The Football Legends System

Chapter 86 – Breaking the Balance

51st Minute — Tactical Break

Amorim raised his hand for a quick pause.

Nathan jogged toward the touchline. The rest of the players gathered quickly.

The manager didn’t waste time.

"Nathan—exploit the left channel more. Walker’s losing step.""Zirkzee—pin Dias. Hold your ground."

Nathan nodded once, then stepped back.

But before he returned to the pitch...

He tapped open his system shop interface.

A familiar glow shimmered behind his eyes.

[Inventory → Items → Stamina Bottle – Legendary Grade][Recover 100% stamina instantly]

He clicked it.

Gulp—!

The effect hit like a current of lightning.

Ding![Stamina Recovered. All stats temporarily boosted by +5%. Duration: 20 minutes]

Nathan’s eyes snapped wide.

He exhaled sharply.

Then again.

Haaah...!

His muscles buzzed.Every joint felt weightless.

It wasn’t adrenaline. It wasn’t even caffeine.

It was like he’d stepped into a faster world—one where he saw the seams of the game with perfect clarity.

"What is this bottle...?""I feel like I could run all day."

—

55th minute —

Fweeeet!

City corner.

The tension was thick. Not just in the stadium—but in the air, in the breath of every fan, in the blood rushing through the players’ veins.

Phil Foden jogged over and raised a hand.

"Short!" De Bruyne called.

Foden nudged the ball to him.

De Bruyne took a quick glance—then floated a looping cross to the far post. The ball spun.

And then—

Haaland jumped. No. He launched.

His body twisted, back arched midair—then he snapped into a bicycle kick.

WHIP–CRACK!!

The strike was pure.

Everyone watched as the ball spun across the sky—seconds felt like minutes.

Nathan’s heart stopped.

"No, no, no...!"

But the ball curved just outside the post.

Wide.

"OHHHHHHHH!!!" the crowd screamed in disbelief.

The stadium erupted with shock and relief.

Commentator:

"If that had gone in, we’d be talking about the greatest goal in FA Cup final history."

Nathan exhaled, his lungs burning.

He looked at Haaland. The striker had already reset his expression—stoic, cold, as if the miss meant nothing.

But Nathan saw it.

This guy’s not human. We give him another chance, we’re finished.

—

60th Minute

City made their move.

Savinho out.Jérémy Doku in.

The Belgian stepped onto the pitch with a grin—like a sprinter at the blocks.

United’s right-back, Wan-Bissaka, squared up.

But Doku didn’t wait.

Right foot—tap. Left—cut inside. Then an outside flick!

Wan-Bissaka lunged—missed!

"Tch...!"

Doku sped past Casemiro next, slicing into the box!

THUMP!

Shot from close range!

Onana again!!He threw himself into the dive—caught it with his wrists and chest.

THUD!!

He barely held on. Then rolled and popped up, yelling—

"GO! GO! COUNTER!!" 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

—

61st Minute —

Onana launched it.

The ball soared past midfield.

Nathan, already reading the play, broke early.

He caught it on the bounce, controlled it, and immediately faced a City defender.

Eyes locked.

One flick. Nutmeg!

The defender’s legs twisted. His face said it all: "Where did he go?!"

Nathan burst through the middle.

Screams tore across the stadium.

"GO, NATHAN!!"

He darted inside the final third.

Zirkzee sprinted alongside.

Nathan threaded the perfect pass into space—

Zirkzee inside the box!

BOOM!!!

Shot with his left foot—smash off the crossbar!!

The metal rattled like a bell.

"AHHHHHH!" The crowd shouted in agony.

Ten Hag kicked a bottle. It exploded against the barrier.

Nathan slammed his fists into the turf.

So close. Again.

But the match—was far from over.

—

66th Minute

City tried to slow the pace.

De Bruyne began playing sideways.Rodri spread it wide.Dias held longer on the ball.

Nathan felt it—they were stalling, trying to suck the rhythm out of the game.

But he also saw something else.

De Bruyne... was tiring.

