The Football Legends System-Chapter 59: Manchester United vs Arsenal
Chapter 59: Manchester United vs Arsenal
Chapter 59 – Manchester United vs Arsenal
"Arsenal? Again?"
Nathan’s voice was quiet, but the words carried weight. He leaned back on the bench in the dressing room, eyes fixed on the screen mounted in the corner.
The FA Cup semi-final draw had just concluded. The names were locked in. No way around it now.
Manchester United vs. Arsenal. At Wembley.
A familiar script—one Nathan knew by heart.
He chuckled under his breath, a dry sound with no real humor.
The team that shattered his dreams with Leeds.
The team he scored that goal against—curling it from the touchline like a dream.
The moment the world noticed Nathan Perry.
And now?
Time to finish the story.
The newspapers were already eating it up.
– "The boy London broke... returns to take revenge with United!"
– "Nathan vs. Arsenal once more... Time to settle the score?"
Even the fans on social media had gone into a frenzy.
One video replayed his legendary goal on loop, the caption flashing:
"Olympico Perry is back—this time with red devils at his back."
[Random Skill Unlocked: Messi’s Shooting]
Nathan blinked.
The notification floated in his vision, fading quickly like mist. He didn’t move for a long second—processing.
Messi’s shooting?
He smirked.
"Not just power. Precision. Brilliance. Timing... I love that style." ƒгeewёbnovel.com
There were plenty of ways to beat a team. But this—
Wembley Stadium – Match Day
The buzz was unreal.
Neutral venue, they called it. But inside this fortress of history, there was nothing neutral about the atmosphere.
Half the stadium bathed in United red, the other half a sea of Arsenal white and gold. Chants roared across the tiers. Flags waved, flares hissed, phones flashed.
The FA Cup semi-final. All eyes on the pitch.
Nathan jogged out with the team, his boots hitting the turf with rhythmic thuds.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
He looked up at the lights, breathing it in. Wembley always did something to his chest. Pressure? No.
Possibility.
Kick-off.
The ball rolled. The air tightened.
And Arsenal came out hungry.
Saka hit the turbo down the right wing, dancing past Shaw with ease. Ødegaard pulled strings through midfield like a puppeteer, every touch silky, every feint deceptive.
9th minute. Arsenal threatened.
Ødegaard slipped a pass into the box—clean, surgical.
Tch!
Jesus latched onto it and snapped a shot toward the bottom corner—
"HAAA!"
Onana dove, full stretch—
Thud!
Saved!
The stadium roared. Both sides.
Nathan exhaled, shaking off the tension creeping into his spine.
They weren’t holding back.
Good.
Neither would he.
18th minute.
United flipped the script.
Valverde intercepted a lazy switch pass from Partey and immediately drove forward. Nathan peeled off toward the right channel, dragging two defenders with him.
Foul!
One of them clipped his boot—subtle. Nathan went down.
The whistle blew. Free kick. Wide angle, just outside the box.
Most expected a cross.
Arsenal lined up nervously.
Bruno came over, glancing at Nathan.
"You taking it?"
Nathan’s eyes didn’t leave the ball.
"Yeah."
Bruno raised a brow. Then nodded and backed off.
The wall was set. Ben White yelled instructions. Ramsdale bounced on his line, eyes locked.
Nathan inhaled. Stepped back.
Messi’s Shooting – Olympic Goals.
Not just powerful. Clever.
Spin, angle, deception.
He spotted it—the tiniest sliver between the keeper and the near post. The kind of shot that made no sense until it was too late.
One breath.
Step.
Swing.
THWACK!!
The ball screamed off his left boot, curling viciously toward goal. Ramsdale dove late—
CLANG!!
The right post shuddered violently.
Out!
The stadium froze.
The crowd’s breath caught in a collective gasp. Then came the commentator’s voice, nearly losing his mind:
"OH MY WORD! Nathan nearly recreated his legendary Olympic goal! Inches from madness!!"
----
Wembley Stadium buzzed under the heavy floodlights. Second half.
Scoreline still frozen: 0–0.
Every misplaced touch drew gasps. Every tackle sparked a thousand roars or groans. The game had thickened.
Nathan stood near the halfway line, chest heaving, eyes darting. Sweat clung to his neck. Valverde jogged past him, giving a quick slap to the shoulder.
"Next one’s yours."
Nathan didn’t answer. He just nodded.
58th minute.
Casemiro broke up Arsenal’s rhythm with a crunching interception—classic. One touch to Bruno. Bruno swept it wide to Valverde.
Click. Click. Click.
United’s gears turned like clockwork.
Valverde charged down the right. One glance. One pass.
