The Football Legends System-Chapter 42: MAN UNITED VS CHELSEA

Chapter 42 - MAN UNITED VS CHELSEA

—

The training pitch shimmered under the Manchester sun—a rare gift.

Sweat dripped down Nathan’s neck as he finished his last set of passing drills. The air was sharp with the scent of fresh grass, cleats scraping turf, the pop of boots meeting the ball. The rhythm of it all felt like music.

But today, Nathan’s mind wasn’t on drills or conditioning.

His thoughts were in Europe.

"Group F," Amorim had said, holding up the slip of paper earlier that morning.

AC Milan.

PSV.

Red Star Belgrade.

Champions League.

Nathan had swallowed hard when the names flashed across the screen. San Siro. Philips Stadion. Rajko Mitić Stadium.

He’d watched those places on TV as a kid, knees hugged to his chest, wide-eyed as legends played under the lights.

Now, he would walk into them.

He turned toward Bruno, who was tugging off his bib after the session.

"I’ve always dreamed of the Champions League," Nathan said quietly.

Bruno gave him a crooked smile, sweat lining his jaw. "You’re here now. Time to write your story..."

—

But there would be no fairy tale debut—not yet.

Amorim had rested him for the upcoming domestic cup match, something about "preserving spark" and "long season ahead."

Nathan had nodded, trying to hide the frustration clawing up his throat. He knew it was smart, but his legs itched to play.

So instead, he trained.

Harder than usual.

Because just around the corner... was Chelsea.

—

Two days later, the squad huddled in the tactical room. Lights dimmed. Projector humming.

Footage of Chelsea’s midfield trio flickered on the screen—Enzo Fernández, Caicedo, and Mason Mount.

Fluid. Aggressive. Relentless.

Amorim stood beside the board, arms crossed.

"This," he said, pointing at the screen, "isn’t just three points."

His voice dropped.

"This... is a statement. To all of England. If you want to challenge for the crown, this is the gate you have to break down."

The room fell quiet.

Valverde nudged Nathan on the bench.

"Ready for Chelsea’s stars?"

Nathan tilted his head slightly. Calm. Focused.

"I’m here to face the best."

—

Matchday – Stamford Bridge

The London night glowed under floodlights. The pitch was slick, almost glassy. Fans filed in with scarves and chants and half-spilled beers.

In the away locker room, the final preparations began—boots laced, shirts pulled over heads, nerves stretched tight beneath the surface.

Nathan sat in his spot, tying his laces. As his fingers tightened the knot, a soft chime pulsed from his smartwatch.

[New Skill Acquired: Robinho’s Dribbling – The Street Dancer]

Nathan stared for a second... then laughed under his breath.

"Oh, Robinho? Time to dance tonight."

—

Stamford Bridge pulsed like a living thing.

The blue seats of Chelsea’s fortress were drenched in light, wrapped in a thick, electric fog of noise—singing, jeering, stomping. Every sound echoed with expectation. From the upper stands to the dugout, there was no silence, only waves of anticipation crashing louder with each passing second.

Kick-off.

—

8’ Minute

Tch! Tch! Thump!

The ball kissed the turf beneath Nathan’s studs. Reece James stepped forward—muscles coiled, arms out, ready to contain. Behind him, Levi Colwill lurked, anticipating a cut inside.

Nathan didn’t hesitate.

One touch forward. A fake to the right. Then—snap!—a reverse elastico left James off balance.

"OI—!"

Before Colwill could react, Nathan chopped the ball forward again, rolling his foot over it with a fluid grace that looked almost disrespectful.

Sha!

The space opened, and he burst through it, tearing down the flank like music personified.

The crowd exploded.

"WHOOOOAAAAA—!"

Even the Chelsea fans couldn’t help the buzz that followed. The Stamford Bridge faithful knew what they’d just seen. It wasn’t just a winger beating his man.

It was a performance.

—

14’ Minute

But brilliance has a cost.

Valverde’s pass infield was picked off—Mount’s toe poked it forward.

"GO, GO, GO!"

Caicedo swept it into space.

Nathan turned, chasing shadows now.

Enzo one-touch to James.

James—whip!

The ball arced like a scythe.

Eddie Nketiah timed his run perfectly, slipping past Varane—

BOOM!

Header. Net ripples.

1–0, Chelsea.

The home end detonated in celebration.

Nathan stood at the halfway line, chest rising, jaw clenched.

—

21’ Minute

Ball to Nathan. Left wing again. This time, Gusto marked him tightly.

A deep breath.

Then—

Clack!

A flick behind the heel, a quick spin, shoulder drop—gone.

The ball clung to his feet like silk as he glided past the edge of the box.

Two defenders crashed toward him.

Valverde surged into the channel.

Nathan didn’t look.

He just knew.

A no-look pass, perfectly curved—

Thud!

Valverde’s strike was a cannonball across goal—

GOAL!!

1–1!

"WHAT A RUN! WHAT A BALL!"

Nathan didn’t even celebrate. He jogged back slowly, eyes on the ball being retrieved from the net.

He was in the zone now.

—

32’ Minute – The Reminder

Chelsea struck back.

Quick passes. Blue shirts swarming like sharks.

Mount again—dropped it to Enzo Fernández.

One touch. Another.

Then from thirty yards—

BOOOOM!

Top corner.

2–1.

A worldie.

No shame in that.

Just pain.

Nathan wiped the sweat off his brow, nodded again.

"Alright, Enzo..."

He cracked his knuckles.

"Let’s go for a dance."

—

40’ Minute

Middle of the pitch now. Ball under his spell.

Fernández and Caicedo closed in.

Nathan dropped a shoulder. Stepped over once. Twice.

The midfield shuddered.

Suddenly—he was through.

A glide past Enzo. A shift past Mount.

Gusto again—too late.

Tch-tch!

He let the ball roll across his body, wound up—

BANG!!

From twenty-five yards.

Boom!

Net snapped.

2–2!

Silence, for a split second.

Then pandemonium.

"OH MY WORD!A WONDER GOAL AT STAMFORD BRIDGE!!"

Nathan sprinted to the corner flag, fists clenched, eyes blazing. His teammates swarmed him.

Zirkzee shook his head in disbelief.

"You’re ridiculous, man. That’s illegal."

Valverde just laughed, pulling him into a hug.

"You’re not dancing anymore—you’re flying."

—

Halftime – 2–2

The screens in the stadium ran his highlights.

That elastico. That wonder goal. That no-look assist.

Fans tweeted in all caps. Pundits whispered on-air. Scouts scribbled frantically.

But Nathan?

He sat in the tunnel, head down, breathing deep.

No smile.

Not yet.

The job wasn’t finished.

—

Second Half Begins ƒreewebɳovel.com

Chelsea kicked off.

—

51’ Minute

A brilliant switch from Mount to Reece James.

One touch, and the Chelsea captain whipped in a laser-guided cross.

Varane missed it by inches.

Thud!

Nketiah again.

3–2.

The Bridge sang.

United’s bench groaned.

But Nathan only turned his head to the sideline.

Eyes locked with Amorim.

The gaffer didn’t blink.

Didn’t yell.

Just gave a calm nod.

"Go again."

—

65’ Minute

Valverde stripped Caicedo.

Quick pass. Nathan—Zirkzee—Bruno!

Inside the box!

CRACK!

Off the post!

"AAAHHHH!"

Nathan hissed through his teeth, grabbing his head.

So close.

Too close.

But even as the crowd gasped, his body didn’t slow.

His lungs burned. His shirt clung to his back. His calves screamed.