The Football Legends System-Chapter 44: AC MILAN VS MAN UNITED
Chapter 44: AC MILAN VS MAN UNITED
Chapter 44 – AC MILAN VS MAN UNITED
—
San Siro – 63rd Minute
The crowd was still chanting, red flares still faint in the corners, but something had shifted.
Milan looked..... Dangerous.
But United? United had fire again.
Nathan felt it in his bones.
Valverde picked the ball from deep and fed it to Bruno, who turned and threaded a quick pass. Nathan was already moving, catching the ball on the half-turn with his left and bursting past Kalulu. Tup-tup! Tap!
Zirkzee peeled off the defender at the edge of the box.
Nathan didn’t hesitate.
Slip!
A perfectly weighted ball into space.
Zirkzee struck hard—BOOM!
Saved! Maignan threw out a leg, stopping it cold.
But the rebound popped out—straight to Nathan.
Tch! No angle to shoot. But Mount was free near the right flank.
Nathan laid it off quickly. "Mason!"
Mount didn’t even take a touch.
He swung his foot—Whip!
The ball curled in, quick .
Valverde timed it.
CRACK!!
Header. Far post. GOAL!!
3 – 2!!
Suddenly, it wasn’t over.
The away end erupted. Chants of "UNITED! UNITED!" echoed even over the drums of the Curva Sud.
Valverde punched the air, red-faced and panting. "Vamos!!"
Nathan jogged back, adrenaline pounding in his veins.
A goal behind. Momentum theirs. Just enough time.
He glanced toward Bruno, who nodded. Toward Amorim, who was screaming instructions from the sideline like a man possessed.
And then he looked across at Milan.
They didn’t look rattled.
They looked... like they were waiting.
—
72nd Minute
They struck again.
Theo Hernandez bombed down the left like a charging stallion, Dalot chasing but falling a step behind. Theo lifted his head and delivered a sharp cross into the box.
Thump!
Leão.
Touch like silk. The ball glued to his boot.
He twisted once—shook Varane.
Twice—cut past Mount.
Nathan was racing back—but too far.
Then—BOOM!!
Top corner.
GOAL.
4 – 2.
The San Siro shook again.
Nathan stood near the halfway line, panting, blinking sweat from his eyes.
Valverde dropped to his knees. "Dios..."
But Nathan?
He turned, slapped his hands together.
"There’s still time! Let’s gooo!"
He sprinted back toward the center circle, demanding the ball from the restart.
No time for sulking.
Not here.
—
78th Minute
And Nathan became a blur.
Right wing. Left wing. Through the middle.
He was everywhere—relentless.
Stepovers, feints, cuts inside.
Tup-tup!Whoosh!
He split Milan’s lines more than once. They couldn’t trap him. Couldn’t predict him.
He’d play a pass, then appear two passes later, demanding it back.
Valverde shouted at one point, laughing in disbelief. "What is this?! You’re not human!"
—
84th Minute
Nathan cut in from the left wing, dragging two defenders with him.
He waited.
Bruno ran across the top of the box—Nathan fed him a short ball.
Tap!
A backheel.
Whip!
Bruno returned it instantly.
The pass curved around the defender’s foot like a ribbon.
Nathan didn’t wait.
BOOM!!
One touch.
Like Benzema.
Precise. Calm. Clinical.
But—CLANK!!
The post.
"AAAGH—!" Nathan exhaled, stumbling forward, watching the ball spin away, cruel and heartless.
So close.
So damn close.
He looked up.
Bruno, hands on hips.
Valverde cursing in Spanish.
Mount burying his face in his jersey.
The goal had begged for it.
But not tonight.
Not yet.
—
89th Minute
One last roll of the dice.
Valverde, from deep, saw the run and delivered a long diagonal pass.
A spear through Milan’s defense.
Nathan took off.
Haaah!!
Legs burning. Lungs screaming.
He beat Kalulu by half a second and reached it first.
Then—CRACK!
He was clipped—shoulder to shoulder, knee to thigh—just on the edge of the box.
He fell hard.
Grass scraped his forearm.
The whistle didn’t come.
Silence.
Then the commentator’s voice:
"Clear foul claim... but the referee waves play on."
Nathan turned, stunned.
Arms out. "What?!"
Nothing.
Play continued.
The final whistle blew just seconds later.
Full-time: Milan 4 – 2 Manchester United
—
He lay there for a moment. Breathing.
The match was over.
And he felt it.
The ache in his ribs. The sting of the turf. The sour taste of near-misses and unfinished moments. freewebnσvel.cѳm
He sat up slowly.
Cameras zoomed in.
His face was calm. Too calm. But the disappointment clung to him like sweat.
"I scored... but we lost," he murmured to himself.
————————
————————
Manchester – The Morning After
The rain hadn’t stopped.
Thin trails of water ran down the café windows like tears too tired to fall properly. The world beyond the glass was grey and half-drowned—just the way Manchester liked it. Inside, the café was warm, dimly lit, and humming quietly with the clink of mugs and the low murmur of conversation.
Nathan Perry sat alone at a table in the back, baseball cap pulled low, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the gloomy weather outside.
He wasn’t hiding. Not really.
But sometimes, you needed a second to just... disappear.
The seat across from him was empty.
So was something inside.
Not just the usual post-match ache. Not the sharp sting of loss or the silent echo of what could’ve been.
It was something else.
He stared into his untouched coffee, watching the steam curl upward like it was trying to escape too.
Tch. He let out a soft breath through his teeth.
What was missing?
He thought it might be the game. But it wasn’t.
It wasn’t the roar of the crowd or the press conferences or the fan chants echoing from the Curva Sud.
It wasn’t even the goal that didn’t come.
It was something smaller. Quieter.
And then...
Click-click-click.
The sound of a laptop keyboard—fast, rhythmic, focused. From the corner of the café.
He looked up.
There she was.
Same hoodie. Same messy bun. Same energy.
Her fingers danced across the keys like a pianist in mid-solo.
She hadn’t noticed him. Not yet.
Nathan watched for a moment, trying to place the feeling in his chest.
Then she looked up.
Their eyes met.
Not long. Just a few seconds.
But it was enough.
She smiled.
And that something missing?
It moved.
—
The Next Day
He came back.
Same café. Same hat. Same sunglasses.
Same seat.
Lauren was there.
Like before.
In the same corner, headphones in, tapping away. She had a habit of biting the inside of her cheek when she concentrated, he noticed. And occasionally, she’d tilt her head like she was listening to someone speak in her mind.
He walked over before he could talk himself out of it.
"Writing something interesting?" he asked, hands in his jacket pockets.
She looked up slowly, pulling off her headphones.
A pause. Then a smile.
"An article about how Manchester United is coming back to life after years of struggle," she said, as if she were daring him to comment.
Nathan chuckled, soft but real. "What if I told you one of those players is sitting right in front of you?"
She didn’t blink.
"I know," she said, her voice low and smooth.
That mischievous smile again.
—
