The Football Legends System-Chapter 70: City of Champions

Chapter 70 – City of Champions

Haaaah...!

The breath left Nathan’s chest. He leaned back in his seat as the bus pulled into Carrington, eyes flickering with exhaustion...

"Manchester United wins—5 to 4 after 7 kicks each."

It echoed still.

Outside the training centre, a crowd had formed despite the hour—late-night.

"NATHAN. NEVER GIVE UP."

"DALOT!"

The bus doors hissed open—pshhk!—and the players stepped out into the cool Manchester dawn.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Then more. The staff waiting outside were applauding. Assistant coaches, physios, kitchen staff—they’d all come out to welcome them back.

Clapclapclapclapclap!!

Someone let out a loud cheer. "VALVERDE!!"

Another: "ONANA!!"

A third: "NATHAN, THAT MISS DIDN’T MATTER—WE SAW YOUR GAME!"

Nathan stepped down and blinked at the crowd. And yet, the echo of the crossbar still rang faintly in his ears.

TANGGG...

He shook it off.

Valverde gave him a nudge. "Told you we’d be kings when we got back."

Nathan smiled, but it was thin. "You did."

"Cheer up. Onana’s buying everyone breakfast."

"Wait, what?".

Crack! Valverde gave him a light slap on the back. "Let’s go. Amorim’s probably cooking up a speech."

✦ ✦ ✦

The press room at Carrington was packed tighter than usual. Reporters from BBC, The Guardian, even L’Équipe and Marca sat elbow to elbow, laptops open.

Amorim sat at the table, calm. His black training hoodie bore the faintest specks of bus dust, and his voice, when it came, was low .

"I’m not just proud of the win, but of how we fought. It was never about one man. Everyone battled. ."

Flashbulbs popped.

✦ ✦ ✦

Across social media, the world was roaring.

"The Guardian: United’s quiet rise ends in epic fashion."

Player Ratings:

Onana – 9.5

Nathan – 9.0

Thuram – 8.0

Wan-Bissaka – 8.5

And then came the analyst takes:

"United comes from afar... proving they’re not easily defeated."

"Watch this squad. It’s not just talent."

Nathan scrolled through the headlines quietly in the locker room. The others were laughing, throwing tape rolls at each other, arguing over who had the better celebration.

But his mind was somewhere between Naples and home. He clicked on one article.

"Nathan Perry: Star in the making... but cracks still show under pressure."

He read it.

Twice.

Then locked his phone and stood.

Onana noticed. "You alright?"

Nathan turned. "Yeah."

"...Wanna talk about it?"

"...No."

"...Wanna go train?"

Nathan blinked. "What?"

Onana grinned. "You heard me."

Nathan hesitated—then. "Give me five."

✦ ✦ ✦

Outside, Carrington was calm again. The reporters had left. The fans had gone home. But on the far end of the training pitch, two figures moved under the morning sun.

Boom! A shot from Onana’s boot flew toward the goal.

Nathan leapt—crack!—caught it clean with his instep and killed the bounce.

Then again—whoosh!—he dribbled around the edge of the box, fainted left, stepped right, and shot low—

Tchack! It slammed the bottom corner.

Onana raised a hand. "There he is."

✦ ✦ ✦

The buzz began early.

Phone screens lit up like wildfire across Manchester. At the gym, in cafés, in offices, on buses. One single tweet from the official club account set everything ablaze.

"Manchester United is delighted to announce the signing of 19-year-old Turkish star Emre Demir from Galatasaray for €9 million."

Underneath it, a short video.

A sharp cut to Emre weaving through defenders—crack!—burying the ball in the top corner.

A slow-mo shot of him raising three fingers to the sky.

And finally: Emre, standing in the sleek red and black of United, holding up the number 19 shirt.

"Let’s go, United!"

#EmreDemir trended in under five minutes.

In the locker room group chat, it took even less time for the banter to begin.

Valverde sent a fire emoji.

Zirkzee dropped a meme of a dragon waking up from its slumber.

Nathan watched the video again.

Emre was good. Quick feet. Agile. Sharp instincts. He had that wildness to him that couldn’t be coached. That unpredictability. The kind of player who didn’t ask if he could beat you—he knew he would.

And now, he was here.

At Carrington.

Wearing 19.

Nathan cracked a grin and posted on Instagram.

"Welcome to your new home, Emre! I need someone to challenge me with those skills"

The comments were instant.

Valverde: "The competition has begun, Nathan"

Bruno: "Finally some real heat on the wings"

✦ ✦ ✦

The city peeled away behind him.

Brick walls turned to tree lines.. Nathan had always found Manchester’s edges soothing—where steel and stone gave way to quiet air and soft roads.

And now he stood in a place of glass and chrome.

A car showroom, tucked into an upscale corner of the city. Sleek, spotless, the kind of place where everything smelled like polish and money.

The salesman, suited and smiling, gestured toward the beast parked under the spotlight.

A black Lamborghini Urus. Matte finish. Red accents slicing through the side like lightning.

"The one you asked about, Mr. Nathan," the salesman said smoothly. "A special edition. Only five in the country."

Nathan didn’t respond right away. He walked up to the car, ran his hand along the hood. The surface was cold, perfect. Beneath it, over six hundred horses waited.

He remembered the first time he saw a Lamborghini as a kid. On his cracked tablet screen, hiding under his duvet at 1 a.m., watching some YouTuber from Dubai rev it on empty streets. That sound—VROOOOM!—made his little heart race.

And now...

The salesman handed him the pen. "Shall I get the final papers?"

Nathan nodded.

He took his time signing them. Letter by letter.

His first car. Bought with his own money. Not his father’s. Not some sponsor’s. Not a loan.

This was from Leeds to here.

From early mornings in the academy, vomiting on the side of the pitch after double sessions, to stepping out under the lights of Old Trafford.

"Congratulations, Mr. Nathan."

He smiled. "Thank you."

The doors closed with a thunk as he slid into the driver’s seat.

Black leather. Carbon fiber.

He tapped the screen.

The stereo blinked awake.

He scrolled through the Bluetooth list and found it.

An old song. A bit of grime, a bit of soul. Something he used to listen to on the bus to matches back in Leeds.

Boom... chh... Boom boom, chh...

The beat rolled in. His hand gripped the wheel.

"From Leeds... to here..." Nathan whispered.