"

His voice cracked with frustration, low and bitter.

"Why did I only get the Finishing skill?!"

His breath was ragged.

"I can't even reach the goal if I can't get past them..."

He looked back—Saliba was already recycling the ball calmly, not even looking at him anymore.

To Saliba, that moment had meant nothing.

But to Nathan?

It was another stone sinking into his gut.

Another echo of everything he feared.

You're not enough.

—

The match dragged on.

76th minute.

Leeds had tried.

God, they'd tried.

But hope... that stubborn ember... had finally dimmed.

Arsenal slowed the game, dictating pace like puppet masters.

Trossard weaved through traffic like a ballet dancer with a blade. His cuts left defenders spinning.

Saka was even worse—laughing, flicking the ball over boots with cruel elegance.

Boom! Boom!

Two near misses. Saka struck the ball sweetly each time, but both flew just wide.

Still, it didn't feel like mercy.

It felt like warning shots.

Nathan jogged back toward midfield, chest rising and falling with every breath.

Around him—Jack, Tyler, Jamal—they were all running on fumes.

Even Marco's legs, usually so light, looked heavy now.

They were breaking.

No—they were broken.

—

78th minute.

It happened.

Like lightning out of a clear sky.

Ødegaard danced past one—then two.

The ball left his foot like a whisper.

Straight to Saka.

Nathan didn't even react.

His legs moved, but his heart had slowed.

He watched Saka take the ball and go.

One... two... three players, all turned to ghosts in his wake.

BOOOOM!!

A bolt from the heavens.

The ball rocketed from Saka's boot.

It screamed through the air—

CLANG!!

Off the top corner of the bar.

Then straight down.

Into the net.

GOAAAAAAAL!!!

4 – 0.

Elland Road was drowned.

The Arsenal end exploded into a euphoric chorus.

Saka sprinted to the corner flag, fists raised.

The players mobbed him.

Celebration. Joy. Confidence.

Dominance.

And on the other end of the pitch...

Nathan stood alone.

Not moving.

Not even blinking.

His arms dangled at his sides.

He watched them. Watched the colors, the smiles, the songs.

He didn't feel jealous.

He felt disconnected.

Like he didn't belong in this match. Like he wasn't really here.

His teammates were silent. Some bent over, hands on knees. Some stared at the turf.

No one said a word.

And then—

Ding!

[Congratulations!]

[The requirements to unlock a new system feature have been fulfilled]

[Loading...]

[New system feature unlocked: Legendary Spirit Mode]

Ding!

[You have 200 points – Would you like to unlock a Random Legendary Spirit?]

[Skill Unlocked!]

[Congratulations!]

[You've acquired: Spirit of Maradona!]