The Football Legends System

The second half opened.

BOOM—!

The ball bounced, skipped, twisted. No more than five seconds in anyone's possession. Red shirts swarmed, white shirts countered.

Nathan chased shadows for a heartbeat, then switched—tracking Salah, marking Mount, then drifting wide to cover Arnold. His lungs burned already, but there was no room for rest.

No room for anything.

Minute 47 –

Salah received wide right. Again.

Luke Shaw tried to stand tall.

"Shaw's been targeted all night," muttered the commentator. "And Salah isn't done yet."

Tap. Step. Tap.

Salah feinted left—cut right. A snap of acceleration, then space. He unleashed a shot from the edge of the box—

WHIP—BOOM!!

The ball bent like a missile, screaming toward the top corner.

Onana flew.

Thwack!!

Fingertips. Just enough.

The ball clipped over and out for a corner.

"AAAAHHHH!!"

The stadium shook with the eruption. Chants turned to roars. Fists pounded on seats. Shirts waved like flags.

Onana rolled to his feet and pointed at Salah. "Next time, I'm catching that!"

Nathan sprinted in, bumping fists with him.

"You're a lunatic," he muttered.

Onana winked. "And you're slow getting back. Move your ass."

Nathan smirked.

Minute 51 –

Corner taken short—Arnold to Salah again.

CRACK!

Another shot—this one lower, faster.

Varane slid across. Thud!

Chest block!

He collapsed, grimacing.

Nathan winced, jogging toward him. "Cap, you good?"

Varane panted, face twisted in pain. "Been worse."

He stood. The Anfield crowd gave him a reluctant round of applause.

Nathan turned. "Back in shape!"

Minute 63 –

Liverpool pressed. Hard.

United couldn't breathe.

Back line squeezed. Shaw and Wan-Bissaka tucked in. Valverde dropped deep. Even Foden was tracking back, pressing Mount like a rabid terrier.

Nathan? He was halfway between defending and countering—his lungs aching.

The ball came again. Salah—like a phantom. A touch, a shimmy, a flick—then a rocket off his left boot!

THUD—!!

Onana dropped his weight and kicked his leg out—

CRACK!

Saved with the foot!

The ball rebounded wide—straight to Mount.

"Watch left!" someone screamed.

Luis Díaz stormed down the wing—fast. Too fast.

Wan-Bissaka chased—but Díaz skipped past him.

Bruno tried to intercept—Díaz danced around him too.

Nathan felt his pulse jump.

Díaz neared the box.

But—

CRUNCH!

Varane slid in from nowhere—long legs, perfect angle.

The ball snapped free. A clean tackle. An old-school one.

Onana barked behind them.

"Come on! We're not giving up now!!"

Minute 67 –

The counter started.

Foden → Bruno.

Bruno → Nathan.

Nathan's boots hit the ground like they were chasing time.

He streaked down the flank, white shirt flying, hair slicked back with sweat, eyes fixed ahead.

Arnold closed in.

Nathan dipped his shoulder.

Then—Croqueta.

Slip—Slide!

Arnold flew past, caught nothing but turf and shame.

"Wooooah!!!"

Even the home fans let out a gasp.

Nathan didn't look back. Cut inside.

Zirkzee in the box—he tapped it early.

Zirkzee stepped forward, struck—

Vrrrrr!

The ball skimmed the grass, inches wide of the post!

Alisson roared in frustration. He turned to his defenders, arms out.

"Close him down! What are you doing?!"

Nathan exhaled, hands on knees.

"Should've squared it again," he muttered, but Zirkzee just nodded once.

"No," he said. "That one's on me."

Then the game resumed.

Minute 70 –

Liverpool came again.

Luis Díaz.

He flew past Wan-Bissaka, sliced inside.

Bruno met him—Díaz skipped through.

He neared the box.

Nathan's breath caught.

But then—

SLAM!

Varane again.

Sliding tackle. Pinpoint.

Clack—!

The ball was his.

He rose, covered in sweat and grass.

"Go. Counter!!!!!."

Snap! Bruno scooped it forward.

Nathan was already sprinting.

Nathan cut inside again—left foot, then right, gliding forward with Vini's rhythm in his stride.

