The Football Legends System

Chapter 35 – The Fearsome Skill

-

AFTER 2 WEEKS

-

Rain fell like static from a grey sky, hissing as it met the floodlights above Elland Road. Beneath them, 30,000 hearts thumped in nervous unison. The pitch shimmered, slick and ready for war.

This wasn’t just any night.

This was one of three.

Leeds United. Three matches from destiny.

And at the heart of it all... Nathan Perry.

The locker room pulsed with an electric tension. You could feel it in the way Marco paced like a caged lion, how Tyler sharpened his studs against the floor with short, impatient scrapes, and how every pair of eyes kept darting—consciously or not—toward the young boy seated at the far end.

Nathan.

Hood pulled up. Head low. Silence heavy.

But then—

Ding!

A familiar sound only he could hear.

[Random Skill Activated]

Congratulations! You’ve acquired: Shooting – Erling Haaland Style

Nathan’s gaze sharpened instantly.

He rose without a word, slow and steady, like a soldier summoned.

His fingers tightened his boots, one lace at a time.

He muttered, calm but electric with fire, "Haaland’s shots? Perfect."

Then louder, eyes burning into the door: "Ready, Sheffield? It’s storm time."

-

—

-

The air at Elland Road was thick with anticipation—not anxiety, not anymore. Not since Nathan Perry started rewriting the story of the season with his boots. This wasn’t a boy finding his way.

This was a storm breaking loose.

And Sheffield United were standing in the eye of it.

The whistle blew—Pweeeeeee!!

From the kickoff, it was chaos. No feeling-out period. No slow build. Just pressure.

Sheffield played a high line, eager to catch Leeds on the counter.

But Leeds wasn’t waiting to be invited.

Minute 4.

Tyler challenged a loose ball in midfield—Thud!—a hard shoulder into his marker. He stumbled, regained, and lofted it over the top in one smooth motion.

Nathan was already gone.

The ball dropped from the grey sky like a fireball. Nathan adjusted under it, muscles coiled.

Thmp!

Chest control.

Tap!

One touch to shift the ball out of his feet.

Then—BOOOOM!!

He struck it clean, no hesitation. Thirty yards out. The sound echoed like a whipcrack in the rain.

CRACK!

GOAL!

Top bins. The keeper flailed helplessly.

The crowd exploded—"WOOOAAAAAHHH!!!"

The commentator on Sky Sports nearly swallowed his mic.

"My God... A true Haaland-style strike!"

1–0 Leeds.

Nathan didn’t even smile as he jogged back. He tapped his chest twice. His expression unreadable.

Tyler grinned and slapped his back. "Oi, Perry. You’ve been possessed or what?"

Nathan’s voice was low. Calm. "I told you. It’s storm time."

—

Minute 19.

Leeds’ left-back, Liam Davies, received a ball under pressure near the touchline.

He didn’t panic.

Thwack!—he launched a deep diagonal ball.

Nathan saw it before the defenders did.

He exploded forward—Boom!—shoulder to shoulder with the last man. His speed was unnatural. Unfair.

He reached the ball first. Let it drop.

Then—WHAP!!

A volley. No bounce. No mercy.

GOOOOOOAL!!!

2–0 Leeds.

Elland Road detonated.

"It’s not just a hat-trick incoming—this is a NATHAN PERRY HURRICANE!!"

He raised two fingers to the sky as teammates mobbed him.

Marco, panting beside him, said, "You know, I’m getting jealous. Pass once in a while, yeah?"

Nathan laughed softly, but his eyes stayed forward.

No celebration. Just hunger.

Inside, he felt it—the click.

The Haaland-style shooting wasn’t just physical. It had intent. It had rage. A brutal, simple command:

See goal. Destroy it.

And Nathan obeyed.

—

Minute 32.

Sheffield tried to settle.

They passed side to side, probing.

But Leeds’ press was relentless. Captain Graham snarled orders from the backline. Every lane closed.

Thmp! Interception.

Clack! Blocked shot.

Tch! Clearance.

Nathan didn’t touch the ball for five minutes. But he stood at the halfway line like a loaded gun, waiting to be fired.

—

Second half. Minute 51.

Marco intercepted a soft pass and turned instantly.

He spotted Tyler to his right. Tap!

Tyler didn’t look. He already knew where Nathan was.

A diagonal slide pass. Surgical.

Nathan turned on the gas—Boom! Boom! Boom!—each stride cutting ground like a sprinting cheetah.

The keeper rushed out—arms wide, eyes wild.

Nathan flicked it past him with a touch so delicate it looked arrogant.

Then...

Tap.

A calm finish into the empty net.

GOOOOOOAL!!!

Hat-trick.

25 goals this season. Level with the elite. Ahead of expectations.

