The Football Legends System

Chapter 89 – SS-Rank Potential

12:12 PM – Ice Bath Recovery

Steam wafted off the hot drinks nearby. Nathan sat shoulder-deep in icy water, jaw clenched. Muscles twitching from the shock.

Valverde sat beside him, arms folded across his chest like he was meditating through the pain.

"I saw you scanning everyone again," Valverde muttered, not opening his eyes.

Nathan smirked. "You saw that, huh?"

"You’ve got a look when you’re analyzing. Like you’re trying to solve a puzzle no one else can see."

Nathan didn’t reply immediately.

He looked up at the wall—covered with match prep photos of Newcastle. Pressing zones. Transition shapes.

"We need every edge we can get." He finally said.

Valverde cracked an eye open. "You planning on coaching us too?"

Nathan let out a soft chuckle. "Only if you start listening."

Valverde grinned, then let himself sink lower into the freezing water. "Tch. You better bring that Champions League, Perry."

Nathan didn’t answer. But his smile said it all.

Later that evening – Nathan’s Apartment

Rain tapped softly against the window. Not enough to break the silence—just enough to fill it.

Nathan stood near the counter, sipping tea. A match replay flickered on his laptop—City’s high line against Spurs. He paused it, rewound, played it again.

------

The lights of Old Trafford flickered to life, one row at a time—like a theatre preparing for war.

The sky above was bruised purple and gold, the kind of evening that promised drama. Rain hadn’t touched the pitch, but the air held the faint sting of moisture—charged, electric.

Nathan stood in the tunnel, jersey already clinging to his back from warm-ups. The atmosphere wasn’t tense.

It was tight.Like a bowstring drawn, waiting to snap.

Ahead: Newcastle.One of the fiercest pressing units in the league. Relentless. Physical.

He glanced to his left—Bruno stood silent, adjusting his armband. Eyes forward. Behind him, Martinez rolled his neck with the crack of bone and intent. And further down, Xavi Simons was bouncing on the balls of his feet, headphones still hanging around his neck.

Nathan gave him a quick glance, the memory still fresh:

[Xavi Simons]Current Ability: B+Potential: S+

"S+..."That kind of potential didn’t show up often.

But Xavi had something else.

"He’s not just another talent..." Nathan whispered to himself."...he could be the heartbeat of our future."

And that mattered—because tonight wasn’t just about chasing a top-four spot.It was about building belief.

DING!

The system flickered again in the corner of his vision.

[Random Skill Activated][Unlocked: Mohamed Salah’s Left-Footed Shot Mastery]

Nathan’s brows lifted. A grin tugged at the edge of his lips.

"Heh... Salah’s left foot?"

That wasn’t just some party trick. That was weapons-grade precision.Curl. Whip. From the edge of the box? It was lethal.

He flexed his foot inside the boot, already feeling the tension in his toes.Something new. Something sharp.

"This might be exactly what we need tonight."

Kickoff – Manchester United vs Newcastle

WHOOOOO!!

The whistle blew. The roar of 74,000 swallowed it whole.

Immediately—BOOM!—Newcastle surged forward.

Bruno Guimarães hunted the ball like a lion stalking prey. Longstaff pressed in tandem. Every touch had to be clean. Every pass had to be crisp.

Thud!Nathan laid it off quickly to Mount, who one-touched it back to Martinez.

They were in a vice.

"Come on!" Amorim shouted from the touchline. "Play through it—don’t panic!"

But it wasn’t just pressure. It was psychological warfare. Newcastle were here to disrupt.

Nathan clenched his jaw, scanning the pitch. The Ability & Potential System shimmered at the edge of his vision. Tags flickered on the opposing players.

Trippier – B+, A potentialJoelinton – B+, B+Guimarães – A, A+And then—

Alexander Isak

Current Ability: APotential: SS

His eyes widened.

"...SS?!"That was a level above S. A bracket reserved for generational monsters.

Nathan’s heart ticked up.

"So that’s why he’s so damn smooth on the ball..."

He watched Isak pick it up on the left wing, glide past Dalot like mist slipping through fingers, then whip a cross in with terrifying ease.

Fwip—!The ball curved dangerously. Rashford headed it away just in time.

"This guy’s a sleeping monster..." Nathan whispered."We can’t let him wake up."

------

"COME ON, UNITED!""LET’S GO, NEWCASTLE!"

The banners were up.The stakes were clear.Top four or nothing.

The players stood in formation, boots pressed into the grass like blades waiting to be drawn.

Nathan rolled his shoulders once.Loosened his neck.The air felt different tonight—thicker. Like every breath carried expectation.

The whistle pierced the noise.

PEEEEEEEP!

Kickoff.

Koopmeiners knocked it backward to Martinez, and United began to build.

"Move! Don’t wait for the ball—create space for yourself!" Amorim’s voice thundered from the touchline.

Nathan didn’t hesitate.He played a short pass into Foden, then sprinted off the ball, arcing around the right side.

Foden held it under pressure, then slipped it back across to Bruno, who touched it first-time into Mount.The triangles began to form—quick, sharp, slicing shapes of intent.

But Newcastle were ready.

CLACK!Studs met turf hard.Their press came like a crashing wave.

Joelinton surged forward. Guimarães closed the passing lane.Koopmeiners hesitated—a heartbeat too long.

"Tch—"

The ball was stolen.

"Willock’s got it!" the commentator shouted."And now Isak’s off!"

In one blink, Newcastle transitioned.

Willock zipped a pass through midfield.It hit Isak in stride.

"GO! GO WITH HIM!" Martinez screamed, but Varane was already backpedaling—

Too late.

FWOOSH!Isak turned on the jets.

A flick of the hips—he ghosted past Varane like wind slipping through a door crack.

Nathan, still turning from his forward run, caught the whole thing.

"No—no, no, no..."He took off back toward his own box, lungs already burning.

Isak broke free. One-on-one with Onana.

"HE’S IN!"

BOOM!A rocket of a shot—low and venomous toward the far post.

CLANG!A fingertip save!

Onana went horizontal, stretched like a gymnast mid-flight—his glove barely nudging the ball wide.

"WHAT A SAVE!"

Gasps. Cheers. Groans.

Nathan exhaled sharply. "God... if we let him loose, we’ll suffer tonight."

Isak was smiling as he jogged back, but not with joy—with hunger.

The kind of smile that said, I’ll get another one.