The Football Legends System

17th Minute

The game refused to slow.

A midfield war broke out. Shoulder clashes. Sliding tackles.The referee let them play.

Jude was relentless—every duel, every second ball.

Bruno snapped passes.Saka danced in bursts.

Nathan?

He was starting to feel it.

Every run was sharper. Every read quicker.

He didn't just move into space.

Falcao's instinct.It wasn't just physical.

He could see the rhythm before it happened.The tiny moment when a defender's feet weren't set. The half-second delay in a teammate's wind-up.

19th Minute

Thud!

De Paul's touch was heavy—just for a second.A mistake. A blink.

Bruno pounced

"Gotcha."

One sharp touch, then a sizzling pass forward.

Nathan was already moving.

Romero closed in.

Too late.

Fwoosh!

Nathan's burst left him in the dust, cleats slashing through the turf. The goal opened up in front of him—wide, begging, golden.

Twenty-five yards out.He didn't hesitate.

BOOM!!

A thunderous strike, full-body whip, clean as a sniper shot.

The ball tore through the air.

CRACK!!!

Off the crossbar!

"AAAHH!!"

It slammed down, bounced on the goal line—and spun out!

But Foden was there!

Crack!

He hammered the rebound toward goal—but—

Thump!

Blocked at the last moment! Tagliafico threw his body like a grenade.

The crowd exploded in applause.

Nathan stood frozen, hands on his head.

"So close…"

His pulse thundered in his ears, sweat already clinging to his skin.

"…but it's just the beginning."

He looked across the field.

Messi hadn't moved much. Just jogged lightly over to De Paul, ruffled his hair like an older brother, and gave him a small nod.

Steady.

Nathan narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not letting this slip away," he whispered."World Cup… this is my day."

22nd Minute

Argentina restarted quickly. No time to sulk.

De Paul collected it in midfield, scanning, scanning—then zipped it forward to Di María hugging the sideline.

A flick.

Di María backheeled it without looking.

Tap!.

Straight into Messi's path.

"LEOOOOOOOO!!"

The stadium trembled.

Nathan turned.

Messi was already weaving.

Right!.Left!!.Shimmy!!!Slide!!!!

Too slow!!!!!

Messi stepped through him like mist.

Boom!

A sudden left-footed whip—before anyone was ready.

The net snapped.Top right corner.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAL!!!

Argentina 1 – England 0.

The roar was deafening.Blue and white flags flooded the air.The cameras caught Messi mid-turn, barely celebrating—just raising a single finger to the sky.

The replay rolled. Then again.And again.

Commentators screamed.

"How?! HOW?! You give him one step and he paints a masterpiece!"

Nathan stood near the center circle, watching the replay on the big screen, arms hanging by his sides.

He smiled.

Of course.

"I knew… he'd pull something like that."

The standard. The shadow. The king.

He felt something stir inside him.

Not fear.

Not pressure.

Something hotter.

A kind of defiant joy.

So this… this is what I came for.

30th Minute

It wasn't spoken.

But it was felt.

Every England player suddenly moved like they had a point to prove.

Declan Rice snapped into tackles.

Bellingham surged forward like a wave crashing into the shore.

Luke Shaw received it, and without hesitation, switched it across the pitch to Kyle Walker.

Whip!

Walker took a touch, then sent it to Foden—who killed the ball dead.

Nathan moved in front, ready for a one-two.

But… no pass came.

Foden passed it backward.

Nathan raised an eyebrow.

"What is this? Everyone's passing, no one's attacking?"

He dropped deeper, annoyed, caught the return pass and gave it right back to Foden.

The game slowed for a breath.

Nathan sighed. "I'm bored."

He turned to reposition—when suddenly—

BOOM!

Foden shot. From halfway.

The entire stadium froze.

The ball soared.

Everyone tracked it—like a missile hanging in the sky.

The Argentine keeper, Emiliano Martínez, backpedaled… calm.

Caught it easily.

Pfffft—

Then laughter.Rolling, roaring, from the Argentina fans.

"Hahahahahahahahahaha!!"

Even some England fans had to chuckle.

The camera panned to Messi.

He smiled faintly. Barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Nathan jogged back toward midfield.

He caught up with Foden, who was grinning like a schoolkid caught cheating on a test.

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

"What? You said you were bored," Foden shrugged. "Thought I'd wake you up."

"You nearly woke up the memes department."

"Oi," Foden pointed, "that ball had a dream, alright? Shame it wasn't to score."

Nathan laughed quietly and shook his head.

But inside, he felt it—something shifting.

35th Minute

Bam!

Julián Álvarez snatched the ball at the edge of the final third—tight control, hips loose, legs pumping. He surged past Declan Rice with a sharp touch and skipped around Stones with a shimmy.

Boom!

He fired from the edge of the box!

But—Crack!

Varane came sliding in like a falling axe, cleats skimming the turf. The ball ricocheted wildly off his shin and spun away.

