The Football Legends System

Chapter 48 – Manchester United vs Manchester City

—

Old Trafford was on fire.

Not in flames—but in soul, in sound. A cauldron of red. Every seat packed. Scarves spinning. Flags waving.

It was derby day.

Manchester United vs Manchester City.

The kind of match that carved legacies in stone and erased names just as quickly. One mistake could haunt you. One moment of brilliance could define you.

Nathan stood on the touchline as the teams prepared for kick-off, his boots sinking ever so slightly into the pristine grass. He took it all in. The floodlights burning white above. The vibration of the crowd rumbling through his chest.

Then—

Ding!

Skill Unlocked: Cristiano Long Shots

His eyes widened slightly.

And then, he looked up.

The night sky above Old Trafford was clear, stars tucked behind the glare of stadium lights. He exhaled slowly and whispered to the heavens:

"Cristiano... tonight I’ll shoot like you used to."

The whistle blew.

Tweeeeeet!!

And just like that, the war began.

—

1st Minute – 5th Minute

City didn’t wait.

They never did.

Pep’s machine came out roaring—blue shirts buzzing across the pitch like hornets. Quick triangles. One-touch sequences. Bernardo Silva, De Bruyne, Rodri... all operating in perfect sync.

Nathan tracked back instinctively, heart steady but senses flaring.

Every pass from City cut through the midfield like a scalpel.

—

6th Minute

It happened fast.

Too fast.

Bruno slipped for half a second pressing high. Casemiro was a beat late covering De Bruyne.

Klak!

The Belgian took one touch into space.

Nathan saw the run before anyone else.

Haaland.

Like a missile.

Varane chased, but it was too late. The pass was weighted perfectly.

De Bruyne’s through ball split the line.

Tch—!!

Haaland struck it first time.

BOOM!!

A cannonball with laces. It ripped past Onana before he could fully set his feet.

GOAL!!!

1–0. City.

Old Trafford froze.

For a breath.

Then came the silence.

A cruel silence.

Nathan didn’t flinch.

He just stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the net that still rippled with the aftershock of the goal.

Bruno came up beside him. "We’re fine. One back at them."

Valverde clenched his fists. "Let’s wake up."

Nathan didn’t say anything.

But inside him, something had shifted.

This wasn’t the PSV game.

—

—

18th Minute – Old Trafford

A storm of blue shirts swarmed the midfield.

City’s machine pulsed in rhythm—one-touch, two-touch, triangles slicing through pressure. Rodri swept in to control tempo, dropping between lines to link with De Bruyne and Silva. But just as he turned to play his next pass—

Tch!

Valverde struck like a blade through armor.

Snap!

He stole the ball with a sharp jab of his boot and immediately turned with purpose. A flash of red darted ahead.

Nathan.

Valverde didn’t hesitate.

One touch—then a clean feed into space.

Nathan caught it in stride just past the halfway line.

For a moment, everything slowed.

The City defenders were retreating, trying to recover their shape. Ederson stood far off his line, arms loose, ready but unbothered.

Nathan didn’t dribble.

Didn’t hesitate.

He just looked up.

And in that heartbeat of awareness—he pulled the trigger.

BOOM!!!

A roar of leather against ball. The strike was unreal. Clean, low, and rising with an unnatural swerve.

A missile from 40 yards.

The ball ripped through the night air, bending mid-flight like it had a mind of its own.

"No way...!" Bruno gasped.

The stadium held its breath.

Ederson leapt.

Too late.

WHAM!!

GOAL!!!!

The ball crashed into the top-left corner like a meteor tearing through space.

1–1.

Old Trafford exploded.

The sound wasn’t just cheering—it was disbelief. Awe. Pure electricity.

From the commentary box, the announcer screamed:

"DID YOU SEE THAT?!"

Nathan stood still.

No celebration.

Just a slow turn, face calm, as if he knew. As if the shot had only confirmed what he already believed.

His teammates mobbed him, slapping his back, shouting.

Bruno grabbed his head. "That wasn’t human! That was a Marvel origin story!!"

Valverde laughed breathlessly. "You just broke physics" 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

—

23rd–29th Minute

City tried to restore order.

Rodri, red-faced with frustration, began barking orders. De Bruyne dropped deeper. Haaland hovered like a stormcloud, waiting.

But United smelled blood.

Mount pressed high. Casemiro patrolled. Antony started dancing down the right, drawing fouls and dragging City wide.

The crowd had found its voice again. And it didn’t whisper—it sang.

30th Minute

United surged forward.

Antony isolated his man on the wing—step-over, shimmy, burst of pace.

He glanced once.

Zirkzee made the run.

Whip!!

The cross came in, bending outward, just beyond the center-back’s reach.

