The Football Legends System

Chapter 37 – An Unforgettable Ending

The lights above Elland Road burned like a thousand suns.

Even the night couldn’t dim this.

Helicopters hummed in the sky, circling like vultures—though tonight, they weren’t here to witness a fall.

Camera crews lined the sidelines. Sky Sports, BBC, beIN Sports—every major outlet had boots on the grass. Reporters clutched mics. Lenses zoomed in on faces, boots, gestures. Every twitch of emotion would be broadcast to millions.

Nathan sat in the locker room, quiet, focused. The noise of the stadium was already bleeding in—chanting, stomping, the unified heartbeat of tens of thousands.

Across the room, Marco paced with his headphones on, mumbling lyrics only he could hear. Graham cracked his knuckles one by one. Tyler shadow-boxed against the wall like he was about to go into the ring instead of midfield.

The pressure was everywhere.

Except in Nathan.

He tied his laces slowly, methodically. One loop, pull tight, double knot.

Then he stood.

And looked.

Up in the highest VIP section, just behind the Leeds crest etched into the stadium glass, were the suits.

Dark coats. Poker faces. Glittering credentials.

Scouts. Directors. Titans of world football.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed.

"Real Madrid. Barcelona. Manchester United... and is that—"

Ding!

Random Skill Activated.

Congratulations! You’ve acquired: Long Shots – Kevin De Bruyne Style

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

So be it.

"Tonight..." he whispered, voice low and certain, "I’ll show you why I belong at the top."

The final team huddle came and went. Coach Grayson’s words were short. Firm.

"Play the game, not the noise. You know what’s at stake. Leave nothing behind."

Then—

FWEEEEET!!

The whistle blew.

Kick-off.

Leicester started with controlled arrogance. No need to panic. A draw was all they needed to lift the title. They moved the ball calmly, comfortably. Their back line didn’t even look nervous.

Leeds pressed early—but not recklessly. They held their shape. Waited for the right trigger.

8th minute.

Too fast.

Too smooth.

Leicester flicked the switch.

Maddison drifted wide, drew in two markers, then zipped a curling ball in behind.

Whoosh!

Daka slipped between the centre-backs like a ghost.

CRACK!

A brutal header. Top corner.

GOAL!!! Leicester 1 – 0 Leeds.

The away end exploded in blue.

Maddison wheeled away, arms outstretched. Daka kissed the badge. And just like that, the league felt miles away again.

On the Leeds bench, Coach Grayson slammed his clipboard onto the turf.

"Keep your heads up!" he shouted. "We’ve got time!"

Nathan stood near the halfway line, blinking slowly.

No panic.

Just calculation.

15th minute.

Marco dropped deep to receive. Quick one-two with Graham. Then a shift—Tyler peeled left. That gave Nathan space, and Marco fed him the pass.

A 30-meter gap between him and the goal.

He didn’t even blink.

He touched the ball forward once—

—and struck.

BOOM!!

The ball screamed through the air. A knuckle shot. No spin. No forgiveness.

WHOOSH!

It veered. Curved.

And just missed the post by centimeters.

"Oooooooohhh!!" the crowd gasped.

Journalists murmured in unison from the press box.

"He really shoots good..."

One of the Madrid scouts leaned forward slightly. Just slightly.

On the pitch, Nathan exhaled. Not in frustration. In understanding.

That was a warning shot.

He turned back.

The next one wouldn’t miss.

—

21st minute.

Leicester slowed the tempo again. Bled time. They weren’t just playing football—they were managing fear.

Graham surged forward from fullback, tried to shake things up with overlapping runs. Marco sprayed passes side to side, but they couldn’t crack the back line.

28th minute.

Tyler stole possession. A quick one-two with Marco. Suddenly Nathan had space again.

He could’ve passed.

But something else buzzed beneath his skin.

He adjusted.

Then hit it.

BANG!!!

This time the ball dipped late—just under the bar—

SLAP! 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

The Leicester keeper just barely got fingertips on it.

Corner.

Marco jogged over, panting. "You’re gonna break the net, man."

Nathan smirked. "That’s the idea."

The corner was cleared. Leeds reset.

Still trailing. Still chasing.

—

BOOM!!

The net rippled as if it had been struck by lightning.

Nathan’s shot sliced through the air like a missile—unstoppable, untouchable, pure fury wrapped in precision. From twenty-eight meters out, he’d let fly with nothing but instinct, grit, and that sharp-eyed confidence that had grown inside him like steel over fire.

GOOOOOAAAAL!!!

The roar of the crowd wasn’t just sound—it was seismic. It shook the ground. It rattled the press box. It echoed across the country.

"WHAT A STRIKE!" the commentator screamed, voice cracking with disbelief. "Nathan Perry from ANOTHER PLANET!"

The cameras caught the bench exploding, players leaping, Coach Grayson pumping his fist so hard he nearly pulled something.

Score: 1 – 1.

Leicester players looked around in shock, as if they’d seen a ghost rise from the pitch in Leeds white.

In the VIP section, suits shifted in their seats. A Real Madrid scout clicked his pen, jotting furiously. Barcelona’s representative whispered into a headset. And the man from Manchester simply stared, nodding slowly.