"GO GO GO!!" Jude roared, already turning.

Whoosh—

The counter ignited.

Jude picked up the loose ball and launched a long diagonal over the halfway line.

Nathan didn't even turn—he knew the run was coming. But it wasn't for him.

Zirkzee.

The tall Dutch-born forward sprinted like a freight train, shrugged off his marker with one shoulder, and took the ball in stride.

BOOM!!!

A cannon of a shot—clean, rising, full of violence.

CLANG!!

Off the bar!

The whole stadium jumped as one.

"AAAHHHHH!!"

Hands on heads, fists in the air.

The ball bounced out wildly—and before anyone could breathe—

Thump!

Argentina snatched it back.

Enzo Fernández, calm as an orchestra conductor, swept it wide to Di María. He didn't hesitate—one touch, then whipped in a fast, dipping cross.

And there he was.

Messi.

Late run. Nobody marked him.

He leapt.

THUMP!

A clean header—toward the corner!

But—

OOOOOOOOOONANAAAAAA!!!

The commentator screamed as the keeper flew full-stretch, gloves out, fingertips barely nudging the ball wide.

"No one's resting, no one's breathing!"

40th Minute

Time lost all meaning.

The match turned into a living, breathing creature—chaotic but beautiful. A kind of madness, where every second felt like a risk and every touch could be the spark.

Di María tried to switch sides with a lofted ball—but Kyle Walker was already moving, already reading it.

Tap!

He intercepted it clean and accelerated down the wing.

Like a charging bull, he tore down the right sideline, fans roaring with every step.

He spotted Nathan near the top of the box and zipped it in.

Nathan let it come across his body—Romero lunged in—but Nathan dropped his shoulder and slid past him.

"Come on…!"

Tch!

Nathan whipped in a fast low cross to Bruno, who came crashing in at the top of the box.

Boom!

Bruno struck it first time—

THUD!

Saved again! Martínez dropped like a hammer, catching it on his chest, rolling quickly to his feet.

"Again?!" Nathan muttered under his breath, chest heaving. "That guy's a wall…"

Martínez punted it long. De Paul won the second ball.

Argentina reset.

Enzo again.

A little glance to Messi.

No one spoke. They all felt it.

LEOOOOOOOO!!

He stepped forward with that soft gait—almost trotting. The ball never left his side.

One touch to the right.

A flick to the left.

He rolled into space and unleashed a right-footed shot—rare, slicing.

Fwoosh…!

It curled past Varane's knee and seemed destined for the far post—

But missed by this much.

The commentator yelled:

"Every time Messi touches the ball, you feel like destiny shifts."

44th Minute

The crowd was in chaos. Banners waved like storm flags. The noise was pure electricity.

"ARGENTINA! ARGENTINA!"

"ENGLAND! ENGLAND!"

Both sides screamed their lungs out.

Nathan could barely hear himself breathe.

Then—Bruno found him.

A sharp through pass. Slotted right between Enzo and Otamendi.

Nathan dashed in, entering the penalty box like a flash of silver lightning.

One touch forward, second touch wide.

But Romero came barreling in—CRASH!!

A tackle, sending the ball ricocheting sideways!

Nathan stumbled but didn't fall.

The ball spun loose—

"JUDE!!"

Bellingham was there!

Crack!

He hit it hard and low—deflected!

Corner kick.

Nathan gritted his teeth, fists clenched.

"Damn!…"

The referee signaled. Last play of the half.

45+1st Minute

One more chance.

Bruno jogged to the corner flag, sweat trailing down his temples, chest rising and falling.

Nathan took position, weaving through the crowd of bodies in the box. Varane raised a hand.

Bruno took a deep breath.

Whip!!

A perfect corner—high, spinning, curling toward the far post.

Varane leapt.

THUMP!!

His forehead smacked the ball clean!

But it veered just wide.

Gasps.

Martínez didn't move—he knew it wasn't going in.

WHISTLE!!

Pheeeeeeeeeeeep!

Halftime.

Argentina 1 – England 0.

Players slumped where they stood. Some dropped to their knees, others just walked slowly, mouths open, breathing heavy.

The stadium buzzed.

The commentator's voice echoed through the airwaves:

"A half of pure madness in every sense of the word! Leo Messi leaves his mark, but England… they're never out of it."

In the tunnel…

Nathan leaned against the wall, head down, shirt sticking to his back. His breathing slowed.

Foden walked past, bumped his shoulder.

"You good?"

Nathan didn't answer immediately.

He stared at his boots. Then up at the ceiling.

Then he looked down the tunnel again—toward the pitch. Toward the noise.

"…It's not enough to be good anymore," he murmured.

Foden raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Nathan's eyes flickered.

"There's too many legends on that field. Too many people who've already written their story."

He stood up straight. "I've got to write mine."

Foden gave a crooked grin. "Dramatic. I like it."

Then his face hardened again.

Far behind them, the cameras zoomed in on Messi.