The Football Legends System

Chapter 80 – A Magical Team Attack

Minute 47

No time to breathe.

Not even to blink.

United swarmed forward—fluid

Bruno slipped between two white shirts in midfield, tapped the ball to Valverde.

Tap—return—Valverde again. One-touch.

The Uruguayan surged forward and—snap!—sent a through ball so clean.

Nathan was already on the move.

Didn’t look. Didn’t need to.

There.

He flicked his heel backward—a ghost pass.

Tchuk!

Zirkzee met it just outside the box. One touch to control. Madrid’s defenders tightened around him.

But instead of shooting—

"Go, Emre!" he barked.

—a side-pass, slick and unexpected, sliced the ball to the right.

Emre Demir.

And the moment slowed.

The Turkish winger caught the ball on the run. Faced down Ferland Mendy.

Step-over—whoosh.

Mendy flinched.

Demir cut inside—Camavinga lunged in.

Too late.

The ball stayed glued to his boots. Demir slid between them like water splitting stone, then—

Haaah...!

Left foot. Edge of the box.

BOOM!!

The shot screamed through the air—low, curling.

Courtois dove.

But he wasn’t getting there.

THUMP!

Net. Corner. Perfection.

"GOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL!!"

The stadium detonated. A hundred thousand voices collapsed into chaos.

Demir didn’t even smile.

Veins bulging, fists clenched, sprinting toward the corner flag with fire in his eyes.

Nathan chased after him, breath ragged.

What a goal. What a f**king goal.

Bruno tackled Demir mid-celebration, laughing like a man possessed.

Valverde threw both arms in the air, spinning.

Manchester United 3 – Real Madrid 1.

Aggregate: 4–3. United leads.

Minute 50 to 62

Pressure didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

United played like they had knives in their boots and thunder in their blood.

Zirkzee dropped deep, flicked passes like a #10. Nathan zipped across the half-spaces, dragging Madrid’s lines apart.

Even Luke Shaw bombed forward now.

But Madrid—

They never die quietly.

Minute 63

Modrić—stoic, silent—touched the ball twice in midfield, then looked up.

A gap. A sliver.

He pinged a long ball—like a sniper bullet—to the left wing.

Vinícius Jr.

He was already flying.

Luke Shaw tried to meet him—

Fwip!

Gone.

Valverde stepped up to intercept.

Vinicius danced past him too—blurred feet, feinted shoulders—then cut inside at the edge of the box.

No hesitation.

Whack!

A curling, inside-foot strike. Angled, venomous, slinking toward the bottom corner like it had a mind of its own.

Onana dove.

Fingertips brushed it—not enough.

GOAL! Vinicius!

Madrid answered. Quiet.

Nathan stared at the net.

Damn... slipped under. Even Onana couldn’t reach that one.

The Bernabéu end of the stadium erupted. White flags waved. The Madrid bench surged up.

Ancelotti didn’t move.

He just nodded once. Calm. Like he’d been waiting.

Scoreline: 3–2 United. Aggregate: 4–4.

Minute 68

United struck back like wounded wolves.

Bruno split Madrid’s midfield with a slick pass.

Zirkzee spun, powered into the box—then blasted a shot low and to the right.

WHAM!!

Courtois had to dive full-length—fingertips and fury—to tip it wide.

Nathan growled under his breath.

"So close. Again..."

Minute 71

Madrid responded with teeth.

Rodrygo flew down the right. Showed Shaw too much space, then burned past him.

Cut in.

Shot!

Fwooosh!

Just wide.

Onana didn’t move. He just turned slowly, watching the ball whisper past the post.

Nathan exhaled.

A centimeter. That’s all it takes.

Minute 74

Nathan picked up the ball near halfway.

Madrid pressed high. Kroos and Tchouaméni surged in.

Nathan shifted—shimmy, cut—left foot to Bruno, then a sweeping switch to Demir.

"Go again, Emre!" he shouted.

Demir trapped the ball on the bounce and turned—this time against Carvajal.

Tap-tap, drag-back.

Then—

Boom!

A rocket toward the near post.

Courtois read it. Dove. Punched it out.

"Tch...!"

Demir shouted, frustrated.

Nathan clapped his hands.

"Keep going! They’re shaking!"

Demir gave a short nod, chest heaving.

———

Minute 80

No more patience.

United threw everything forward—blood, sweat, breath. All of it.

Amorim stood at the edge of the technical area, unmoving now. Just watching.

This is it. This is the edge.

Bruno sprinted between lines, demanding the ball. Valverde barked orders, organizing the midfield press. Luke Shaw charged down the flank as if he’d forgotten he was a left-back.

Every second mattered.

———

Minute 81

Demir collected it wide. One flick past Carvajal, another past Tchouaméni.

Boom! Low cross zipped into the box.

Zirkzee lunged—Thud!—but Rudiger got there first, hoofing it clean.

"Damn it!" Bruno shouted.

"Again!" Amorim screamed.

Minute 83

Quick triangle between Bruno, Nathan, and Shaw.

Nathan flicked it—Tch!—into the box.

Zirkzee let it roll past, dummied for Bruno. Strike!

Crack!!

Blocked. Militão threw his body.

Ball bounced to Demir.

He shot without thinking.

Wham!

Over the bar.

The fans groaned, some burying their heads. Some stood, hands on heads.

So close... but close isn’t enough. Not anymore.

Minute 85

Madrid bunkered in. Lines tight. No spaces.

Modrić moved like a chessmaster—two steps ahead. Kroos slowed the tempo to a crawl, making every pass deliberate.

Vinicius and Rodrygo stopped running.

Mbappé stood near the halfway line, arms on hips, watching. Waiting for one last counter.

Minute 87

Valverde lobbed one into the box.

Thump.

Courtois rose above everyone, gloves swallowing the ball. He fell slowly.

He lay there for a second longer than usual. Just long enough to sting.

"Get up!" someone screamed from the crowd.

The ref blew the whistle and gestured him forward.

Minute 89

Nathan stood near the edge of the box. Gasping. Legs stiff. Heart pounding.

Bruno took the ball out wide again. Space. A second. Maybe less.

He looked up.

Lifted his boot.

Fwhoop!

A curling cross.

Now.

Nathan broke free. Rose—**up, up—**eyes on the ball.

Thud!

He missed it by inches. Just inches.

The ball skimmed past his head and out the other side.

Zirkzee couldn’t reach it either.

"ARGH—!" Nathan growled, punching the air. His foot slammed the grass.

He stood there. Still.

That was it. That was the one.

Minute 90+3

The fourth official’s board had long shown "+4".

This was the last.

Ball at Bruno’s feet.

Midfield to Demir.

Demir to Shaw.

Shaw launched it one final time.

But Courtois stepped forward and caught it. Clean. Effortless.

The referee looked at his watch.

Raised the whistle.

FWEEEEEEEEET!