Nathan had already begun his run.
He slipped behind Zinchenko, accelerating like a bullet leaving its chamber.
Boom!
Valverde’s through-ball cut the pitch in half.
Nathan didn’t slow. The crowd rose with him.
One touch to control. One to set.
Then—
CRACK!!
A vicious left-footed rocket. It curved with venom, hissing through the air toward the top right.
But Raya was ready.
The Arsenal keeper flew—arms stretched to the edge of belief.
THWAP!
Fingers to leather. The ball deflected just over the bar.
"WHAT A SAVE!" the commentator screamed as the crowd exploded with noise.
Nathan stood there, breathing hard, staring at the goal like it owed him something.
That should’ve gone in...
He turned away, slowly jogging back as the stadium buzzed.
A murmur moved through the stands. Fans exchanged nervous glances.
65th minute.
Arsenal responded.
Ødegaard began to stir, floating into spaces between the lines. Rice shielded. Saka poked and prodded down the right, but Shaw was holding firm.
Boom!Thud!Tch!
Midfield duels flared and fizzled. Valverde and Casemiro ran, chasing every loose ball.
Still, neither side blinked.
70th minute.
A foul.
Casemiro had been hacked down near the right edge of the box after stealing the ball from Trossard.
The referee blew sharply, pointing to the spot.
Not a penalty.
Nathan walked over slowly. Bruno picked up the ball, but didn’t say anything. He just handed it to him and stepped away.
Nathan placed it carefully.
Turf slick beneath his boots. Crowd still.
He exhaled.
"I’ll do it... just like Messi."
He closed his eyes.
The spin. The disguise. The deception.
As Raya shouted instructions, Nathan opened his eyes. Sharp. Still.
He took two steps. Then lifted the ball.
Soft... too soft?
No—clever.
It spun midair with impossible curl. Not toward the near post, but toward the far corner.
Raya leapt left—wrong side.
The ball bent—out, then in.
FWOOOSH!
It dipped just under the crossbar, curling straight into the side netting at the back post.
GOOOOOAAAAL!!!
"OH MY GOD! OLYMPICO!!""HE’S DONE IT AGAIN! NATHAN PERRY!"
The crowd erupted.
Wembley was shaking. Literally trembling from the noise.
Nathan sprinted toward the corner flag—that corner.
The same one where, one year ago, he’d broken the internet with a wonder goal in a Leeds shirt.
He dropped to his knees. Spread his arms wide.
Same celebration. Same spot. But this time, in red.
A statement. A memory reborn.
Cameras flashed wildly. Fans screamed his name.
"NA-THAN PER-RY! NA-THAN PER-RY!"
In that moment, he didn’t smile.
But Arsenal wouldn’t lie down.
They never did.
76th minute.
Ødegaard collected a loose pass outside the box. One feint sent Bruno flying past. The Norwegian captain squared up—
Snap!He struck low and hard.
It deflected—off Martinez’s knee.
Thud!Wrong-footed Onana. No chance.
The ball bounced in.
GOAL! – Arsenal.
1–1.
The white half of Wembley exploded now, chants echoing, arms flailing.
Ødegaard didn’t celebrate much—just turned back and pointed at his badge.
Amorim was on the touchline, lips pressed into a line, arms folded. The camera caught it. His jaw twitched.
Nathan wiped his face.
They weren’t going to make this easy.
Of course not.
82nd minute.
Nathan found space again, this time on the left wing.
Valverde spotted him and zipped a pass through traffic.
Nathan let it roll across his body. Zinchenko closed in.
Step-over. Tap. Drag.
Gone.
He ghosted past the first. Cut inside. Gabriel lunged—
Tch! Nathan skipped him, too.
Space opened.
He drew his leg back—
But thwack!!
Contact.
He stumbled. Boot clipped from behind.
He hit the turf hard.
"AAAAH—!"
The stadium roared.
Fans leapt up. Arms thrown.
"PENALTY!!!""REF!!""COME ON!"
But no whistle.
The ref waved play on.
Nathan sat up, stunned.
That was a foul.
He turned, furious. But Arsenal had already launched the counter.
Saka. Ødegaard. Jesus. Sprinting.
Nathan forced himself up, breath ragged, legs aching.
Back. Get back.
But it was too fast.
Ødegaard slipped it into the channel.
Jesus broke through. One-on-one.
The entire stadium held its breath.
"NO—!"
But Onana was a wall.
BOOM!
He charged out. Smothered the shot with his chest.
Saved!
The ball spilled. Martinez hacked it clear.
Groans from the Arsenal end. Relief from the United side.
