The Football Legends System

The cross Nathan lifted spun.

Time didn't just slow. Each heartbeat stretched out like thunder.

Zirkzee was there.

Eyes wide, locked on the ball. Arms pumping for height. Knees bent.

Boom!!He leapt—high. Soaring. Floating. For a moment, he wasn't bound to the pitch.

Just before the ball dipped, he met it—forehead.

CRACK—!!

The sound of contact echoed over the pitch.

Then—

Fwuuump—!!

The net rippled like it had been struck by a lightning bolt.

GOOOOOAAAAAAL—!!

Anfield was on fire.

Half roared. Half gasped.

The away section? A wave of red and black exploded in a frenzy.

Nathan sprinted away from the corner flag, fists clenched, face wild with disbelief.

Zirkzee dropped to his knees, arms raised to the sky, eyes glassy.

Bruno leapt on his back. Valverde was shouting something in Spanish.

Even Amorim—usually cold—stormed five steps onto the pitch, face red, fists pumping, screaming:

"YES! YESSSS!!"

On the other end of the field, Alisson sat on the grass, staring at nothing. His gloves hung limp at his sides. No protests.

Just defeat.

Nathan collapsed beside Zirkzee, laughing through ragged breaths.

"I can't… believe that just worked…"

Zirkzee turned to him, dazed.

"You delivered it like it was gift-wrapped."

Minute 90 +1

Five minutes added.

That's all.

Five minutes to protect everything.

Amorim barked orders from the sideline, flapping his arms.

"Drop! Everyone back! Hold the line!"

United compressed like a coiled spring. Two banks. Solid.

Liverpool threw everything.

Salah, still relentless, darted into space on the right.

Swish—Swish—He danced around Shaw and whipped in a cross—

THUMP!Varane rose, cleared it with his head.

Minute 90 +3

Robertson received the loose ball. No hesitation.

BOOM!!

A rocket from 30 yards—

The ball soared.

Everyone watched.

WHOOOOOSH—

Over the bar. Into the stands.

A groan of anguish from the Kop.

Minute 90 +4

Nathan felt his legs turning to stone.

He dropped deeper and deeper, lungs burning, sweat pouring from his forehead.

He glanced at the scoreboard.

94:12

Every second was an eternity.

"Can we… can we just end it already?"

Nathan didn't answer. Just nodded.

He was too tired to speak. His pulse thundered like a war drum. But he couldn't stop watching.

Couldn't stop listening.

One more minute.

Minute 90 +5

Last attack.

Salah again.

Always Salah.

He sprinted toward the box, pushing forward.

Lisandro stepped out, teeth gritted. Shaw tracked him tightly.

Nathan was there too, just behind, arms pumping.

"Don't let him shoot!" Onana screamed from his line.

Tap—tap—cut inside—Salah shoots!

Thud!!Blocked!

Lisandro threw his body in again. Took it right in the ribs.

"AAARGH—!"

He stayed on his feet.

Cleared the ball.

It rolled away… out of the box… out of danger.

WHISTLE!!

The blast cut through the night air.

Full Time.

Anfield froze.

Then came the eruption.

The United bench emptied.

Coaches, subs, staff—they flooded the pitch.

Onana sprinted toward the center circle, fists in the air.

Shaw dropped to his knees.

Varane turned, grabbed Nathan, and pulled him into a hug.

Not loud sobs. Just tears flowing, eyes shut, arms in the air.

Amorim shouted to no one, pointing at the crest on his chest, overwhelmed.

And Nathan?

Nathan dropped straight to the grass. Not in celebration. Just… empty.

Drained.

He lay back, staring at the lights above. Listening to the songs of the away fans.

"You alright?" a voice asked.

He opened one eye. Bruno hovered above him, grinning like a lunatic.

"We did it, Nathan! We did it!"

Nathan tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze.

Valverde appeared, shirt half off, hair wild.

"Man, that last pass? That cross?!" He mimed the curve of the ball. "How did you even reach it, huh?! Were you flying?!"

Nathan blinked, then shook his head, smiling softly.

"I don't know..."

He pushed himself to sit upright.

"I just knew I wasn't letting us get knocked out over one point. Not again."

Bruno clapped him on the back.

"You didn't just keep us in. You lifted us through."

Nathan looked around.

Lisandro was limping, but smiling. Onana was hugging De Gea. Even Zirkzee looked like he'd just realized the weight of his goal.

The fans were singing.

Some crying.

Some screaming.

And for the first time in months…

No doubts.

No second-guessing.

Just this feeling.

This.

Nathan closed his eyes for a moment.

Let the noise wash over him.

Let the sweat dry. Let the pain simmer down.

Then he stood up, chest rising.

One more mountain climbed.

---------

The locker room was chaos.

Water bottles flying.

