The Football Legends System

Chapter 36 – Fighting to the Final Breath

Kick-off.

The ball rolled, and Sunderland came like wolves—fast, direct, hungry.

Right from the first whistle, they pressed like men possessed.

Boom! A crunching tackle in midfield. Tyler just barely got his foot out in time.

Thud! A loose pass zipped across the grass, forcing Graham into a desperate clearance.

The crowd at the Stadium of Light roared. The home fans felt blood in the water.

Marco growled under his breath. "They’re rabid today..."

Nathan didn’t reply. He was already scanning the pitch, calculating the angles, the space behind the full-backs, the weight of the wind against the ball.

His mind wasn’t just playing football.

It was mapping war zones.

Minute 13.

Sunderland broke through on the right flank. Their winger beat Luke clean—cut inside—laid it off—

CRACK!!

A thundering shot exploded toward the far corner.

The sound of the ball hitting the post echoed like a cannon blast.

CLANG!!

It rattled the woodwork and bounced away.

"Haaaah...!!"

Leeds breathed out as one.

"Close one!" Graham barked, pointing fingers. "Where’s the damn cover!?"

Tyler gritted his teeth. "Wake up, lads. Or we’re getting buried."

Nathan didn’t say a word.

But his jaw clenched.

This wasn’t going to be a walk.

Minute 22.

A mistimed pass. A flick. A misstep.

Suddenly, Marco poked the ball forward to Nathan, who burst down the wing like he’d been fired from a slingshot.

Whoosh!

One defender tried to close him down—Tch!—Too slow.

Nathan’s foot danced over the ball—stepover, shift, glide.

He looked up.

He didn’t see Marco—he saw the run Marco was about to make.

With perfect timing—

Whip!

A curling, bending, devilish cross bent over the back line.

Marco surged in, forehead crashing into the ball—

BOOM!

GOAL!!!

1 – 0 Leeds!

The away fans erupted.

"NATHAN DELIVERS LIKE THE REAL TRENT!" one commentator shouted, nearly dropping his headset.

Nathan didn’t celebrate. Just lifted one finger in the air as Marco ran past him, pointing back.

"Chef’s kiss, my friend! That was gorgeous!"

Tyler jogged over, slapping his shoulder. "Told you—you’re more dangerous without the shot."

Nathan gave a half-smile. "There’s more to come."

But football never lets you stay smug for long.

Minute 34.

Leeds grew sloppy. A lazy clearance. A poor trap.

And Sunderland pounced.

Crack! One pass split the backline.

Tap. Shot. Net.

1 – 1.

Just like that.

The stadium erupted. Nathan turned, jaw tightening.

He could feel the momentum shifting.

"Tch..."

Marco punched the air in frustration. "We just gave that to them..."

Coach Perry on the sideline threw his water bottle down.

Halftime. Locker Room.

Silence at first.

Then—SMACK!

Coach Grayson slapped the whiteboard with his palm.

"We’re throwing away points! Do you know what’s at stake!? This isn’t youth league!"

He paced like a caged lion.

"Focus! Structure! You don’t need to be magicians—just do your jobs! Play with purpose!"

His eyes landed on Nathan last.

"Perry."

Nathan stood up straighter.

"I want two things from you. Vision. And discipline. Got it?"

Nathan nodded once. "Got it."

Second Half – Minute 56.

The game was tight again. Both sides clawing, biting, sprinting into space and smashing into each other with brutal intensity.

Leeds pushed forward.

Tyler spotted Nathan open on the right.

Thud! A driven pass.

Nathan received it cleanly, stopping it with the softest touch. One-on-one with a defender. He didn’t rush.

He waited.

Waited until the defender shifted his weight just slightly—

Then he bent the ball.

Whiiip!!

It swerved viciously toward the box.

Marco launched himself—

BANG!!

Header!

CLANG!!

Off the crossbar.

The goal shivered. The crowd groaned.

"AAAAHHH!!" Marco howled, smacking the post in frustration.

Nathan clenched his fists.

So close.

So cruel.

Minute 63.

Sunderland punished them again.

A switch of play, a clever overlap, a pinpoint cross into the six-yard box—

Tap-in.

2 – 1 Sunderland.

The stadium exploded.

Graham threw his hands in the air. "Come on, where the hell’s the tracking!?"

Tyler knelt, fists pounding the ground.

Nathan stood near the halfway line, breathing heavy, chest rising and falling.

