Chapter 27 – A 30-yard free kick
The thunder of the crowd was alive.
Elland Road quivered with electricity. Flags danced like waves in a storm, flares burned red in the distance, and the rhythm of tribal drums pulsed like a second heartbeat under the Yorkshire sky.
Nathan Perry stood on the sideline, muscles taut, the blood in his veins humming with adrenaline. The world around him moved in swirls of color and motion.
Arsenal's players warmed up in their corner.
Bukayo Saka shared a laugh with Martinelli, their chemistry so effortless it looked choreographed.
Declan Rice spoke in hushed, serious tones with Thomas Partey—body language sharp, composed, battle-ready.
And then there was Merino.
He didn't move. Didn't stretch. Just stared, cold and quiet, at the Leeds goal like it was already his.
Then—
[Ding!]
[You have 50 points – Would you like to unlock a random skill?]
[Skill unlocked!]
[Congratulations! You've acquired: Robert Lewandowski Finishing – Lv.1]
Nathan blinked.
A warm, tingling sensation passed through his limbs.
Then his lips curled.
"This... is going to be fun."
—
Kickoff.
The game exploded from the first whistle.
The ball zipped left. Then right. Leeds pressed early, but Arsenal's control was suffocating. They moved like a machine—each pass a piston, each touch oiled and precise.
Minute 4.
Martinelli received a switch on the left flank.
Thud!
He brought it down with his chest and tore down the line. One defender. Gone. Another tried to stop him—
"HAAH—!"
A flick. A shimmy. A blur of red.
Martinelli left him spinning and cracked in a low cross.
The ball skidded across the box—
Cleared!
But straight to Nathan.
Cheers rose—
Until Declan Rice slammed into him.
"Ugh—!"
The contact was fair, the pressure overwhelming.
Nathan stumbled. The ball slipped under his boot, spun free.
Rice snatched it and surged forward.
A whistle blew.
Free kick. Arsenal.
30 yards out.
A Leeds defender groaned. "Careful… Rice scored one like this against Madrid. Top bins."
Nathan stood in place, jaw tight.
He'd just gotten the ball. He could've turned. Could've—
No.
Not could've.
Should've.
Declan Rice lined up his run.
One step. Two. CRACK!!
The shot tore through the air.
BOOM!!
Top corner. Net bulged.
GOOOOOOAL!!!
The stadium split open.
Red smoke erupted from the Arsenal ultras. They screamed, roared, climbed over each other like animals in ecstasy.
Declan Rice jogged to the corner flag, fist to the badge, expression ice-cold.
Arsenal 1. Leeds 0.
Nathan stood frozen.
His teammates shouted, regrouped. Jamal clapped behind him, trying to rally the troops.
But Nathan's mind played the last few seconds again.
That pressure. That stumble.
His first real touch of the game—and he'd lost it.
Tch...
—