Towels whipping through the air.

Bass thumping through the speaker like a heartbeat that wouldn't slow down.

Someone had taken control of the music—probably Valverde—and the entire team was yelling the chorus of some Spanish victory anthem at the top of their lungs.

"¡CAMPEOOOOONES! ¡CAMPEOOOOONES!"

THUD!

Shaw jumped onto the bench, slipped, fell backward—"AARGH!"—but laughed all the way down. Zirkzee was in a corner, grinning ear to ear as he got drenched by a wave of water from a popped bottle.

And in the middle of it all, Nathan stood with his shirt half-off, breathing in the madness.

The kind of madness only victory brings.

The Champions League spot was theirs.

The room roared as shaw grabbed a full water bottle and flung it into the ceiling—SPLASH!!

"HEEEEEEY!!" Onana shouted. "Now I gotta wash my hair again, you idiot!"

"You don't even have hair!" laughed Martinez.

BANG—!!

The locker room door swung open.

Amorim stepped in, still in his manager's suit, soaked with post-match rain and celebration spray.

He raised one hand.

"Stop everything."

Instant silence.

The music cut. Valverde froze mid-pose. Shaw stopped groaning. Even Bruno held his breath.

Amorim's eyes scanned the room.

And then—

"YOU'RE REAL CHAMPIONS!!" he roared, voice like thunder. "AND THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING!"

"YAAAAAHHHH!!"

The room exploded.

Players jumped. Fists flew into the air. Onana slammed a locker door closed just for the sound effect.

Nathan grinned as shaw grabbed him in a hug so tight he nearly coughed.

"Unbelievable!" shaw shouted over the noise. "You were insane today! That sprint at the end? What the hell, mate?!"

Onana appeared next to them, water dripping from his chin, laughing with wild eyes. "I was terrified, man! I thought Salah was gonna do it—but when I saw you sprinting like that? Pfff. Game over."

Nathan just smiled, breath still short.

He looked around the room—the faces, the noise, the sweat, the joy—and let it all soak in like sunlight after a storm.

And then—

DING.

A soft chime echoed in his mind. A ripple of light flickered behind his eyes.

[Legendary Bonus Activated – +120 Legendary Points]

[New Record: Most Distance Covered in One Match – 13.8 km]

Tch...

Nathan blinked slowly. A faint grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

He didn't need the system to tell him tonight had been different.

He felt it in his legs.

Later, on the bus...

Most of the players were asleep.

Even shaw, who never shut up, was slumped against the window, mouth open slightly. Valverde was listening to music, eyes closed, head gently bobbing.

Zirkzee was snoring.

Nathan sat in the middle, headphones resting around his neck, but no music playing. Just the hum of the road beneath them and the occasional murmur from the driver's radio.

His forehead leaned gently against the glass.

Outside, the world passed by like a dream.

Streetlights drifted past in golden streaks. Puddles shimmered. The rain had stopped, but the night still carried its chill.

And somewhere in the blur of buildings and silence, his mind drifted to her.

Lauren.

He hadn't seen her in person since their fight two weeks ago. Not really. Not without tension weighing down the air.

He reached into his pocket, thumb hovering over her name on the screen.

For a moment, he hesitated.

Then he typed.

"I'm back… If you're free, can we meet?"

The reply didn't take long.

"I'm home."

An hour later...

The cab rolled to a stop outside her building.

Nathan paid, stepped out, and stood for a moment under the glow of the streetlamp. The sky was charcoal grey. The breeze soft. The city quiet, like it, too, was taking a breath.

He walked up to the door.

Before he could knock, it opened.

Lauren stood there, barefoot, sweater draped over her shoulders. Her hair was loose.

But she smiled.

And in that smile, there was something fragile and beautiful.

"I knew you'd do it," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "But I didn't know you'd make me cry like that in the last minute."

Nathan laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Even I was about to cry… but I figured I'd let you take care of that."

She laughed too—just a little—and stepped aside.

"Come in."

The warmth of the apartment hit him like a blanket.

Soft lights. Familiar scent. Her favorite record playing quietly in the background.

She sat on the couch, curling her legs beneath her.

He slipped off his jacket, set it down, and joined her.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Just silence.

Just… calm.

Like the world had stopped spinning for a while.

She turned to him slowly.

"You really are different, Nathan. Not just a talented player…" Her voice wavered slightly. "But someone who never gives up."

His eyes didn't leave hers.

"And I won't give up on you either," he whispered.

A breath passed between them.

She reached for his hand.

Fingers interlaced.

Outside, the wind brushed gently against the windows.

Inside, something steadier grew—slowly, quietly. Like the seed of something that didn't need cheering crowds or final whistles.

Nathan leaned his head back, the adrenaline finally ebbing from his veins.