Ahead of the narrative.

He jogged toward the corner flag this time, arms raised. The stadium screens lit up with his face. A star, drenched in sweat and ambition.

"From academy boy to front-page star... Nathan is the Championship’s brightest light!"

Commentators raved. Pundits gasped. Scouts scribbled.

But in Nathan’s mind?

It wasn’t enough.

He hadn’t felt it yet—the goal that would shake his own foundation. The one that said, yes, I’ve arrived.

Not yet.

—

Minute 79.

Sheffield finally struck.

A rebound, a lucky flick, a low drive. Their striker slotted it past the Leeds keeper.

3–1.

A flicker of tension returned.

But Nathan didn’t flinch.

He walked calmly back to the center circle.

Tyler leaned close. "You know what you gotta do."

Nathan whispered, "Yeah... finish them."

—

Minute 86.

Marco threaded another pass down the line.

Nathan was on it like lightning.

He turned inside, danced past one. A second defender tried to clip him. Tch!

Nathan spun away. Entered the box.

A third player lunged.

But Nathan shifted the ball left with a fluid snap of the ankle.

The space opened.

He didn’t smash it.

He placed it.

Low.

Precise.

The ball skimmed the grass like a bullet—Skrrrrt—THUD!!

Bottom corner.

GOOOOOOAL!!!

Super Hat-trick.

Leeds 4 – 1 Sheffield.

The crowd became a living thing, screaming, chanting, pulsing.

"NATHAN! NATHAN! NATHAN!"

Commentator:

"Four goals. Four different styles. And not one wasted motion. He’s not just playing. He’s ascending."

—

Final whistle.

Pweeeeeeeee!!

Leeds players dropped to their knees in joy. Fans waved scarves and flags and fists in the air.

Nathan looked around the pitch like he’d seen it in a dream before.

Tyler jogged over, panting.

"That was... unreal, bro."

Nathan wiped sweat from his brow. "Still two games."

Tyler snorted. "Let us breathe, man."

But Nathan’s eyes were already on the tunnel. On the next war.

He walked off slowly, acknowledging the crowd with one raised arm. The rain kissed his skin. The lights glistened in his hair.

Every step felt heavier now.

Not with fear.

With expectation.

The kind that crushes most.

But Nathan?

He was learning to breathe under the weight.

-

—

-

Elland Road had never been louder.

The final whistle against Sheffield was still echoing through Leeds’ bones, but the table didn’t care about echoes. It only cared about numbers.

Leicester – 93.

Leeds – 91.

Norwich – 88.

And now?

Two matches left.

Every pass, every sprint, every breath—it all meant more than it ever had.

Nathan stood under the floodlights that night, after training, long after his teammates had gone. Sweat clung to his neck like dew, the sky above streaked with dying orange and violet.

He didn’t blink.

He whispered, "Two games left... Anything is possible."

The wind stirred.

Somewhere deep inside, something stirred louder.

The Next Morning – Headlines Across England

"Nathan Perry leads the Golden Boot race with 26 goals—at 17!"

"From prodigy to powerhouse: Leeds’ No. 11 is rewriting the league."

"He shoots like Haaland... but the spirit? That’s Messi’s."

"The Promotion Race: Can Leeds go all the way?"

Pundits debated. Scouts flocked. Fans argued.

But within the Leeds camp, the talk was short and sharp.

Sunderland awaited.

Fifth in the table. Fighting to stay in the playoff zone. Desperate. Dangerous.

And Nathan could feel it in his blood—the tension of a predator hunting another.

Matchday – Leeds Locker Room

The atmosphere buzzed. Not nervous. Just tight. Controlled.

Marco stood near the whiteboard, arms crossed, voice sharp and deliberate.

"Sunderland isn’t here to shake our hands. They’ll scrap. They’ll claw. They’ll throw everything they’ve got to stop us."

His eyes swept across the room. "We need every one of you."

Captain Grayson smacked his gloves together. "It’s not just about heart now. It’s about clarity. Don’t overthink. Trust each other."

Then his gaze settled on Nathan, who was calmly tying his laces.

"You’ve been unstoppable, Perry. You ready to break them again?"

Nathan smirked, standing. "Nope."

A few players blinked.

Then Nathan chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "Not break. Build. I’m not scoring today..."

Ding!

System Notification — Random Skill Activated!

Congratulations!

You’ve acquired:

Crossing – Trent Alexander-Arnold Style

Nathan’s eyes narrowed slightly. The feeling surged through his limbs like lightning. His mind saw new angles, new curves, new visions of how to bend a ball like it had a mind of its own.

He smiled. "Arnold, huh? Brilliant."

He looked up, eyes gleaming. "I won’t score today... I’ll create."

-

Kick-off – Stadium of Light, Sunderland