The Football Legends System

The whistle rang out.

Pheeeeeep!

It wasn't just the start of the second half—it was the start of something else entirely.

Nathan rolled his shoulders as he jogged into position. The stadium around him shimmered under the lights, sweat already clinging to his brow. A bead slid past his temple and caught on his jaw.

Beside him, Declan Rice muttered.

"They don't back down easily… be ready."

And then the ball rolled.

England in possession.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Little passes cut through the pressure.

He was immediately swarmed—Enzo and De Paul closed in.

But Foden, didn't blink.

Flick!

A backheel. No-look.

Straight into Nathan's path.

"Tch—heavy!"

Nathan had to adjust quickly, two defenders breathing down his neck. One flicked a boot out.

Too late.

He rolled past the first with a hip feint, danced around the second with a sharp touch, and released the ball.

Boom—!

Straight to Bellingham.

"Go!" Nathan barked, and didn't stop. He sprinted past Jude, full speed ahead, trusting his teammates, trusting the rhythm.

The crowd rose.

The commentator's voice exploded:

"It's a fiery start from England! Quick passes, high-level technical skill—this is breathtaking!"

Minute 50

Luke Shaw now.

He surged down the left, underlapping, eyes scanning.

Nathan drifted in from the center, called for it once.

Shaw didn't hesitate.

Low cross.

Nathan stepped into it—one touch to trap it, his back to goal.

Romero pressed in, body heavy, arms everywhere.

Thud.

Nathan absorbed the pressure, holding firm. He wasn't flashy—he was solid.

Then came the pass.

Back to Foden.

A moment paused.

The rhythm of play was disrupted—but not broken.

Foden looked up, spotted Bellingham—unmarked, waiting in the gap.

But…

Instead of passing forward—

He slipped it back to Nathan.

"…Huh? For me?"

Nathan blinked. He'd dropped back as a decoy. He hadn't expected to receive it again.

But he didn't hesitate.

He turned on the spot, saw the opportunity forming—two defenders shifting their weight forward.

A sliver of space.

He hooked his boot around the ball and—

Fsshk—!

Outside foot pass. Angled just right.

Slipped right between Otamendi and Romero.

And Jude exploded into that gap.

"GO JUDE!!!"

One touch—perfect.

Keeper rushing out—too late.

BANG!

Bottom corner.

GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAL!!!!

The stadium shook. Fans screamed themselves hoarse.

"JUDE BELLINGHAM!!! A world-class goal from England!!!"

The camera cut to the English bench—players leapt into each other's arms.

The commentator roared:

"This is how football is played!"

Nathan just stood there, chest rising, heart pounding.

He watched Jude race toward the corner flag, arms wide, fists clenched.

Minute 58

But Argentina wasn't dead.

De Paul took control. His voice snapped commands in Spanish, loud enough to cut through the noise.

"¡Vamos! ¡Arriba! ¡Rápido!"

He began threading passes like a puppeteer pulling strings.

Left. Right. Switch.

Nathan chased, eyes scanning, but it was like chasing shadows.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Enzo.

Di María.

One-two.

Cross coming in!

Nathan turned—he saw the danger instantly.

"Messi's inside!" he shouted.

Too late.

Messi received it at the top of the six-yard box.

"Oh no… not here!"

A twist. A flick. A half-turn.

Dribble left.

Thump!

Declan slid in.

Nope.

Another dribble right.

Fwip!

Then came the shot.

Low. Clean. Fast.

CRAAAACK!!!

Off the crossbar!

The sound echoed like a gunshot through the stadium.

"AAAAHHHHH!!"

The crowd surged to their feet, some out of joy, others in fear.

The ball bounced out beyond the box. No one near it.

For a moment—everyone froze.

Nathan stood there, hands on hips, eyes fixed on the bar.

It still rattled. Still trembled from the force.

Messi… didn't react.

He just walked away, eyes on the ground, shaking his head gently. Calm.

It chilled Nathan more than a scream would've.

Because it meant—Messi wasn't done.

----

Minute 65.

Foden with the ball—tight space, defenders all around.

He wriggled past the first with a deft step-over. Then another!"Oooohhh!" the crowd roared.

Inside the box now.

He spotted Bellingham.

Flick—!

Laid off with perfect weight.

Bellingham struck it first time—

BOOM!!

Straight at goal!

"AND ANOTHER SAVE BY MARTÍNEZ!!"

The Argentine keeper threw himself like a man possessed, gloves crashing into the ball with a violent THWACK!

Foden screamed in frustration.

Nathan was already turning, sprinting back.

Because Messi was already moving.

De Paul picked it up off the rebound and snapped a sharp pass into the feet of the maestro. Messi didn't rush.

He glided.

One look. One breath. Then—

Fwip!

A through ball from the heavens.It bent like gravity was on his side.

The commentator gasped:

"A space pass from Messi to… Garnacho!"

The teenager hit full speed—tearing down the left channel—then suddenly—

He stopped.

A collective "Huh?!" rippled through the stadium.

Even Nathan slowed.

"Did he hear a whistle?" someone shouted.

But then—

Garnacho dipped his shoulder.

"Huhh—!!"

The defender flinched, committed—

And Garnacho skipped past him.

Just like that.