Zirkzee soared.

Thud!

GOAL!!!

A bullet header.

2–1.

The striker roared, fists clenched, sprinting toward the corner flag.

But City wasn’t done.

—

36th Minute

It started innocently.

A backpass. Slight miscommunication between Shaw and Martinez. De Bruyne pounced—slid it forward.

And suddenly—

Haaland.

A blue blur.

Thud-thud-thud!! Long strides. Power. Precision.

Varane chased.

Not enough.

Onana rushed out.

Too late.

CRACK!!

Low and ruthless. A predator’s finish.

GOAL.

2–2.

The away end erupted. Blue smoke flared in the corner. Haaland didn’t celebrate wildly—he just turned to the crowd, arms wide.

—

39th Minute

United reset.

Quick tempo. One-touch. They weren’t shell-shocked—they were simmering.

The ball moved through Casemiro, then to Bruno. He spotted Nathan drifting wide into space.

The pass came.

Nathan didn’t wait.

He took one touch, shifted the ball inside.

From 30 yards—

BOOM!!

Another thunderbolt.

The crowd rose with the shot.

Ederson dove—stretching—

CLANG!!

POST!!!

"OHHHHH!!!"

The sound from the fans was a wave—part agony, part thrill.

The ball rebounded out.

Zirkzee tried to chase, but Stones cleared it.

On the sideline, Amorim clapped hard. "YES! Keep going! That’s it!"

Nathan stood there, eyes following the spinning ball as it ricocheted toward the sideline.

He clenched his jaw. That should’ve been his second.

—

—

Second Half – Old Trafford

—

54th Minute

Casemiro stabbed a toe in. Ball popped loose.

Nathan was there—first touch clean, shoulders low, head scanning.

Rodri closed in.

Tch!

Nathan dropped a feint, shifted left, then snapped right with a half-step.

"Hup—!" Rodri lunged—too late.

Gone.

De Bruyne tried to recover, angling across.

Nathan didn’t slow.

He ghosted past with a dip of his shoulder, dragging the ball tight underfoot. One defender left. Then none.

Space.

Haaah—!!

He struck.

BOOM!!!

A violent crack of boot on ball. The strike echoed like cannon fire, rising from the turf like it had a destiny of its own.

The ball swerved through the air—left, then right, unpredictable. Ederson stretched.

No chance.

WHAM!!

Top corner.

GOAL!!!

3–2!!!

The Stretford End detonated.

"NATHAN! NATHAN! NATHAN!"

Fans screamed, fists in the air. Scarves flew. Children burst into tears, clutching their fathers, eyes wide in wonder.

Bruno sprinted toward him. "You mad little bastard!"

Zirkzee tackled him from behind. "You broke the f***ing net!"

Nathan stumbled in the huddle of bodies, laughing breathlessly, chest pounding.

But inside, he was calm.

That shot wasn’t luck. It wasn’t magic.

—

From the sidelines, Amorim’s expression didn’t change. But his eyes gleamed.

—

60th–66th Minute

City pushed back—like a wounded animal still lashing out. Foden drifted central

But United’s press was relentless.

Valverde snapped into tackles. Mount chased like a man possessed. Even Zirkzee dropped deep to block passing lanes.

And then—

67th Minute

A through ball toward Haaland.

Martinez stepped across. Haaland tumbled.

The whistle blew.

"No. No f*ing way."**

Varane threw up his hands.

The ref pointed to the spot.

Penalty.

Boos poured from the stands. The replay showed light contact—minimal at best.

But the call stood.

Haaland stepped up.

Onana bounced on the line, arms wide.

Thud!

A ruthless strike. Low. Corner.

GOAL.

3–3.

The away end exploded.

Blue smoke rose in the corner again, a taunt against the red sea.

—

73rd Minute

Onana caught a high ball. No delay.

He saw Nathan calling—demanding—with a hand raised at midfield.

The throw came fast.

Nathan caught it on the bounce, turned with momentum.

He took off.

Thud-thud-thud!!

Boots pounding. Wind in his ears. The pitch opening up before him.

A blue shirt came in—skipped past.

Another—sidestep, shoulder roll.

De Bruyne again.

Nathan danced around him like light around a shadow.

Now the crowd rose.

"GO, NATHAN!!!"

He neared the edge of the final third.

Still no pass.

He didn’t look up.

He didn’t need to.

BOOM!!!

Another rocket.

Clean. Vicious. Direct.

Ederson dove, full stretch—

THWACK!!

GOAL.

4–3.

HAT-TRICK.

Old Trafford shook.

People wept.

Chants rained down like thunder.

"NA-THAN PER-RY! NA-THAN PER-RY!"

Nathan jogged to the corner, arms out.