The Football Legends System-Chapter 49: The Greatest Derby of the Decade
Chapter 49: The Greatest Derby of the Decade
Chapter 49 – The Greatest Derby of the Decade
—
80th Minute – Old Trafford
The match had become something else now.
No longer tactics or shape or possession charts.
City came in waves—relentless, surgical, furious.
Foden.
Hup—! He curled it, aiming for the far post.
Thwack!!
"ONANA!!"
A full-stretch dive. Palms stung. Ball deflected wide.
Corner.
The crowd roared. But it wasn’t just applause.
Nathan turned and clapped toward the keeper. "Big hands, man!"
Onana just nodded, chest heaving. "Not done yet."
—
82nd Minute
Cancelo tried to play clever on the flank. A soft touch inside.
Bad idea.
Tch! Nathan pounced like a predator—snatched it clean, body tight to the ball.
"Mine."
He didn’t look up. He knew Valverde was nearby.
One touch.
Return pass.
Boom!
Nathan took it back, rolled forward, then—
Crack!!
A missile from 35 meters.
The ball soared.
Bending. Dipping.
CLANG!!!
CROSSBAR!!
"OHHHHHHHHHH!!" the crowd shrieked, hands in their hair.
—
85th–88th Minute
City went full-throttle. Pep screamed on the touchline, windmilling arms like a man possessed.
Dias pushed forward. Rodri left his post. Even Ederson crept higher.
United sat deeper, coiled like a spring. Waiting.
Bruno shouted, "Hold the line! Break when we get it!"
Nathan kept drifting. Watching. Reading.
Then—
89th Minute
Loose touch in midfield.
Nathan sensed it.
Now.
He broke from the line, intercepted a panicked pass, and took off like lightning.
The ball stuck to his boots as he blew past one, two, three defenders.
The stadium stood.
Only Ederson left.
Nathan cut right—Ederson lunged—
Crash!!
Legs tangled. Nathan rolled. Grass flew.
WHISTLE!!!
Red card!!
Old Trafford erupted.
Ederson was gone.
City down to ten.
Free kick—just outside the box.
Nathan got up slowly. Dirt on his arm. Breathing heavy.
He picked up the ball, walked to the spot, and placed it down himself.
Valverde jogged up behind him, panting. "You want this?"
—
91st Minute
No wall.
A stand-in keeper in gloves too big for his hands.
The crowd fell into silence. Like the world had paused.
Nathan stepped back.
Breathed.
One. Two. Three.
Then—BOOM!!!
A crack of power. The ball tore into the top-right like it had been fired from a cannon.
GOAL!!!
5–3.
And the stadium exploded.
A wave of sound, of light, of limbs and flags and voices breaking together in raw ecstasy.
Cameras panned. People screaming. Grown men crying. Kids with signs collapsing in joy.
"FOUR GOALS!"
"THREE OUTSIDE THE BOX!"
Nathan turned toward the sky, fists clenched, chest heaving.
This time, he celebrated.
He sprinted to the corner flag, slid on his knees, fists raised.
Teammates piled in.
Zirkzee screamed, "FOUR?! FOUR?! ARE YOU FREAKING REAL?!"
—
Full Time
WHHHHHHRRRR!!!
The whistle was swallowed by the roar of history being made.
Manchester United 5 – 3 Manchester City.
The Greatest Derby of the Decade.
The cameras swarmed Nathan.
He stood in the middle of the pitch, soaked in sweat and light.
"NA-THAN PER-RY!"
"NA-THAN PER-RY!"
—
Valverde wrapped his arms around Nathan, still breathless.
"I swear, you’re insane, kid..."
Nathan just stared ahead.
Bruno came by, gave him a soft punch on the shoulder. "They’re gonna build a shrine for you in the youth academy."
—
—
Midnight – Old Trafford
The stadium was empty now. Silent.
Lights dimmed. Crew gone. Only the echo of history remained.
Nathan sat on the pitch, alone.
Cross-legged.
Boots off.
He grabbed a handful of grass, clenched it in his hand.
Looked out toward the stands.
Thousands had chanted his name.
He was the storm tonight.
But now—it was quiet.
And in that silence, a thought surfaced. Simple. Quiet. True.
"...Tonight," he whispered, "I wrote my name into Manchester’s history."
