The Football Legends System

Chapter 34 - A Dream Boy

—

Ding!

The sound echoed inside Nathan’s mind like a bell tolling fate.

[Random Skill Activated]

Congratulations! You’ve acquired: Dribbling – Lamine Yamal Style

A second of silence.

Then... a laugh. Quiet, dry, amused.

Nathan stood in the tunnel, eyes forward, heartbeat steady, yet a sly smile curled at the corner of his lips.

"Lamine Yamal, huh?" he muttered under his breath. "He’s the best my age right now... no doubt."

He cracked his neck. Rolled his shoulders.

"But I’ll be better."

The tunnel ahead led into a deafening roar. Elland Road was a cauldron—flags waving, scarves twirling, thousands chanting in unison.

"LEEDS! LEEDS! LEEDS!"

The kind of sound that didn’t just fill the air—it shook it.

Tyler Brown glanced over. "What’s with that stupid grin?"

Nathan didn’t answer. He just stepped forward, boots echoing with every stride.

The lights hit his face as they emerged into the open. A wall of noise exploded.

This was it. One of the final five. Home ground. Burnley again. No excuses. No mercy.

Do or die.

—

WHISTLE!

Kickoff.

Burnley came out snarling.

They weren’t here to admire the Leeds form. They were here to ruin it.

Minute 7. Burnley broke through on the right. Their winger zipped past Harlan, cracked a low cross into the box—

Smack!

A tough-angle shot—keeper dived!

Thud!

Saved! Spilled!

Osei scrambled and hoofed it clear.

"Wake up!" he barked. "They’re coming with blood!"

Nathan didn’t need the reminder. His eyes were already burning, scanning Burnley’s shape, the angles, the gaps.

He could feel it—the activation humming just under his skin. Lamine Yamal’s touch, his rhythm, his fearless improvisation. It wasn’t a full takeover, but it was an edge.

Minute 15.

Tyler intercepted a lazy pass near the halfway line. Boom! He charged through midfield, defenders scrambling.

"Nate!" he shouted.

Nathan stepped into space. Ball rolled his way.

Tap!

One touch. Then another.

The first Burnley defender lunged in—

Whoosh!—

missed.

Nathan glided left, flicked right, the ball dancing like it was alive.

"Oi, mark him!" someone screamed from the Burnley bench.

Too late.

He slalomed past a second defender, cut inside the box—time slowed—then curved a low cross across the face of goal.

Snap!

Leeds’ left winger slid in—

Ping!

Off the post!

"Aaagh!" the fans groaned.

Tyler slapped the turf in frustration. "So damn close!"

Nathan jogged back, exhaling slowly. He wasn’t upset. Not yet.

The rhythm was coming. He could feel it building.

—

Minute 24.

Burnley earned a corner.

"Nate, back post!" Marco called.

Everyone marked up. Breath held.

Ball whipped in, curling viciously toward the far post.

Thump!

Burnley’s tall striker leapt high—above everyone.

Crack!

Header.

Goal.

0–1.

Silence. A ripple of disbelief.

The away fans roared. A dagger in the chest.

Burnley players sprinted to the corner, celebrating like they’d won the cup.

Nathan stood frozen for a heartbeat. Not in shock, but in stillness. Processing. Breathing.

Around him, shoulders slumped. Heads lowered.

Then, his voice rang out—loud, clear, cutting through the weight in the air:

"We won’t lose here."

He turned, fire blazing in his eyes.

"Not on our home ground!"

Tyler straightened. Marco cracked his neck. Even Coach Grayson on the touchline gave a rare nod.

Something shifted.

Leeds pressed higher. Harder.

—

—

Minute 33.

The ball zipped across the slick turf and landed at Nathan’s feet—deep in enemy territory.

Three Burnley defenders surged toward him like a closing wall.

But Nathan didn’t flinch.

Tap.

A light touch to his left.

Tap-tap.

A quick bounce to the right, then a sudden feint—his hips shifted like water, eyes full of mischief.

"Close him down!" one defender barked.

Too late.

Whoosh!

Nathan flicked the ball through the legs of the first—nutmeg!—before spinning past the second with a lightning shimmy.

"Come on!" the crowd roared.

The third defender lunged in with a desperate slide.

Nathan stopped—dead. Then exploded forward.

Boom!

He shot from outside the box, a thunderbolt arcing through the air like it had a mission.

BOOM!!!

GOOOOOOOAL!!!

The net rippled violently. The stadium exploded.

Leeds 1 – Burnley 1.

The roar shook Elland Road to its bones. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Nathan turned, fists raised high. Rain misted his face, hair soaked, eyes blazing.

He yelled to the fans, voice slicing through the chaos:

"We’re here to rise... HEAR OUR ROAR!"

—

The camera panned in, catching every detail—the veins in his neck, the snarl in his voice, the glint in his eyes.

This wasn’t the boy who entered the academy under a long shadow.

This was the boy becoming a storm.

