It was already a week since the 2026 FIFA World Cup.

A week since the football world trembled.

A week since Sam almost singlehandedly sank a nation at an epic FIFA World Cup final clash.

A week later, the football world still trembled.

Samuel Moses, the 20 year old Nigerian phenomenon, had carried his nation to an unprecedented World Cup final, scoring a hat trick in the ultimate battle and earning both the Golden Boot and Golden Ball awards. 

Though it ended in heartbreak, Sam’s name was etched into eternity as the greatest African player the world had ever seen… at just 20.

But this was no overnight miracle.

From the dusty streets of Abraka, Nigeria, where barefoot dreams chased deflated balls, to dazzling crowds at Enyimba FC, to shocking England, going on a generational run with Fulham FC. All of it was documented in history.

Then came FC Barcelona… where he became a legend in just his debut season. Alongside these club triumphs were his exploits for country.

Yet… this is just the beginning.

This is the sequel to Rise of a Football God.

It follows Sam as he returns home for the first time since becoming a global icon, wrestling with fame, destiny, and the colossal pressure of being called “the savior of African football”.

With every match, every record shattered, every rival silenced, he forges a path toward the pantheon of immortals.

But greatness demands sacrifice. 

Legends are not born, they are forged in fire. And for Samuel Moses, the journey to becoming the Football God had only just begun. 

[“It’s time to forge a legacy.”]

…

[NOTE: For those that are curious, yes, the system still plays a role in his development, but it’s no longer as prominent as when it helped him build his foundation. Now, Sam is already established, so expect less system interaction.]

For a shard of time, the Bernabéu froze… an entire cathedral shocked into silence by an act of outlaw beauty.


It felt like the universe itself froze in that moment. Then the sound returned as a storm… whistles, roars, disbelief, and grudging awe.


Sam didn't sprint. He stood, back to the goal, arms spread, head tilted to the heavens, the pendant against his chest cold and steady.


Raphinha crashed into him. Yamal wrapped his arms round his waist like a younger brother. Gavi head‑butted his shoulder in wild joy. And from the technical area, Hansi Flick's fist stayed clenched a second longer than he intended; even he felt the tremor of it.


That was when the last blade struck, mere seconds from finishing.


El Clásico hates endings. And right from the restart, for the final seconds of the game, Madrid looked for punishment.


Chapter 53 - An El Clásico for the ages