The Football Legends System-Chapter 47: Matchday – Group Stage, Match 2
Chapter 47: Matchday – Group Stage, Match 2
Chapter 47 – Matchday – Group Stage, Match 2
—
Two Days After the Draw Against Tottenham
The headlines came fast, loud, and relentless.
"Nathan... The Modern Beckham!"
"In the Theatre of Dreams, a New Star Paints in Curves!"
"Set Piece Sorcery: Is Nathan Perry England’s Next Maestro?"
Nathan didn’t read them all.
But he saw the image that went viral—his calm pose after the first free kick, one hand raised, Old Trafford behind him.
Even in a draw, he had lit up the sky.
He sat alone in the locker room after recovery training. The others had already gone.
He stared at the wall, still in his compression gear. His legs burned, but his heart was calm.
A draw.
Not the result he wanted.
But the path was long. And he had only just started writing.
He whispered it to himself, quietly, almost like a promise:
"I’ll write my name into history... even if it starts with a draw."
—
Matchday – Group Stage, Match 2
Manchester United vs PSV
Old Trafford – Night Kick-Off
The wind cut through the air like ice, but the stands were full. Flares and chants from the away fans colored the corner of the stadium red and white. But this was Old Trafford. This was his stage.
Inside the locker room, the tension hummed—quiet, focused. Players went through their routines.
Nathan was already stretching, headphones in, calm.
Ding!
Skill Unlocked: Johan Cruyff Dribbling
He blinked.
Then slowly smiled.
"Tonight, I’ll dance with the ball... just like the master Cruyff used to."
Valverde, lacing his boots nearby, gave him a look. "You say the creepiest things before games, you know that?"
The coach, Amorim, stepped into the center of the room.
"Alright, listen up," he said. His voice was firm, low. "Red Star Belgrade and Milan drew earlier. If we win tonight, we go top of the group. And I want us to finish this stage with strength."
He looked around, meeting every eye.
"Nathan, you’re free to float tonight. I want chaos from your boots."
Nathan nodded once.
—
—
Old Trafford – Kick-Off
The whistle blew—Tweeet!
Before the sound had fully vanished from the air, Manchester United exploded forward.
No waiting. No settling in. This wasn’t a feel-out period.
Nathan drifted into the left half-space, reading the field like a conductor scanning a score. He dropped a shoulder—snap—received Valverde’s pass on the turn.
Two defenders pressed in.
Tch!
Cruyff.
The spin was tight. Fluid. Timed to perfection. He dropped one, then slid between them like he’d walked through a door only he could see.
"Woooooah, Nathan!!"
The crowd erupted.
He didn’t even glance at the stands—just burst forward with the ball glued to his feet, eyes up.
—
12th Minute –
It came from the left.
Luke Shaw overlapped on the run—tap-tap—took it in stride and whipped in a low cross.
Nathan read it early.
He adjusted, slowed his step, let the ball kiss his boot before anyone else could reach it.
One touch—sharp.
The defender closed—too late.
BOOM!!
Low rocket. Near post. No time to react.
GOAL!!!
1–0.
Old Trafford exploded. Fans punched the air. Some just stood in disbelief.
Nathan didn’t sprint off in celebration. He just turned, calm, and pointed to Shaw.
"Class cross," he said with a grin.
—
22nd Minute –
PSV tried to push forwardt.
Onana caught a hopeful cross and threw it out fast.
Bruno. Mount. Then Valverde sprinting through the middle.
Nathan cut inside. Space. Energy. Timing.
Tap! He caught the pass with his heel—backwards.
A backheel assist?
Yes.
Valverde took it in stride and didn’t hesitate.
CRACK!!
GOAL!!!
2–0.
The away fans fell silent.
Valverde wheeled away, roaring. Nathan jogged after him, calm again, the ghost in the storm.
From the touchline, Amorim just nodded.
They were playing his football now.
—
31st Minute –
The ball came to Nathan near the sideline.
He was boxed in—one in front, one behind.
He paused.
The defenders braced.
Cruyff.
Again.
Cruyff.
The other way.
The defender lunged—
Cruyff again.
Three in a row.
The crowd didn’t cheer. They screamed.
"NATHAN!!"
"What is happening!?"
He escaped the triple cage, burst into space, and flicked it to Mount for a shot.
Blocked.
But it didn’t matter.
The theatre had come alive.
—
36th Minute –
PSV were shaken. They chased shadows. And Nathan? He was painting with the ball.
He took it from Bruno, drove into the box. The right-back stepped up.
