Football Dynasty-Chapter 541: A Goal so Soon?

February 19th, 3:00 PM

This was the traditional kickoff time of the Premier League. At the time, the league had yet to cater to the Asian market with earlier start times, but that change was inevitable. When it finally arrived, it would surely provoke backlash from local fans, as matches would begin right in the middle of their lunch hour.

For the 28th round of the Premier League, all ten matches were scheduled to kick off simultaneously.

In the previous round, Manchester City had fielded a mixed lineup of first-team regulars and reserves, yet still secured a convincing 3–0 victory over Chelsea. Now, however, the objective was very different. Today was not about rotation or experimentation—it was about sharpening form and confronting the league leaders: Manchester United.

As kickoff approached, José Mourinho stood in the locker room, preparing to deliver his final pre-match words. The players knew his habits well. Mourinho never wasted time discussing tactics at the last moment; every detail had already been drilled into them over the course of the week.

The locker room was heavy with silence. Players pulled on their jerseys, tightened their boots, and lifted their heads toward Mourinho and his coaching staff, their expressions serious and focused.

Mourinho said nothing at first.

He walked calmly toward the whiteboard. Written neatly across it was the Premier League table:

Manchester United — 59 points

Chelsea — 54 points

Arsenal — 53 points

Manchester City — 53 points

Aston Villa — 53 points

Liverpool — 52 points

West Ham United — 46 points

Leeds United — 43 points

Mourinho tapped the board with his knuckles.

"Six points," he said slowly, his voice steady but sharp. "That’s the gap between us and the leaders."

He turned to face the room.

"Do you want to lower your heads and let Manchester United take the trophy without resistance?"A pause."Or do you want to disturb them?"Another pause."Or do you want to take the trophy for yourselves?"

Six points!

Without hesitation, the entire locker room erupted with a single response: "We will bring back the trophy!"

Mourinho nodded, satisfied. Then he stepped closer to Fabio Cannavaro.

"And you?" he asked quietly. "What do you want?"

Cannavaro clenched his fists. "Boss, it’s all I dream about."

Mourinho moved on—Makélélé, then Zidane, then each player in turn—his eyes locking onto theirs.

"Do you want to be gentle and let your city rivals carry home the trophy you once held?" he asked.

The answer came instantly, loud and unified.

"Of course not!" 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

A faint smile appeared on Mourinho’s face.

The message was clear.

He repeated the same question to every player in the locker room, and as expected, the answers were unanimous. No one wanted to be defeated by their city rivals. When the questioning finally ended, Mourinho stepped forward and took his place at the center of the room.

"We were champions before," he said. "And at the start of this season, we believed we would be again. But now—lady luck is finally on our side. Arsenal have dropped points. Chelsea have dropped points. Leeds United have dropped points."

His voice grew firmer.

"We have hope again. And because of that, I am changing our goal."

He paused.

"The title. We want that title again."

He scanned their faces.

"But tell me—what will it take to secure it?"

Silence followed.

"Is it Zinedine?"

"Ronnie?"

"Robert?"

"Thierry?"

"David?"

"Claude?"

Mourinho slowly shook his head.

"I’ll tell you the truth—it’s yes, and it’s no."

Before anyone could react, he pointed sharply toward Keller.

"Today, you are the star!"

Then he turned and pointed again.

"And you!"

"And you!"

His finger swept across the room.

"You, you, you—all of you are the most important players today."

The room stirred.

"Together," he continued, his voice rising, "you form the most powerful team on this pitch. We move as one. Our fists are aimed at our enemies. And even if each of us is imperfect on our own, we complete one another."

He clenched his hand into a fist.

"That is what makes us flawless. That is what makes us stronger than anyone thinks."

Mourinho looked around the room, his eyes burning with conviction.

"We beat United. Am I right?"

"YES, BOSS!"

"Good," he said. "Now go."

Today at Old Trafford.

The South Stand of Old Trafford housed the television broadcast cameras, along with the most prestigious VIP boxes in the entire stadium. It was here that live commentators representing various TV stations and streaming platforms were stationed.

The camera briefly cut to Richard, who appeared relaxed as he sipped orange juice alongside Marina Granovskaia and Miss Heysen, all three quietly watching the buildup to the match.

Inside the Sky Sports commentary box, as always, sat two of the most seasoned voices in English football: Martin Tyler and Andy Gray.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Martin Tyler began. "Today marks the 28th round of the Premier League, and we’re in for a fascinating encounter. Manchester United arrive as the current league leaders, while Manchester City—the underdogs at the start of the season—have remarkably climbed their way into the top four! Few could have predicted such a turnaround after City struggled so badly in the first half of the campaign."

