Against All Odds: Legacy Of A Football King-Chapter 277: King Of London?

Wildschut powered down the wing, every step fueled by urgency. He had been VVV’s brightest spark all night, and now, with seconds ticking away, he refused to let this be his final act.

Marcellis, exhausted, dropped back but couldn’t close the gap fast enough. Wildschut took a deep breath, squared up, and drove a cross into the 18 yard box—low, fast, dangerous.

Chris: [Whipped in! This is trouble—]

Bodies crashed together. The ball pinballed off a defender, then a striker, then skidded loose—right at Nwofor’s feet.

Rob: [Nwofor! He’s got a chance!]

A split-second reaction. A swing of the boot.

Thud.

The shot rocketed through the crowded 18 yard box, past outstretched legs—

And slammed into the side netting.

Chris: [Wide! Oh, he had to score!]

Rob: [That was the moment! VVV’s last, best chance, and it’s gone!]

Nwofor buried his head in his hands. The VVV bench slumped.

On the couch, Benjamin let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Ashley shook her head, sinking back into the cushions.

"That was it," she muttered. "They’re done."

Benjamin didn’t say anything. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, where Alvarado stretched out the moment, jogging to retrieve the ball as precious seconds slipped away.

The referee glanced at his watch.

Chris: [That might be the last kick for VVV—unless they can steal back possession.]

Rob: [They don’t have much time. AZ Alkmaar just need to be smart.]

Alvarado finally placed the ball down and sent a booming goal kick into VVV territory. Henriksen challenged in the air, flicking it on toward Lewis, who shielded it near the corner flag.

Ashley glanced at Benjamin. "Your guys are dragging this out."

"As they should," he muttered.

Lewis pinned the ball against the touchline, fending off two desperate defenders. The seconds bled away.

Chris: [And AZ Alkmaar are doing exactly what they need to. Just keep it here. Run the clock.]

The referee checked his watch again. Then, with one last look—

Fweeeee!

The final whistle.

Rob: [That’s it! AZ Alkmaar hold on for the win!]

Chris: [They had to suffer, but they get the job done. A massive three points!]

The AZ Alkmaar players erupted in celebration, fists pumping, hands clapping. On the other side, VVV collapsed, hands on hips, heads tilted to the sky in frustration.

Benjamin finally leaned back, releasing the tension in his shoulders. Ashley sighed.

"That was exhausting to watch," she said, running a hand through her hair. "And I don’t even support either team."

Benjamin smirked, shaking his head. "Now imagine playing in it."

Ashley shot him a look. "Yeah, well, you’re not playing in anything for a while." Her eyes flicked to his knee again.

Benjamin’s smirk faded. His fingers absentmindedly brushed against the bandage.

Ashley didn’t push. Instead, she nodded at the TV, where the post-match analysis had begun. "At least that’ll keep your mind busy for now."

Benjamin didn’t respond right away. He just watched as the players shook hands, as the cameras zoomed in on a dejected VVV squad walking off the field.

Then, finally, he muttered, "For now."

Ashley stretched her arms above her head, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Well, that was fun. But let’s talk about something more important."

Benjamin arched a brow. "More important than football?"

She grinned. "What club do you think I support?"

He studied her for a second, then smirked. "I don’t even need to guess. You look like an Arsenal fan."

Ashley sat up straighter, placing a hand on her chest in mock offense. "And what does that mean?"

"It means you enjoy suffering."

She scoffed. "Suffering? Please."

Benjamin leaned back, resting an arm on the couch. "Go on, then. Say it properly."

Ashley lifted her chin. "The King of London, Arsenal."

Benjamin snorted. "A king without a UEFA Champions League trophy?" He tilted his head. "Yeah, okay."

Ashley’s eyes narrowed. "First of all, history isn’t finished being written. Secondly—" she leaned forward, pointing at him, "—if I recall correctly, you don’t have a Champions League either."

Benjamin let out a short laugh. "Fair, but I’m not calling myself a king, am I?"

Ashley crossed her arms. "Arsenal have dominated London for years. We’ve played the best football, built one of the best stadium, produced legends—"

"And yet," Benjamin cut in, "when people talk about European royalty, your club is never in the conversation."

Ashley exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. "You love to argue, don’t you?"

"It’s too easy when Arsenal fans are involved."

She rolled her eyes. "Keep talking. It won’t matter when we win the Champions League."

Benjamin chuckled. "Yeah? And when is that happening? 2025 or maybe 3025?"

Ashley didn’t answer right away. Instead, a knowing smile curved her lips.

"Maybe when a certain soon-to-be world-class winger joins us and changes our fortunes."

Benjamin’s smirk faltered. His fingers tapped against his knee as he eyed her.

Ashley shrugged casually. "You know, lifting that trophy in red and white would look pretty good on your legacy."

Benjamin let out a dry laugh. "You’re really trying, huh?"

Ashley just smiled, leaning back. "Hey, I’m just saying... greatness deserves a stage worthy of it."

Benjamin shook his head, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced at the TV, where the pundits debated the Eredivisie title race.

Ashley’s words lingered though. And for the first time, he found himself wondering—Would Arsenal ever be that stage?

Benjamin exhaled, shaking off the thought before it took root. "Forget about it," he said, waving a hand. "Let’s focus on something more important." freeweɓnøvel~com

Ashley raised a brow. "Oh? And what’s more important than your future?"

"My stomach," Benjamin said, patting his abdomen. "I haven’t eaten something solid since morning." He turned to her, smirking. "Why don’t you prepare something sumptuous for us to eat? You know, showcase your cooking skills."

Ashley scoffed, narrowing her eyes. "Oh, so now I’m a chef?"

Benjamin leaned back, arms stretched along the couch. "Well, I’ve heard a lot about your skills in the kitchen. Thought this would be the perfect time to see if it’s all talk."

Ashley let out a short laugh. "Who told you that?"

He shrugged. "Word gets around. And you know, walls have ears."

She crossed her arms. "And what exactly makes you think I’ll just get up and cook for you?"

Benjamin smirked. "Because you wouldn’t want me to starve, would you? Especially after I sat here, injured, entertaining you with football."

Ashley tilted her head, giving him a long, unimpressed look. "You are so dramatic."

"I prefer persuasive," he corrected, grinning.

She rolled her eyes but stood up anyway, stretching. "Fine. But if I cook, you’re washing the dishes."

Benjamin chuckled. "Deal."

Ashley shook her head and made her way to the kitchen, mumbling something about how he had tricked her.

Benjamin watched her go, amusement flickering in his eyes. He might have lost the Arsenal debate, but this? This was a win.