Nathan slowed, body low.
Then—
A sudden feint.
The defender bit.
Tch!
Gone.
The defender fell.
Dropped by a mover.
Nathan curled the cross with his left—
Zirkzee rose like a tower.
BOOM!!
GOAL!!!
3–0.
Cameras zoomed in.
Nathan stood at the edge of the box, arms slightly raised, sweat glistening.
—
42nd Minute –
The team huddled after a brief stoppage.
Bruno leaned in. "Don’t let up. Next one ends it."
Nathan nodded, eyes on the ball being placed for a goal kick.
Valverde added, "They’re dizzy. Let’s make them sink."
But something shifted.
PSV adjusted. They were trying to breathe again.
And then, right before halftime—
—
45th Minute –
Corner kick for PSV.
Nothing special.
Just a routine ball floated into the box.
But Zirkzee lost his man.
The header came clean.
Thud!
Back post.
GOAL.
3–1.
Old Trafford quieted.
Just for a moment.
Nathan stared at the net, jaw tight.
That was too easy.
Valverde cursed under his breath. "Dammit..."
Bruno clapped. "Reset! No heads down!"
----
Second Half – Old TraffordManchester United 3 – 1 PSV
The air was heavy with sweat, noise, and possibility.
Nathan stood near the center circle, bouncing on his toes as the second half kicked off. His breath was steady. The stadium roared behind him.
He rolled his shoulders, glanced at Valverde, then at Bruno. Both gave small nods.
It was time to end this.
—
54th Minute
It started like so many moves before it.
Nothing flashy. Just rhythm.
Valverde pinged a pass into space. Nathan checked over his shoulder, drifted into midfield. The ball met him like an old friend.
Tap.
One touch to settle, another to invite pressure. PSV bit—too eager.
Nathan turned, pulse sharp, and slipped it into Valverde.
"Valverde!" he called, already spinning off his marker.
Valverde caught the pass and sent it back—perfectly weighted.
Nathan didn’t hesitate.
One defender closed. Late.
Nathan dipped his body—left foot fake. The defender lunged.
Tch!
Wrong way.
Gone.
He slipped by clean, smooth as silk. A gasp swept through the crowd.
Now space. Edge of the box. Curved angle.
Nathan glanced once—keeper off his line, slightly leaning near post.
He curled it.
Inside of his foot. Balanced. Measured.
Swoooosh—CRACK!
The ball arced like it had been drawn with a compass.
The net snapped.
GOAL!!!
4–1.
Old Trafford exploded. A thousand red shirts bouncing, flares lighting in the away end. Arms raised, fists pumping.
The camera zoomed in on Nathan.
--
60th Minute
PSV tried to strike back.
They pushed higher. Switched to a 3–4–3. Pressed United’s midfield. And they nearly had their moment.
A sudden break. A chipped pass over the top. Their striker.
One-on-one.
He took a touch. Set himself.
Shot!
BANG!!
But there he was—Onana. Exploding off his line.
THUD!!
The ball slammed into his chest, ricocheted away.
Groans from the away fans. Cheers from the Stretford End.
Onana stood, roaring. "NOT TODAY!!"
—
70th to 80th Minute
The pace slowed.
But Nathan..
He danced past tired legs. Drew fouls. Kept possession . Every touch, every movement—measured, .
Even Amorim stood back, arms folded, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
—
80th Minute
The board went up.
Nathan saw the number—#11 in red. His number. Substitution.
He jogged to the sideline.
And then—
Old Trafford rose.
All of it.
A wall of sound.
"Naaathaaaan!!""Naaathaaaaaaaaaan!!"
The chant rolled down like thunder. From the Stretford End to the Sir Alex Stand.
He slowed, just for a second.
Looked up.
So many faces. So much noise.
For him.
He raised a hand.
Not a wave. Just a quiet gesture of thanks.
—
Full-TimeManchester United 4 – 1 PSV
The whistle blew.
Tweeet!!
The group stage was over.
United were top.
Nathan stood in line during the handshakes, quiet but burning inside. PSV’s captain gave him a nod and a muttered, "You were untouchable tonight."
Nathan didn’t reply. Just smiled politely.
—
Later That Night – Hotel Room
The team had flown back to Carrington after media duties, the adrenaline finally starting to fade.
Nathan sat alone, lights dimmed, hotel room window cracked open. The city hummed outside—just a whisper beneath the glass.
His phone buzzed.
The Usual.
Agents. Coaches. Clips of his goal already floating around.