"Strong personality. Incredible shooting. A big-game player."

Halftime came and went in a blur.

Coach Grayson spoke, but it was mostly background noise to Nathan now. His heart was still pounding from that goal. Not with nerves—but with hunger. He wasn’t satisfied. Not yet.

"Eyes open," Coach said. "They’ll try to kill the pace now. Stay smart. Stay sharp."

"Let’s finish this," Marco growled, fist tapping his chest.

Nathan pulled his shirt down, exhaled, and jogged out.

Second Half.

Whistle.

CRACK!

Tyler sent the ball down the wing and the crowd surged behind it.

From the first touch of the half, Nathan was everywhere. Sprinting. Calling. Passing. Charging.

Minute 54. He dropped deep, received, split two defenders with a touch, and played a vertical ball to Marco, who flicked it wide for Tyler. Leeds surged like a wave.

Minute 59. Another interception. Another run. Another tackle. Nathan winced as he was clipped from behind.

"Foul!" the ref barked, blowing the whistle.

"Give him a card!" Graham snapped, furious.

But Nathan just stood, adjusted his sleeve, and got back in position.

Minute 64.

Leicester struck back.

Maddison danced into the final third, threading a pass behind the Leeds backline.

Daka burst forward.

Thud! Thud! His cleats slammed against the turf.

One-on-one with the keeper—

SLAP!!

The goalkeeper parried it wide with his fingertips!

"HAAA—YES!!" Graham screamed, punching the air.

But Nathan didn’t even glance back.

"If we concede again... it’s over."

Minute 70.

Time slowed.

The ball was at his feet again. Thirty-five meters out.

Pass?

No.

He felt it. That flicker of possibility. The goal called to him like a challenge.

He turned.

Dribbled once. Twice.

The defender lunged.

Step-over. Shift. Control.

Then—

CRACK!!!

A long-range cannonball screamed toward the top corner!

The keeper was rooted.

CLAAANG!!!

OFF THE CROSSBAR!!

"AAAAAH!!" The stadium gasped as one.

Nathan fell to his knees for half a second, fists pounding the grass. So close.

So damn close.

The ball dropped, bounced high, and was cleared away by a panicked defender.

The commentator could barely keep up.

"HE’S PRESSING LEICESTER ALL BY HIMSELF!"

---

---

Crack!

The final whistle sliced through the night like a warhorn at the end of battle.

And for one eternal second, Elland Road froze.

Then—BOOM!

GOOOOOAAAAL! A last-minute stunner!

"The stands EXPLODE!! Nathan scores the winner!"

2–1 to Leeds.

The stadium exploded. Voices surged, flags whipped in the wind, and grown men wept openly in the stands.

Leeds United: 2.

Leicester City: 1.

Champions.

Nathan stood just inside the center circle, his chest rising and falling like a piston. His legs trembled—not from fatigue, but from the weight of it all finally catching him.

The ball was gone. The noise was deafening. But in his mind, all he could hear was that one, perfect moment:

The 84th minute.

Ball at his feet. Edge of the box.

Crowd roaring behind him.

And then—Curl. Whip. Silence. Net.

GOAL.

"From an unknown academy kid... to the one who decided the title," the commentator’s voice crackled through the speakers, half-lost under the frenzy.

He blinked, and suddenly his teammates were around him—Tyler with his wild grin, Marco yelling something unintelligible, arms wrapping around his shoulders, slaps on his back.

Then—

Thud!

He was hoisted into the air.

"WOOOAHHHHH NATHAN!!"

"NATHAN! NATHAN! NATHAN!"

The chants echoed like thunder rolling across Yorkshire skies.

From the VIP section, a camera caught him being lifted high—sweat-soaked, eyes wide with disbelief, mouth curled in a breathless smile. Behind him, scouts in tailored suits took notes, murmuring to one another like gamblers who had just spotted a golden ticket.

"That’s him," one of them whispered. "The boy from nowhere."

On the sideline, Coach Perry stood with his arms crossed—but his stern mask cracked for a moment. Just a flicker. A subtle nod. A look that lasted less than a second—but meant the world.

Nathan saw it.

He felt it.

And for once, it was enough.

Tch...

The locker room smelled like champagne and victory. Bottles popped. Laughter echoed off the tile walls. Shirts were off, music blasted, and Tyler stood on a bench belting out a ridiculous chant involving Leeds, the Queen, and something very illegal in Spain.

Marco threw a towel at him. "Get down, you lunatic!"

"Champions, baby!" Tyler howled, before slipping and crashing onto the floor. "Ow—worth it!"

Crack!

Another cork flew, and this time someone poured a bottle over Nathan’s head.

"Oi!" he laughed, wiping his face. "This was my only dry shirt!"

"Not anymore!" giggled Lewis, the team’s youngest. "You’re one of us now!"

Nathan’s eyes drifted to the far corner of the room where the trophy sat, glowing under the flickering light.

Someone had placed it gently on a chair, like it was sacred. Untouchable. Almost unreal.

"Go on," Marco said, nudging him. "You earned it."

Nathan walked over slowly, heart pounding. His reflection shimmered off the silver plate.

He touched it.

It was cold, heavy, and real.

His first title.

And yet—he didn’t feel finished.

Not even close.