The Football Legends System

Chapter 31 - The Legendary Spirit

The stadium was a thunderstorm of sound—chanting, groaning, murmuring, all blended into one restless sea. But in Nathan’s ears, it faded to silence.

Before him hovered the translucent screen, its letters glowing like something out of myth.

Spirit of Maradona – Active

Duration: 30 minutes

Nathan read it once.

Then again.

And then... he smiled.

"Heh..." A low chuckle slipped out.

He looked toward the far end of the pitch where Arsenal players jogged back to position, high-fiving each other like the match was already sealed.

Ødegaard was grinning. Saka was bouncing on his heels, light and loose. Saliba gave Ben White a fist bump, cool as ever.

Nathan’s jaw tightened.

"I’ll show you, Arsenal," he whispered. "I’ll remind you who we are."

81st minute.

The ball was with Leeds’ backline. Grim, hesitant passes circled between the centre-backs—men who looked like they were waiting to be devoured.

That’s when Nathan turned and ran back.

"Pass me the ball now!!" he shouted.

The cry cracked across the pitch like a whip.

Ben Summers hesitated. "Here...?!"

"Just give it!"

The urgency in Nathan’s voice cut through the fog. With one shaky touch, Ben rolled it toward him.

Nathan received the ball just inside Leeds’ own half.

And then...

Thump!

One touch.

Two.

He looked up—and began to run.

Whoosh!

The first Arsenal forward lunged—Nathan slipped past him with a feint so subtle it looked like he vanished.

The second came pressing in, arms wide, trying to cut off the angle.

Tch!

Nathan dragged the ball across his body, dipped his shoulder, and swept past.

Gasps echoed across the stadium.

"What the hell—?"

"That kid just cooked him!"

The Arsenal midfield scrambled.

Declan Rice stepped forward, firm and fast.

Nathan narrowed his eyes.

And for a moment—just a moment—time slowed.

He saw Rice’s center of gravity tilt.

He didn’t think.

He felt.

With a flick of the ankle—

Tap!

The ball shifted left.

Rice reached.

Too late.

Nathan spun right and brushed past him like wind sliding past steel.

"WOOOAAAAH!!"

Now the crowd was rising—no longer divided by team.

Now it was just people, watching a fire spread across the pitch.

Partey came charging in with a slide.

SKRRRRT!

But Nathan leapt over it—one foot tucking under the other like a breakdancer mid-flip.

He landed smoothly, never losing rhythm.

Haaah...!

His breathing was heavy but calm. His feet were alive.

And his eyes—

They were glowing.

Commentators were losing their minds.

"He’s going all the way! He’s going all the damn way!"

"Is that—? No. It can’t be—but the way he moves—he’s got Maradona’s ghost in him!!"

Nathan crossed the halfway line.

Now the defenders panicked.

Saliba stepped up.

Big. Fast. Perfect timing.

But Nathan didn’t care.

He pressed forward.

Saliba jabbed a leg out—

Nathan cut right, then immediately scooped the ball left.

Whip!

Gone.

Saliba spun, confused.

"Wha—?!"

Ben White sprinted over in desperation.

Nathan barely touched the ball—just let it roll, then slid his boot behind it for a single touch.

Tch! He glided past.

Nothing wild.

Just smooth.

Like jazz played with a football.

And now—

He was at the edge of the box.

In front of goal.

Nathan slowed.

He lifted his head.

And for a moment, time held its breath.

Just one second.

He saw the keeper’s stance. The distance. The angle.

Then he struck.

BOOOOOOM!!!

A missile—straight from the soul.

The ball tore through the air, curved beautifully—

And slammed into the top right corner with violent grace.

THWACK!!

The net rippled as if it had been punched by thunder.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!

The stadium erupted.

Even Arsenal fans stood in disbelief.

Some of them clapped.

Marco had his hands on his head, laughing like he couldn’t believe it.

And Nathan...

Nathan was on his knees, head tilted toward the sky.

His chest rose and fell with every breath.

Eyes wide.

He didn’t smile.

Not yet.

He just breathed.

Let the moment pass through him.

Let the fire cool.

Let himself feel it.

Score: Arsenal 4 – 1 Leeds.

Leeds players stood taller. Ran harder. Looked each other in the eye again.

Belief returned—not as hope.

But as fire.

The fans roared in unison.

"LEEEDS!! LEEEDS!! LEEEDS!!"

The chants came back with vengeance.

Not as delusion.

But as defiance.

On the sideline, Grayson smiled for the first time in over an hour.

"That," he murmured, "is what I’ve been waiting for."

Nathan stood again.

His teammates surrounded him—slapping his back, grabbing his shoulders, yelling his name.

"You madman!!"

"Bro, what even was that?!"

"That wasn’t you. That was—someone else."

Nathan didn’t reply right away.

He looked down at his hands.

They were trembling slightly.

Not from fear.

From energy.

From the echo of something ancient.

"Guess I needed a little help," he muttered, almost to himself.

Tyler leaned in, grinning. "You gonna do that again?"

Nathan finally smiled.

Wide. Wild. Alive.

"I’m just getting started."

---

Elland Road was no longer silent.

What had been still just ten minutes ago now roared like a storm with nowhere to go.

Nathan stood at the edge of the box, hands on his knees, chest rising and falling in waves. The ball had clanged against the post seconds ago—a sound that rang louder than thunder.

TCH!!

So close.

And yet... his smile stayed.

He looked up—eyes glinting beneath sweat-soaked lashes. His grin wasn’t frustration. It was fuel. Pure fire.

Saka was already sprinting back, but even he glanced over his shoulder. As if to say—What the hell is this kid made of?

Marco jogged over, breathing hard. "You nearly broke the post, mate."

Nathan straightened. "Next one goes in."

Tyler ran past them both, shouting, "Back into shape! Press! They’re rattled!"

Grayson barked orders from the sideline, but there was a different tone in his voice now—urgency, not despair. The players weren’t moving out of duty anymore. They were moving because they believed again.

The scoreboard still said Arsenal 4 - 1 Leeds. But something deeper had changed.

—

87th minute

Ødegaard tried to calm things. He slowed the tempo, pinging passes left and right. Trossard dropped deep, collected the ball, and threaded it toward Saka.

Tap. Tap. Glide.

Saka beat one man, then two. Leeds fans held their breath.

THUD!

Carter stopped him cold with a crunching slide tackle, perfectly timed. The ball rebounded to Jack.

Jack didn’t waste a second. He looked up, saw Marco already peeling off toward the left.

"Marco!" he yelled, and—

Fwoosh!!The ball flew down the wing like a bullet.

Marco caught it in stride, barely needing a touch. He glanced inside. Tyler was dragging his marker to the near post.

But Nathan—

Nathan was drifting.

Not running like a striker. Floating like a shadow. Saliba hesitated—wasn’t sure whether to follow.

That half-second of doubt was all it took.

Marco drilled a low cross.

Whhhiiiip—!!

Nathan exploded forward.

Boom!

The shot came without hesitation.

And—

CLANG!!

Again!

The same cursed post.

This time, the right one.

Elland Road screamed in unison, hands in their hair, voices cracking.

Marco turned, disbelief in his eyes. "You’ve got a personal vendetta with the posts or something?"

Nathan just laughed again. "They’re warming up to me."

Even Saliba looked at him now—not like a kid to be brushed aside, but like a threat. A real one.

—