Chapter 14 - LEEDS VS IPSWICH TOWN (2)
The crowd at Elland Road trembled in a stunned silence.
It lasted only a few seconds—but in football, a few seconds could tear a soul apart.
Then, like a wounded animal refusing to die, the Leeds faithful roared back to life.
"Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!"
The chants rolled across the stadium in angry, desperate waves.
Nathan sat on the bench, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His jaw was locked, his whole body vibrating with the need to move, to do something, to fight.
Tch...!! His teeth ground together.
He wanted in.
He wanted to make a difference.
But before Grayson could even gesture—before any lifeline could be thrown—
Disaster struck again.
It started with a slip.
The Leeds right-back misjudged a simple pass, and Ipswich pounced like wolves.
The ball zipped down the left wing, fast and ruthless.
Tap! Tap-tap!
Quick passes, tight control.
The Leeds defense scrambled to recover, but they were a step too slow.
A low, fizzing cross whipped into the box.
Thud.
A soft, almost casual touch flicked it into the back of the net.
[0-2]
Silence. True silence.
As if all the air had been sucked out of Elland Road.
Nathan saw it—the flickering of hope dying in the fans' faces, the sagging shoulders of his teammates, the way Grayson's clipboard nearly snapped in his hands.
Coach Grayson whipped around, face like thunder.
"Nathan!" he barked. "Warm up! Now!"
The words hit Nathan like a whipcrack.
He exploded off the bench, sprinting toward the sideline, the cold air burning his lungs.
His heart thundered, each beat louder than the last.
Boom-boom! Boom-boom!
This was it.
This was the moment.
And then—
[Ding!]
[You can unlock a new skill for 50 Legend Points.]
[Random unlock?]
Without thinking, Nathan slammed his mental finger on
"Yes."
A second later:
[Ding!]
[Congratulations! You've unlocked: James Ward-Prowse Free Kick Mastery – Lv.1]
Nathan stumbled for half a step, blinking.
"Free kicks?! Now?!" he muttered under his breath, disbelieving.
He didn't have time to question it.
A quick nod to the assistant referee, a sharp tug on his jersey, and he stepped over the white line and into the chaos.
A roar greeted him.
It wasn't the whole stadium.
Not yet.
But enough.
Enough to feel like a current lifting him forward.
"Pere! Pere! Come on, lad!"
---
The air on the pitch was heavy.
The kind of heavy that settled deep in your bones.
2-0 down.
Minutes slipping away like blood from an open wound.
Nathan Pere jogged onto the pitch with fire pounding in his chest and the faint taste of steel in his mouth.
Haaah...!!
Everywhere he looked, the world seemed to blur—opponents moving like walls of blue, teammates burdened by doubt.
But there was no room for hesitation.
No fear. No surrender.
The first pass came to him awkwardly—a half-bouncing ball under pressure.
Thud!
Nathan killed it with one touch, pivoted, and zipped it sideways to the right winger before an Ipswich boot came crashing in.
The stands responded instantly.
Roars. Applause. Hope, fragile and desperate, beginning to stir.
"Push it, Leeds!"
"Press 'em!"
"Come on, lads!!"
Nathan didn't stop moving.
Every ball he touched, he demanded more.
Every loose pass, he chased like a man starved.
He clapped his hands fiercely, barking orders despite being the youngest on the field.
"Tempo! Faster! Move it!"
Some of the senior players shot him glances—half surprise, half respect.
In the 63rd minute, Leeds won a corner.
Nathan jogged into the box, muscles coiled tight, senses hyper-focused.
The right winger stepped up and lofted the ball high into the heavy, rain-thick sky.
Swish...!
Tyler brown, the big No.9, rose like a battering ram.
His timing was perfect.
His body thundered through the crowd.
CRACK!
The header flew like a cannonball, smashing into the back of the net.
[1-2]
BOOM!
The sound from the stands was deafening.
Chairs rattled.
Scarves whirled in the air.
Voices cracked from screaming too hard.
"YESSSS!!"
Nathan pumped his fist, but there was no celebration yet.
No time.
He sprinted back to midfield, yelling, "We go again! Heads up!"
For a moment, it felt like Leeds were a team possessed.
Pressing. Charging. Biting into tackles.
The dream flickered back to life.
But football was cruel.
In the 78th minute, Leeds committed too many forward, chasing the equalizer.
A single pass sliced through their midfield.
Ipswich broke like a thunderclap.
Three on two.
Panic.
Scrambling legs.
Nathan chased back, lungs screaming, but he was too far.
A low, snapping shot.
Thud.
Bottom corner.
[1-3]
The blow was savage.
Nathan stumbled to a stop, breathing hard, sweat dripping into his eyes.
All around him, the body language was obvious—heads dropped, shoulders sagged.
Some fans sat down heavily, arms crossed in silent anger.
Others, stubborn and battered, kept chanting:
"Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!"
Even now... they're still singing...
Nathan clenched his fists.
No. It's not over. Not yet.
Then, in the 79th minute, the miracle chance arrived.
A loose Ipswich pass.
Nathan's eyes lit up—there!
The right winger snatched it and played a quick one-two around a bewildered Ipswich midfielder.
Nathan exploded forward.
The ball threaded through the defense like a spell, slicing between two defenders.
Nathan surged after it like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Boom-boom-boom!
His boots hammered the ground.
The keeper rushed out.
One-on-one.
Panic surged up his spine.
I haven't unlocked a finishing skill!
The memory of missed chances in training, of nervous miscues, flashed before his eyes.
Tch...!!
But he shoved it away.
Coach Grayson's voice echoed in his skull:
"Determination. Trust yourself."
Nathan barely slowed his stride.
One delicate flick—
Tap.
The ball rose gently over the keeper's desperate lunge.
Time seemed to stretch into eternity.
The ball dipped.
Dipped—
And nestled into the back of the net.
[2-3]
KABOOM!!
The stadium erupted.
Fans leapt into the air, some hugging strangers, others pounding the barriers with both fists.
Nathan sprinted toward the stands, arms spread like wings, face a blazing mask of pure, unfiltered joy.
I belong here.
The thought hit him with more force than any tackle ever could.
But Ipswich didn't roll over.
They attacked again, fast and vicious, trying to kill the dream once and for all.
In the 88th minute, disaster nearly struck.
A through ball, a slip in defense—
Ipswich striker through on goal.
One-on-one.
Every heart in Elland Road stopped.
But Blackwell—Leeds' veteran goalkeeper—charged out like a madman.
The striker tried to chip—
Blackwell flung himself sideways, fingertips grazing the ball—
SWAT!
The shot skittered wide.
"YEAAAHH!!"
The crowd roared louder than a thunderstorm.
Nathan bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.
Sweat poured down his face.
His legs burned.
His chest ached.
But he wasn't done.
Final minute of regular time.
The right winger, who had been superb all night, danced past a weary fullback and carved out space on the right.
He swung in a perfect cross.
High.
Floating.
Deadly.
Tyler brown was there again.
The giant forward rose into the storm of bodies, arms spread wide, head cocked back.
CRACK!
The ball slammed into the top corner like a bolt of lightning.
[3-3]
BOOM!
Elland Road exploded into a living, breathing, screaming volcano.
Fans jumped, screamed, cried.
Some tore off their jackets and swung them around their heads.
The players piled onto Tyler, fists pounding his back, faces twisted in ecstasy.
Nathan just stood there for a second, staring at the scoreboard.
3-3.
Somehow, someway—they had clawed their way back.
We're still alive.
The referee's whistle blew sharply, signaling the end of regulation time.
Peep-peep!
Extra Time.