Chapter 12 - Defensive Aura
The stadium lights cut through the misty evening like swords, leaving long shadows sprawled across the cracked asphalt of the parking lot.
Small clusters of fans lingered around, animated, buzzing like bees around a fresh discovery.
"That new kid — Nathan, right? He's got something special..."
"Yeah, but he needs polishing. He's got flair, but still learning when to attack and when to defend."
The words drifted through the cool air, brushing Nathan's ears as he tightened his boots in the backseat of the team bus.
He tried not to smile.
Tried to stay serious.
But inside, a stubborn, reckless joy flickered.
Out by the edge of the field, a young journalist — no older than Nathan himself — crouched down, raising a cheap camera.
Click!
A grainy photo captured Nathan standing near the dugout, laughing, sunlight catching his damp hair.
The photo hit social media within minutes.
"Remember the name: Nathan Perry. Leeds might have just unearthed a diamond."
The tweet exploded.
Retweets. Comments.
Some doubting, some hyping him up like he was the second coming of Cristiano Ronaldo.
Nathan didn't see it that night — he was too busy scrubbing mud from his shins and trying not to cramp up —
But by morning, Coach Grayson's glare said it all.
"Focus on your football," the coach growled during breakfast. "Let the internet talk to itself."
Nathan could only nod, heart pounding against his ribs like a drum.
-
The week passed in a brutal blur.
-
Double training sessions under the blazing sun.
Tactical meetings so detailed Nathan felt his brain would ooze out of his ears.
Ice baths that made him bite down on towels to keep from screaming.
Every day, he chased the same thing:
To not be a one-hit wonder.
To not be a lucky rookie.
To be undeniable.
The next match came faster than anyone liked.
Away at Preston North End.
A different kind of fight.
If Burnley was fury, Preston was grit.
No fireworks. No chaos.
Just a slow, relentless strangling pressure, like being dragged under by a riptide.
The ball barely touched the ground.
Boom!
Long balls rained from the sky like missiles.
Crash!
Bodies collided mid-air.
Thud!
Studs hammered into turf, into shins, into hopes.
Nathan found himself gasping for air after only ten minutes.
Every time he touched the ball, three defenders swarmed him like sharks.
Tch... Damn it!
He tried to weave through — Clang! — met by an armored shoulder.
He tried to spin away — Crack! — tripped up by an outstretched leg.
The referee barely blinked.
This was the Championship.
You didn't get free passes here.
You earned every blade of grass you touched.
At halftime, Coach Grayson slammed his clipboard onto the bench.
"We're playing their game! Play bloody smarter!" he barked, pointing at the whiteboard. "No fancy flicks. No blind runs. Win your duels. Win your seconds!"
Nathan sat there, towel over his head, gritting his teeth.
He could still feel the imprint of a defender's studs along his thigh.
The second half opened the same way the first ended: a street fight disguised as football.
In the 55th minute, a chaotic corner kick found its way into the net, courtesy of Leeds' center-back getting just enough of his forehead on the ball.
GOOOAAAL!
The Leeds bench erupted — fists in the air, boots pounding the floor.
Nathan barely celebrated.
He was too busy preparing for the war that was about to follow.
Sure enough, Preston unleashed hell.
Wave after wave, they came.
Crosses whipped in.
Second balls fought over like scraps of meat.
Nathan barely had time to think — only time to react.
And then—
Ding!
[Congratulations! You can unlock a new skill for 50 Legend Points.]
[Random Unlock?]
[Congratulations! You have obtained: Virgil van Dijk's Defensive Aura – Lv.1 (Passive)]
Nathan blinked, stunned.
Defensive Aura?!
He didn't have time to complain.
Preston's winger was charging straight at him.
Haaah...!
He threw himself into position instinctively, lowering his center of gravity.
And somehow — somehow — the attacker hesitated.
As if sensing an invisible wall around Nathan.
Nathan jabbed forward — Snap! — poking the ball cleanly away.
Crowd roaring.
Another surge.
Another tackle.
Another interception.
The skill wasn't flashy.
It didn't earn him highlight reels.
But it turned him into a silent fortress along the left flank.
And every time Preston looked at him, they saw something that made them rethink charging forward.
By the 80th minute, Nathan's lungs burned.
His legs felt like stone.
Every breath he took came out ragged and raw.
Still, he stayed locked in.
Still, he chased every loose ball like it held his dreams.
The final whistle blew like a mercy bell.
PHEEEEEEEP!
1-0 Leeds.
Another three points.
Another war survived.
Nathan collapsed onto the grass, arms spread wide, staring at the night sky.
He wasn't the hero tonight.
No goals.
No viral moments.
But he was part of the reason they won.
And somehow, that tasted even better.
Ding!
[+10 Legend Points – Gritty Defensive Performance]
Nathan smiled tiredly to himself.
In the locker room, the energy was different from the last match.
Less laughter.
More nods of respect.
More quiet pride.
Tyler Brown walked past, tossing a water bottle at Nathan's chest.
"Not every day's a fireworks show," Tyler said, voice low. "But nights like these? They build champions."
Nathan caught the bottle clumsily, grinning despite the ache in every joint.
"I'll take ugly wins over pretty losses any day," he said, voice hoarse.
Tyler smirked and ruffled his hair again before heading for the showers.
Coach Grayson, passing by with a clipboard in hand, gave Nathan a rare, approving nod.
"Good shift, Perry," he said simply.
Those three words meant more to Nathan than any chant from the stands.
Later, after everything was packed away, Nathan walked alone toward the bus under the stadium lights.
The rain had started again — a soft, drizzling mist that kissed the ground.
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, breathing in the cold night air.
Feeling it fill his chest.
Feeling...alive.
He knew there would be flashier nights ahead.
Nights of goals, of records, of noise and fame.