His hands clapped together loudly.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

"No time for tears..." he barked, voice sharp, cutting through the haze.

"...Time for killer passes!"

---

Minute 72.

The pitch trembled under boots.

Leeds surged.

Tyler raced into the box like a freight train with no brakes. Nathan—still sprinting along the right—opened his stride, checked his shoulder, saw the chaos unfolding inside the penalty area. He didn’t hesitate.

Whip!!

A wicked low cross sliced through defenders like a blade.

One touch, two maybe—and Tyler slammed it home.

THUMP!!

GOAL!!! 2 – 2!!

The net rippled like it had been punched. The roar that followed was deafening.

"YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!!"

The away end exploded.

Marco hugged Tyler. Graham leapt two feet off the ground.

But Nathan?

He didn’t celebrate.

He stood still, eyes scanning the scoreboard, ears barely registering the chants:

"NATHAN! NATHAN! NATHAN!"

He felt it wash over him—noise, adrenaline, heartbeat pounding in his ears like drums—but somewhere in the center of it all, he remained still.

We’re not done yet.

Not until the final whistle.

Not until Leicester drops.

Not until Leeds stands first.

—

Minute 76.

Both teams fought like dogs.

Sunderland didn’t want to settle. Their season meant less, but pride was a hell of a motivator. They pressed, they pushed, they fouled.

Crunch!

Marco was upended at the halfway line. No card.

Tch...

"Ref!! Are you blind!?" he shouted, waving his arms, hair falling across his sweat-slicked forehead.

Nathan helped him up without a word.

"Still time," he muttered under his breath. "Still time."

Marco nodded, breathing hard. "Let’s kill it off."

They restarted. The ball zipped from side to side.

Tyler passed to Graham. Graham sent it wide. Nathan danced on the touchline again—one flick, a burst of speed, and he was free.

The fans rose again.

Another cross—this one floated.

Too high.

Too much.

Marco still jumped, flinging himself into the sky—

Smack!

The keeper punched it clear.

—

Minute 83.

Tyler tried from range.

BOOM!

It curled wide.

Leeds kept coming.

Relentless.

One last push.

—

Minute 87.

Nathan found himself in space again.

He glanced up. Marco was making the run. Tyler too.

This was it.

He planted his left, swept through the ball with his right.

Whiiip!!

The cross was good—no, perfect.

But the defender saw it early.

Thunk!!

A leaping clearance. Head to ball. Cleared.

And with it—

—

Full time.

Leeds 2 – 2 Sunderland

Nathan bent forward, hands on knees, drenched in sweat.

He wasn’t just tired.

He was drained.

His lungs heaved. His heartbeat still hadn’t come down.

He looked up at the scoreboard, then to the crowd. The away fans applauded them, still chanting his name.

—

Back in the tunnel.

Silence.

Boots thudded against concrete. A few muttered curses. Graham pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside with a grunt.

"Could’ve had them," he said, voice low, bitter. "We had them."

Marco sat on the bench, leaning forward, arms resting on his thighs, breathing deep.

"One match left," he said, forcing a crooked smile. "Who knows... maybe we still pull it off."

His words were light. But his eyes weren’t.

Tyler dropped onto the bench beside Nathan, sweat still clinging to his temples.

"They’re saying Leicester’s on 94 now. Norwich... 91."

Nathan nodded slowly.

"We’re at 92," he murmured.

Tyler blew out a breath. "So we win, we end on 95. Leicester draws or loses? Title’s ours."

Marco chuckled without humor. "We’re gamblers now."

The others turned.

"We’ve been chasing all season. Fighting.. One point down with one game left?"

Tyler smirked. "You sound like Dad."

Nathan didn’t smile.

He just stood, wiped his face with a towel, and stared at the whiteboard on the wall.

The locker room was quiet now.

No one said it aloud, but they were all thinking the same thing.

Was this it?

Had the peak already passed?

Had the climb ended just short of the summit?

Or...

Was the final step still ahead?

—

Later that evening.

The headlines were merciless.

"Have Leeds Missed Their Chance?"

"Nathan Assists Twice But the Team Slips"

"Norwich Closing In – Leeds At Risk"

Nathan scrolled without expression, sitting in the corner of the team bus, hoodie pulled over his head. His phone screen glowed faintly in the dim lighting. Every swipe felt heavier than the last.

He read them all.

Every word.