The crowd rose.

Two defenders closed in.

Nathan shifted left, spun—Fwip!—then flicked it through to Valverde on the run.

"Hit it!"

He didn't need to be told.

BOOM—!!

Valverde's shot screamed toward the goal.

"HAAAHHH—!!"

Alisson launched himself, arms fully outstretched—

GRAB!

He caught it. Just barely.

"WHAT A SAVE!!"

Again.

Again, and again.

Alisson, Varane, Salah, Onana—titans crashing against each other with nothing but seconds and breath between them.

Minute 74

Anfield was a cauldron of red fire and breathless noise.

Liverpool kept coming.

Alexander-Arnold found Salah in the box with a slicing pass between the lines.

Thud!

Salah twisted on the spot and pulled the trigger with venom—

CRACK!!

The ball slammed against Lisandro Martínez's ribs and ricocheted skyward. The Argentine grunted, staggered, but stayed up.

Nathan flinched from the edge of the box—That had force behind it.

Before anyone else could react, Onana—charging into chaos—roared forward, fists raised.

WHUMP!

He punched the ball clear in the air—then caught it on the drop while colliding with Núñez.

"OOOOHHHH!!"

Applause rippled through even the rival stands.

Minute 75

From that chaos came clarity.

United's counter was born.

Nathan received the outlet pass from Valverde near the halfway line.

He slowed. Just slightly.

His eyes scanned the horizon—Van Dijk was high, too confident.

There. That channel. That sliver of space.

Nathan shaped his left foot—

Fwip—!

A dagger of a through ball sliced past the entire Liverpool backline.

One-on-one!

"Finish it!!" Nathan shouted—

CRACK—!!

But Alisson flew. One hand. Strong palm.

BAM!!

Saved!

Nathan clenched his jaw. "Tch…"

Minute 85

United had tasted the edge. Now they hunted it.

Bruno's lobbed pass arced into the box.

Nathan met it with a ghosting run—touch, shift right, shift left.

Trent slid in.

Too late.

Nathan snapped his shot—

BOOOOM—!!

The net shook.

"GOOOAAAL!!!"

Nathan sprinted toward the crowd, arms wide, face alight with fire—

But—

Wheeeooo!!

The whistle.

No…

The referee tapped his earpiece.

"GOAL UNDER REVIEW"

Everything froze.

Stadium. Players. Even the clouds above seemed to pause.

Nathan stood still, chest rising and falling. Heart pounding in his ears louder than the Anfield chants.

The screen blinked once.

Twice.

Then came the verdict.

"VAR – OFFSIDE"

"NO GOAL."

A cacophony followed—cheers, groan, clapping.

Nathan turned, jaw locked tight. The replay showed him a half-step ahead.

Bruno approached, clapped a hand on his back.

"It's not over yet," he said softly. "Stay sharp."

Nathan nodded, expression tight. "I know."

Minute 88

The Reds attacked again.

Darwin Núñez flew down the left wing, legs pumping, head up.

Step-over. Shift left. Shift right.

Shaw stayed patient—then lunged in at the perfect moment.

Swipe!

Ball won.

But the moment didn't die.

Bruno was already on it—he snatched the ball off the ground, lifted his head—

He saw Zirkzee making a blindside run between Van Dijk and Konaté.

Bruno didn't think. He just believed.

Thump—!!

A gorgeous aerial pass flew over the defense like a falling star.

Zirkzee leapt, tried to control—

Tap—tap—!

But it bounced awkwardly off his thigh!

Alisson was already out—arms wide.

The ball rolled loose… toward the byline.

A collective breath held.

Nathan turned.

Saw it.

And ran.

Not as a winger.

As a man chasing destiny.

Time slowed.

He pumped his legs like pistons, each stride tearing into the grass.

Arnold chased too—but Nathan flew.

The edge neared. The ball was almost out.

"No. Not yet. NOT YET—!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He reached out with one boot—

Tap!

Just before it crossed the line.

He saved it.

The crowd gasped.

A pause.

Then—

With the softest of touches, he curled his foot beneath the ball and lifted a beautiful, floating cross into the air.

It hung.

Inches from perfection.

Zirkzee was there.

Eyes on the ball. Mouth open.