—

Minute 44.

Burnley were rattled now—nervous touches, rushed clearances.

Marco received the ball at the halfway line and spotted Nathan hovering at the edge of the final third.

"Nate!"

A pass zipped in.

Nathan stopped it dead with the softest of touches—his body turned sideways, eyes already scanning.

A defender closed in.

Nathan slowed. Danced. Hesitated.

Tap.

Right foot.

Tap-tap.

Left foot.

Like a whisper, like a hum—dribbling in the rhythm of Lamine Yamal.

Then suddenly—

Zoom!

He exploded forward, past the first man. Slipped between two more with a body feint so smooth it looked choreographed.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

He took one more touch inside.

And pulled the trigger.

CRACK!

Another rocket.

GOOOOAL!!!

His second of the night.

Leeds 2 – Burnley 1.

The stadium couldn’t hold its joy anymore. Fans leapt, strangers hugged, scarves flew.

Nathan ran to the corner flag, dropped to one knee, head bowed, arms wide like wings.

Tyler caught up, ruffled his hair. "Showoff."

Nathan laughed—free and raw.

But inside, something flickered.

This wasn’t just about goals.

It was about proving who he was becoming.

—

Halftime.

Inside the tunnel, the players buzzed. Water bottles popped open, cleats stomped on tile, breath fogged the chilled air.

Coach Grayson grabbed Nathan by the shoulders.

"You’re on fire tonight! Keep that flame burning!"

Nathan nodded, heart pounding. But his eyes were calm now—focused.

Tyler leaned in. "You alright?"

Nathan wiped his face with a towel. "Yeah."

Then, quietly:

"I don’t want to stop."

—

Second half.

Burnley came out swinging.

Their press was tighter. Tackles rougher. Midfield battles turned into little wars.

Minute 51—Osei cleared a dangerous cross.

Minute 58—Marco took a crunching tackle but stood up shaking it off.

Leeds held firm.

But they needed one more punch to finish the job.

—

Minute 68.

A loose pass in midfield. Tyler snapped onto it, stole it with a crunching slide—SCRAPE!

He stood up, ball at his feet, and turned sharply.

"Nathan!"

Nathan was already moving.

The pass came hot and low—Nathan took one touch, another to steady.

Then he looked up—just for a second.

Dribble.

A faint shimmy. Defender wrong-footed.

Another. Space opened.

BOOM!

Shot fired like a cannonball!

The keeper dived—fingertips brushed it—

CLANG!

Off the post!

"OOHHH!!!"

The stadium groaned in one breath.

Nathan dropped to his knees, hands on his head.

"That close..." he muttered.

But deep down, a different fire lit up.

He wasn’t afraid anymore.

He was hungry.

—

Minute 79.

Burnley earned a corner after a deflected cross.

"Watch the back post!" Marco shouted.

Too late.

CRACK!

Burnley’s striker soared above everyone and buried the header.

GOAL!

2–2.

Silence hit like a punch to the stomach.

Burnley’s bench erupted. Their fans chanted. Momentum threatened to shift.

Nathan stood at the center circle, chewing on his bottom lip, jaw clenched.

Tyler walked up beside him.

"We’re not ending like this," he said.

Nathan didn’t answer.

He just nodded once.

Then whispered, "We finish it."

—

Minute 88.

Midfield chaos. Burnley tried to play it safe, but Leeds pressed high, relentless.

Osei intercepted. Quick pass to Tyler.

Tyler spotted the lane—sent the ball forward.

Nathan checked his shoulder. Received.

Now it was just him and the game.

One defender.

Then another.

Dribble.

Tap-tap.

Accelerate.

A third came flying in—Nathan ducked, burst forward, chopped inside.

Whoosh!

A fourth slid in hard.

CRASH!

Nathan went down.

The whistle blew.

PENALTY!

Elland Road shook to life again.

Burnley’s players surrounded the ref.

"What?! That was soft!"

"No way! He dove!"

But the ref pointed to the spot, unfazed.

The stadium held its breath.

Nathan stepped forward.

Crowd silenced.

Rain drizzled harder now. The penalty box shimmered under the floodlights.

He placed the ball.

Exhaled.

It wasn’t just a penalty.

It was a statement.

He stared down the keeper.

No tricks. No hesitation.

Just belief.

He ran up—

THUD!

GOOOOOOAL!!!

Hat-trick.

Leeds 3 – Burnley 2.

The stadium exploded again.

Nathan turned, arms wide, and this time—it wasn’t just the team celebrating.

They lifted him.

Marco and Osei grabbed his arms, hoisted him high onto shoulders.

Around him, the crowd chanted louder than ever:

"Nathan to the Premier League!"

"Nathan to Madrid!"

"Nathan! Nathan! Nathan!"

Up in the stands, scouts murmured to one another, furiously scribbling notes.

On the sidelines, Coach Grayson just smiled quietly—hands in pockets.

—

Full time.

Leeds 3 – Burnley 2.