Like peeling off a sticker.

He took one touch, looked up—

Thwip!

Low cross into the box.

Julian Álvarez stepped toward it. Wound up for the volley—

But—

He let it go.

The entire English backline paused, stunned.

The ball rolled untouched.

And from behind—

Thud.

Messi appeared.

No sprint. No power. No wild follow-through.

Just a single touch.

Like he was brushing dust off a piano key.

The ball curled—gently—into the bottom corner.

Time… stopped.

The net rippled.

Argentina 2 - England 1.

The Argentine commentators exploded:

"LEEEEEEOOOOOO!! MESSI!! UNSPEAKABLE MAGIC!!"

On the other end—

Silence.

Nathan stood still, breathing hard.

Eyes wide.

He didn't even shoot… he just touched it. Impossible.

Varane collapsed backwards onto the grass, hands on his knees, gasping.

Bellingham punched the turf.

Messi didn't even scream.

He raised both hands slowly… calm, almost apologetic.Like a professor gently correcting a student.

Everything is under control.

Minute 70.

Nathan didn't complain. Didn't look at the bench.

He just kicked the turf and sprinted back.

We can't let that be the last word.

Foden saw it in his eyes.

"Let's go again," he said quietly.

The restart came fast. Too fast.

Argentina barely celebrated—they were focused. Which meant England couldn't blink.

Quick one-two with Foden.

Nathan broke free on the right wing—arms pumping, chest heaving.

"Now!"

Bellingham launched it.

Boom—!

Nathan took it in stride, brushed past a defender—one step, two—

Another defender slid in!

Nathan chopped inside—

CRACK!

Left boot, curling from outside the box.

Haaahh!!

So close.

Just past the post.

Minute 76.

Argentina slowed the pace. Possession.

They danced with the ball like it was sacred. Every pass a heartbeat.

Nathan clenched his fists.

They want to kill the rhythm. No way. Not like this.

He dropped deep, pressing Messi himself now.

"Come on then," he muttered. "I'm not your audience."

Messi barely glanced at him—just slid the ball left to Enzo, as if Nathan were a breeze.

Still—Nathan didn't stop running.

Minute 84.

Desperation twisted into steel.

England refused to fold.

Zirkzee dropped into midfield. Nathan spun behind.

Quick pass.

Another.

Cross coming in!!

Nathan leapt—

WHAM!!

A header!

Martínez again!! The Argentine keeper flung himself into the air, fingertips brushing it just over the bar!

Corner!

England didn't wait.

Bellingham stood over it—whipped it near post.

Deflected!

Rebound to Bellingham!

He turned. Let it fly.

BOOOM!!

The post… missed it by a whisper.

The English fans clutched their heads, screamed into their scarves.

The chant started anyway.

"COME ON, ENGLAND!"

-----

Minute 95.

Peeeeeeep.

The shrill cry of the referee's whistle cut through the air.

Argentina 2 – England 1.

And just like that… it was over.

Messi dropped to his knees, not in exhaustion, but in gratitude.His teammates swarmed him. Garnacho leapt onto his back. Enzo collapsed in tears, arms covering his face, shaking with joy.

De Paul punched the air and shouted skyward.Their bench poured onto the field like a wave crashing down. Coaches, subs, staff—everyone embraced.

The Albiceleste had done it.

On the other side—

Silence.

Like a thousand emotions pressurizing the lungs all at once.

Foden fell to his knees, hands on his thighs, head hanging. Sweat dripped from his brow like it wanted to stay with him.Declan Rice punched the ground, a muffled "Tch...!" escaping from gritted teeth.

And Nathan…

He stood frozen.

Halfway between the center circle and the sideline.

Hands on his head, his eyes fixed on the scoreboard, as if staring at it long enough might somehow change it.

2 - 1.

That was it

The commentator spoke in a voice weighed down by sorrow.

"It was close… but when your opponent is Messi, sometimes even your best isn't enough."

Nathan didn't blink

His legs felt distant. His breathing came in uneven huffs.Haaah... Haaah...Not from the running. From the emptiness.

He dropped his arms.

Let them fall limply by his side.

It wasn't quiet in the stadium.Argentinian chants filled the night ai.

But inside Nathan's chest—it was deathly still.

He felt someone's hand on his shoulder.

Bellingham.

"You played like hell, bro. Don't let this moment lie to you."

Nathan nodded, but he didn't respond.

The frustration, the disbelief—it soaked every English jersey like an invisible stormcloud.

It wasn't a loss handed down from the start.

It was earned, with bruises and genius and sweat and spirit.

And still… Messi had whispered a different fate.

A soft touch. And the game had changed forever.

Nathan walked slowly to the touchline.

Fans leaned over the rails, reaching down, cheering his name despite the loss.

"Nathan! Head high, lad!""You were incredible out there!""Next time! Next time!"

He waved vaguely, not to dismiss, but because he didn't know how to give more just yet.

His legs moved on instinct. The rest of him floated.

Each step was a chapter from the match replaying in his mind:

— That curled shot just wide…— The header Martínez parried…— The outside-foot pass to Jude…

Then that goal.Messi, stepping forward like he already knew how it would end.

Nathan closed his eyes.

Tch... I thought we had them.