Andy Gray nodded in agreement. "Absolutely, Martin. What makes this matchup so compelling, earlier in the season, it was Leeds United who burst out of the gates and set the pace, but their momentum has clearly faded in the second half of the season. The same can be said for Aston Villa and West Ham United. Alright, the home side, Manchester United, are wearing their traditional red shirts and white shorts. In goal stands Peter Schmeichel, with Gary Neville at right-back, Jaap Stam and Ronny Johnsen forming the central defensive partnership, and Denis Irwin at left-back. The midfield sees David Beckham on the right, Roy Keane partnering Paul Scholes in the center, and Ryan Giggs operating down the left. Leading the line, Andy Cole is partnered by Dwight Yorke up front."

As for Manchester City, Paul Robinson started in goal, protected by a formidable back line featuring Gianluca Zambrotta, Fabio Cannavaro, Lilian Thuram, and Ashley Cole. In midfield, Zinedine Zidane orchestrated play alongside Andrea Pirlo and Claude Makélélé, while Robert Pirès supported Trezeguet and Ronaldinho up front.

PHWEEEE~

"Alright, folks, Manchester United versus Manchester City is about to kick off! We can see that City will get us underway, attacking from left to right."

As both teams took their positions and the referee checked his watch, Richard had already stepped up to the railing of the stand. His eyes were fixed on the pitch, jaw set with quiet determination, as he murmured under his breath, "Come on, lads."

There was no Buffon in goal tonight. No Zanetti marshalling the right flank either. On paper, City looked slightly less intimidating without two of their usual pillars. But Richard wasn’t worried—not even for a second.

He trusted Paul Robinson between the posts, a goalkeeper who thrived under pressure, and he believed Zambrotta had more than enough quality and intelligence to cover the defensive responsibilities.

Referee Paul Durkin, one of the most experienced officials in English football, checked his watch and raised the whistle to his lips. Having officiated at the top level for decades, his presence alone carried authority.

With a sharp blast of his whistle, the clash between Manchester United and Manchester City officially kicked off.

Trezeguet gently nudged the ball forward, and Pirès immediately rolled it back. The two City forwards burst into motion, while the ball was quickly worked into Zidane’s feet. United’s strikers, Cole and Yorke, pressed aggressively, eager to disrupt City’s rhythm from the very first second.

Unruffled, Zidane calmly laid the ball back to Makélélé. The United forwards continued their chase, but Makélélé carried the ball forward and combined smoothly with Zidane, the pair gliding past the pressure with effortless composure.

As Roy Keane closed in, Zidane barely hesitated. With a single touch, he switched play diagonally to the right flank.

Zambrotta, who had surged forward the instant the match began, received the ball in acres of space. Ryan Giggs had not yet settled into the game, and Zambrotta took full advantage, advancing deep into United’s territory with complete control.

Denis Irwin moved across to confront him, lowering his stance and preparing to block a cross. He lowered his center of gravity, bracing himself for a direct dribble. But instead of pushing forward, Zambrotta suddenly halted, took two quick steps, and unleashed a diagonal cross into the penalty area.

The ball arced high.

Ronaldinho darted toward the near side, dragging Gary Neville out of position. The cross sailed over both of them, drifting toward the far post.

Realizing the danger, Gary Neville had no choice but to stop his forward run and sprint back toward United’s penalty area. When he looked up, he froze.

"Bloody hell!"

He couldn’t help but shout a warning at Jaap Stam and Ronny Johnsen.

"Hey!"

But it was already too late.

Both center-backs were drawn toward the ball, their attention fixed on the flight of the cross. In that split second of hesitation, David Trezeguet slipped into the space they had left behind.

He had already read the movement perfectly.

With an instinctive striker’s timing, Trezeguet accelerated just as the defenders adjusted their footing. Neither Johnsen nor Stam expected the ball to arrive so quickly, and as they turned to recover, Trezeguet surged past them.

By the time they realized the danger, the chance was gone.

Trezeguet launched himself into the air.

Boom.

His shaved head met the ball cleanly, the contact sharp and powerful. Even at the moment of impact, his eyes remained wide open, burning with fierce intent—like a predator finally unleashed.

Old Trafford erupted.

The Theatre of Dreams bore witness.

"WHAT JUST HAPPENED?"

The header wasn’t perfectly placed, but it didn’t need to be. It wasn’t angled perfectly, but it was thunderous—driven with the force of a shot.

The ball rocketed toward the near post.

Peter Schmeichel stood frozen for a split second, arms half-raised, disbelief etched across his face.

PHWEEEE~

Schmeichel saw the referee swing his arm toward Manchester City’s half.

A goal.

So soon?

How could it already be happening?

He fell backward onto the goal line as the net rippled behind him.

As for Trezeguet, he landed awkwardly on the ground, his eyes locked on the ball. When he saw it cross the line, he tried to spring up in celebration but stumbled, collapsing again in his excitement.

On his second attempt, he got to his feet and sprinted toward the touchline, roaring toward the City bench.

"Camera—look at me! Focus on me! I am the man of the match today!"