---
---
—
Morning After the Derby – Carrington Training Ground
The headlines were absurd.
"Perry Paints Old Trafford Red – Four Goals in Derby Masterclass!"
"New King of Manchester?"
"Cristiano’s Boots. Rooney’s Fire. Cruyff’s Soul – Is Nathan Perry the Hybrid We’ve Been Waiting For?"
Nathan chuckled, scrolling through the articles on his phone as he tied his laces. His fingers moved fast, muscle memory. But his eyes lingered on every word.
It felt surreal. Like watching someone else live his dream.
Across the room, Bruno leaned over with a grin. "You’ve gone viral in ten countries, mate. They’re calling you a ’goddamn cheat code.’"
Zirkzee snorted. "Check your DMs—pretty sure Marvel wants to cast you in their next movie."
...
Amorim stepped in.
The mood snapped.
The coach stood in front of the squad with his hands behind his back, voice calm but lined with steel.
"Enjoy the praise," he began. "You’ve earned it. But listen carefully."
The room quieted.
"Bournemouth isn’t a small team."
Several players blinked. Some tilted their heads.
Amorim’s eyes swept across the locker room.
"They took down Chelsea. Took a point from City. And they play like they’ve got nothing to lose. You get careless, you get punished. Got it?"
A few murmurs of "yeah" and nods.
Nathan gave a single nod too—but his mind was elsewhere.
Ding!
A glowing blue prompt flickered into his vision.
Skill Unlocked: Jamal Musiala Dribbling
—
Matchday – Old Trafford
The crowd was still buzzing from the derby. . And Nathan could hear it before he stepped onto the pitch.
"NATHAN! NATHAN! NATHAN!"
He breathed it in. Let it settle in his chest.
1st Minute – B
They didn’t sit back.
They attacked.
Pressed.
The red shirts were chasing shadows. United’s midfield couldn’t settle. Every time Casemiro or Mount touched the ball, Bournemouth snapped.
Tch!
Loose touch. Another steal.
By the 15th minute, the inevitable struck.
Quick diagonal ball. Switch of play. A red shirt lunged—missed.
Whoosh!!
The cross came in.
Thump!
The finish was clean. No chance for Onana.
0–1.
Old Trafford froze.
The away fans erupted. And United—United stood still, as if someone had pressed pause.
Nathan’s eyes narrowed.
Time to answer.
—
21st Minute
Nathan drifted wide. Took a short pass from Shaw and faced a pressing midfielder.
His heartbeat slowed.
Then—he moved.
Tap... flick... step-over.
A blur of red weaving through bodies like a ribbon in the wind.
One defender lunged—missed.
Another reached—Tch!—wrong footed.
Haah...!! Nathan spun, slipped between two markers, and backheeled it into space.
Valverde caught it in stride.
CRACK!!
Saved! The keeper got just enough glove.
The crowd gasped.
Even the Bournemouth bench looked stunned.
Nathan turned slowly, eyes scanning. It felt... different.
His boots kissed the grass with a rhythm that wasn’t taught—it was felt.
The Musiala skill wasn’t just speed or control.
—
32nd Minute
Bournemouth pushed again.
But this time, Casemiro read the pass early and sent a driven ball into midfield.
Nathan pounced.
Two defenders ahead.
Tap. Tap.
The ball stayed glued to his feet.
Tch-tch...!!
He dipped his shoulder left, then slid right—tight dribble.
One defender gone.
The next one stretched to intercept—
Flick!
Gone again.
Boom!!
A sudden low shot, edge of the box.
No warning. No wind-up.
The net snapped as the ball flew past the keeper.
GOAL!!!
1–1!
Old Trafford erupted.
The commentator screamed:
"This isn’t dribbling!!"
Nathan turned to the crowd, arms half-raised, but his eyes remained fixed.
He wasn’t celebrating.
—
But Bournemouth didn’t blink.
Their manager clapped from the sideline, urging them on.
And they kept going.
41st Minute
Left wing overload.
Shaw was caught in two minds. The winger slipped by.
Whip!!
Another cross—driven, low.
And the striker ghosted in front of Varane.
Thud!!
GOAL.
1–2.
The air was sucked out of Old Trafford.
Nathan turned slowly, his jaw locked.
Even Valverde’s eyes widened. "No way..."
—
