Chapter 9 - LEEDS VS BURNLEY (2)
Nathan could barely feel his feet as he sprinted toward the corner flag, arms outstretched like a kid let loose on a playground.
The white and blue of the Leeds fans blurred into a roaring wall of sound.
He slid on his knees, grass spraying up around him.
Sure, his shot had been... let's call it "adventurous."
But who cared?
The ball was in the net. That was the only thing that mattered.
"Brilliant, lad!" roared Cal Roberts, the team captain, barreling over and smacking him heartily on the back of the head.
"You aimed for the corner, yeah?"
Nathan, cheeks burning, flashed a goofy, confident grin and gave a firm nod.
"Of course," he said, puffing out his chest. "All part of the plan."
Definitely planned.
Probably.
The stadium shook around them, chants spilling down from the stands in tidal waves.
"MARCHING ON TOGETHER!"
It was everything he'd dreamed of.
But football — real football — never let you stay in a dream for long.
Burnley came back like a rabid animal cornered and desperate.
Their pride wounded, they pressed high, tackles flying in with terrifying force.
Thud! Crack! Bam!
Nathan barely had time to breathe.
One second he was receiving a pass —
The next—
WHAM!
A Burnley midfielder slammed into him shoulder-first, knocking the air from his lungs.
"Get up, lad!" barked Roberts, grabbing Nathan's jersey and yanking him to his feet.
"No time for sympathy out here!"
Nathan staggered up, gasping, nodding furiously.
Right. No sympathy. No mercy.
Burnley forced corner after corner.
The white shirts of Leeds packed into the penalty box, hearts pounding against their ribs like war drums.
The 40th minute.
Danger.
Real danger.
A wicked corner whipped into the six-yard box — a blur of bodies, arms, and elbows.
WHUMP!
A Burnley center-back rose like a titan and smashed a header toward the bottom corner.
Leeds' keeper, Henderson, flung himself sideways — fingertips brushing the ball —
Tip!
—just enough to deflect it.
But the rebound landed perfectly for a Burnley striker.
Boot cocked. Eyes wide.
Time slowed.
Nathan saw it all unfold.
The striker drew back to bury it—
No thought.
No hesitation.
Only instinct.
Nathan threw himself forward like a missile.
THWACK!!
He caught the ball clean — and, admittedly, a generous chunk of the striker's boot.
The referee's whistle screamed—
Pweeeeet!
Free kick for Leeds.
Nathan scrambled to his feet, panting, grass stains smeared across his shorts and shirt, a stinging throb climbing up his shin.
He shook it off, chest heaving.
The Leeds fans roared approval from the stands.
As he jogged back into position, one of Burnley's players — a hulking defender with a busted nose and a sneer carved into his face — brushed past him.
The man's voice was low and dripping with menace:
"Next time... we'll take you out along with the ball, little man."
Nathan swallowed hard, the threat hanging heavy in the humid evening air.
But he didn't flinch.
He just stared straight ahead.
Welcome to the Championship.
The referee blew for halftime.
1-0 to Leeds.
Nathan trudged into the locker room, dragging his battered legs behind him.
The place was a boiling pot of noise — boots slamming onto the floor, players barking at each other, physios sprinting in with ice packs and energy gels.
Coach Grayson stood at the center, arms crossed, a thundercloud of intensity gathered around him.
He waited until the last man sat down.
Then he spoke.
Calm, measured, deadly serious.
"Great work," he said. His voice carried over the chaos.
"But don't you dare think this is over. Burnley won't give you an inch. They're gonna come even harder now."
His eyes swept the room like searchlights — then zeroed in on Nathan.
"You," Grayson said, pointing.
"Good movement. Smart positioning. But stay sharp defensively. No ball-watching. You're in this now — no passengers."
Nathan nodded quickly, jaw tight.
The words weren't cruel.
They were demands.
Expectations.
The price of wearing the shirt.
Some of the veterans gave Nathan small nods of approval — real ones this time.
Not mockery.
Not doubt.
He wasn't a tourist anymore.
He was a fighter.
He was one of them.
As the team huddled around, downing water and wiping sweat from their brows, the System chimed softly in his mind:
[Ding!]
[+5 Legend Points – Solid First Half Performance]
Nathan grinned inwardly.
Good. Keep stacking. Keep climbing.
If he kept this up, a new skill unlock was within reach.
But a small, electric shiver ran down his spine.
Because deep inside, he knew—
The second half...
was about to get even crazier.