Chapter 25 – The Match Day
The projector flickered in the dimly lit meeting room, casting ghostly shadows across the players' faces as Arsenal's lineup appeared on the screen.
Gabriel. Ødegaard. Saka. Ben White. Ramsdale.
Names that didn't just belong to footballers—but to brands, to nations, to Champions League nights and viral goal compilations.
Marco Reid exhaled sharply, slumping back in his chair.
"This isn't Blackpool, Coach… that's Gabriel, Ødegaard, and Saka we're talking about."
Jack McClellan snorted.
"Bro, we've only ever seen Saka running… and that was on TV. In HD. With replay angles."
A few nervous chuckles. The tension in the room was tight, coiled like the inside of a locker room before a title-decider.
But Nathan Perry didn't move.
Eyes forward, jaw clenched, breath steady.
He was locked in—not just watching names on a screen, but dissecting them.
Gabriel pushes high. Ødegaard cuts inside after the third pass. Saka? Predictable if you crowd him early… but Ben White—
Nathan's gaze lingered on the right-back's face.
Coach Grayson noticed.
He paused the footage.
"Nathan," he said, voice measured, "think you can handle Ben White?"
Nathan looked up slowly.
Not rushed. Not cocky.
Just certain.
"Not just handle him," he said, his voice calm but sharp like the edge of a blade, "I'll make him regret stepping onto the pitch."
The room froze for a second.
Then Jack burst out laughing, slapping the table.
"Let's go, beast!"
Even Marco cracked a grin. "Damn, remind me not to piss you off."
Coach Grayson didn't laugh. He just smiled—tight, approving.
"That's what I want. Confidence—not arrogance… but real belief."
—
The team bus pulled up to the Emirates like a warship docking at enemy shores.
Flashing lights. Reporters. Phones already out, broadcasting every movement to the world.
Nathan stepped off the bus, hoodie up, headphones in, eyes straight ahead. He didn't look at the cameras. Didn't react to the chants or jeers.
He was already inside the game.
In his head, it was quiet.
Not silence… but focus.
In the tunnel, Arsenal players filtered in one by one. Clean kits. Cool expressions. Champions League swagger.
Saka bumped fists with Saliba. Ødegaard laughed at something Ramsdale said.
Ben White?
He stood near the edge, silent. Focused. A veteran with over a hundred Premier League matches under his belt.
He didn't notice Nathan at first.
But Nathan noticed everything.
The way White stretched his left calf first. The slight tightness in his shoulder roll. The way he glanced toward the bench—not fear, not nerves… but something close to calculation.
White turned—and their eyes met.
Nathan didn't blink.
He let it linger.