The Belgian legend was still class—but the sprints were shorter. The turns slower.

Valverde noticed it too.

"We press now... he can’t breathe anymore," he muttered, licking his lips.

Still, no clear breakthrough came.

Nathan dropped deeper, searching for the ball.

He twisted, turned—but this time, even he started to misplace passes.

Too much adrenaline. Too much tension.

One slip. Two slips.The flow stuttered.

The entire match felt like it was holding its breath.

—

Commentator:

"Everyone’s nervous now. One mistake. One goal... and it’s all over."

The coaches were restless.

Amorim checked his watch.Pep stood at the edge of his box, whispering to his assistant.

80th Minute

Nathan stood near the sideline, hands on his knees, sucking in deep breaths.

The chants kept echoing—

"UNITED! UNITED! UNITED!"

He heard them, but they felt distant. Like thunder behind a stormcloud.

Then... the ball came.

He turned.

Two defenders closed in.

Tch... too tight.

But Nathan didn’t flinch.

One touch—past the first.

A low feint—shoulder drop.

Snap!

The second bit. Nathan spun around him with a roll.

Then... a strange pause.

He looked like he was about to use his hand—!

The defender hesitated, just for a second—Nathan burst past with a laugh.

"Got you."

The box approached.

Rúben Dias.

The general.

Nathan squared up.

Left.Right.Double step. Nutmeg.

"WOOOOOOAAAHHHHH!!" the stadium exploded.

Nathan didn’t even look back.

He crossed—

PERFECT ARC.

Zirkzee arrived.

Bang!

THUD!!!

Header. Down. Powerful. Unstoppable.

GOOOOOOAAAAALLLLLL!!!

The red end of Wembley erupted like a volcano.

Zirkzee slid on his knees, hands raised to the heavens.

Nathan ran toward the fans, clutching the badge on his chest, pointing to his heart.

Zirkzee grabbed him from behind.

"You’re insane, man!! That nutmeg?!! That cross?!"

Nathan just grinned, breath ragged.

"Let’s finish this."

—

Score: Manchester United 2 – 2 Manchester City

Ten minutes—and whatever the ref added.

—

84th Minute —

The pass came like a whisper—soft, quick. Casemiro nudged it forward with the inside of his boot.

Nathan took it on the half-turn.

Touch. Control.

Wembley roared around him, but in his ears... silence.

Just the thud of his heartbeat.

"I won’t wait to lose again."

The thought wasn’t loud.

But that whisper felt heavier than every shout he’d ever heard. He’d lost before. Countless times. Watched others lift the trophy.

Not this time.

"Not again."

He took off.

Swish!

Rodri lunged—too slow. Nathan spun with a clean roulette, his right boot guiding the ball around the Spaniard as if drawing a circle of fate.

"He’s gone!!" the commentator shouted."Nathan Perry!"

Bernardo Silva stepped in, clever.

Nathan slowed for a breath—then bang!

A lightning-fast feint, followed by an explosive surge. He skipped to the side, dragging the ball with him, and left Bernardo stumbling.

"Tch...!"

He was alone now. Just space ahead. The edge of the penalty area.

Time didn’t slow—but Nathan felt every detail.

The cut of the grass. The way the ball bounced. The shadows cast by the stadium lights. The slight lean of the defender ahead.

He shaped his body. Lifted his leg.

Fake shot!

"HAAAH!!" the defender flinched, leaving his feet.

Nathan slid under his momentum—fluid.

Dias. The last wall.

The City captain slid in hard, a razor tackle, desperate and wild.

Nathan leapt. His foot kissed the grass. His left leg extended. His entire body twisted.

WHIP—!!!

The strike left his foot with a snap. The outside of his boot spun the ball into a soaring arc—rising, cutting, spinning toward the far top corner.

SSSSSSHHHHHHH—BOOOM!!!!

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!!

The net bulged. Wembley exploded.

Red. White. Gold. Smoke. Screams. Drums.

Manchester United 3 – 2 Manchester City