FOOTBALL! LEGENDARY PLAYER-Chapter 57: Giant Killers

The final minutes ticked down with everything to play for. Buoyed by the equalizer, FC Utrecht's U17s played with newfound confidence. Amani was everywhere – tracking back to help snuff out Barcelona's attacks, then springing forward to spark each Utrecht move. The sun hung low but the cold was still there, casting long shadows across the pitch as the tension mounted.

Barcelona, stunned at having lost their lead, tried to wrest back control. Adama Traoré remained their primary threat, and in the 53rd minute he nearly struck again. Breaking down the right, Adama cut inside and curled a left-footed shot toward the far corner. It beat the keeper's fingertips but didn't escape the woodwork – the ball clanged off the outside of the post and bounced out. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Utrecht had been inches from falling behind once more.

Amani, who had sprinted back to pressure Adama on that shot, felt a surge of relief as the ball went out for a goal kick. He jogged over to Van Den Berg, the left-back, and gave him an encouraging clap on the shoulder. "Keep at him, we've got this," Amani said breathlessly. Van den Berg nodded, determination etched on his tired face.

With roughly five minutes left in regulation, the score remained 1–1. Both teams knew a draw would leave Group B wide open, but for Barcelona it would be disastrous. They pushed forward desperately, their midfield committing numbers into attack. This, however, left gaps at the back – and Utrecht was poised to exploit them.

Coach Pronk shouted from the sidelines, "Press together! Now!" sensing an opportunity. As a Barcelona defender hesitated on the ball near the halfway line, Malik and Tijmen converged, harrying him. Panicked, the defender attempted a risky pass across his own back line.

Amani pounced. Reading the play a split-second ahead, he intercepted the lazy pass in full stride near the left touchline. One touch to control and he was off, driving directly at the retreating Barcelona defense. The crowd rose to its feet as the underdog's talisman surged forward.

Amani's heart pounded, but his mind was calm – an almost preternatural focus sharpened his senses. Two defenders closed in, angling to trap him near the corner of the box. With a quick step-over and feint, Amani shifted the ball to his right foot and slipped between them, leaving both grasping at air. It was a dazzling bit of skill at the crucial moment; the stadium erupted in cheers and astonished shouts.

Now Amani was in the penalty area, down by the goal line on the left side. The Barcelona goalkeeper rushed out to narrow the angle, expecting a cut-back or a shot from the tight angle. For a heartbeat, Amani considered trying to beat the keeper at the near post – but a flash of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Malik had sprinted into the box, peeling away from his marker and arriving near the center of goal, wide open.

In that instant, everything seemed to slow for Amani. The noise of the crowd faded to a dim roar; he could even hear his own breath. This was the system working in sync with his instincts – gifting him a moment of supreme clarity and composure. Rather than take a rushed shot or blindly fire the ball across, Amani lifted his head and delivered a precise pass along the ground, cutting the ball back to the middle where Malik was waiting.

The ball rolled past the outstretched leg of a defender and met Malik perfectly in stride at the penalty spot. Malik struck it first-time with his right foot, driving it low and hard into the bottom left corner of the net. The goalkeeper, still guarding the near post, could only twist helplessly as the shot bulged the back of the goal.

For a split second, there was silence as everyone registered what had happened. Then pandemonium. "Gooooal!!!" the commentator bellowed, nearly drowned out by the roar from the Utrecht bench and supporters. "Malik again! Utrecht takes the lead, 2–1! Unbelievable – they've turned it all the way around!"

On the field, Malik ripped away in celebration, eyes wild with joy. Amani, still standing near the end line where he'd delivered the assist, threw his arms into the air, face turned to the darkening sky. A rush of triumph flooded through him. They were leading. They were actually leading FC Barcelona.

Malik bolted straight towards Amani this time, and Amani met him halfway. Malik practically jumped into his arms, and Amani laughed as he staggered back from the impact. "You hero!" Malik yelled, grinning from ear to ear. "No, you!" Amani shot back with equal glee. Around them, orange and black shirts came pouring in – Tijmen, Dani, Noah, everyone joining in an ecstatic group embrace that spun into a celebratory scrum near the corner flag.

Not far away, several Barcelona players sank to the grass in dismay. Their captain put his hands over his face. Adama Traoré stood stock-still in disbelief, his chest heaving as he tried to process the sudden turn of events. The mighty Barcelona U17s were on the brink of defeat.

As the hugging and shouting continued on the sideline, the referee approached, gesturing for Utrecht's players to eventually disperse and return for the kickoff. There was still a sliver of time left – perhaps a minute plus stoppage. Coach Pronk, though overjoyed, was already urging his players to refocus with loud claps. "Reset! Reset! Keep your heads for the final minute!"

Amani jogged back to his position, exchanging a look of pure elation with Tijmen across the field. His lungs were burning, legs heavy, but he felt almost untouchable in that moment. In the back of his mind, the system's interface glimmered with activity:

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+Goal Contribution

Trait Activated

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He didn't even need to consciously read the details to feel the effect – a steady increase in performance radiated through him. The clutch performance had honed his composure further; he could feel it in the steadiness of his breathing and the clarity of his decision making despite the fever pitch of the match.

The referee signaled for an additional one minute of stoppage time. It was do-or-die for Barcelona. As play resumed with the kickoff, they threw everything forward in a final onslaught. The next sixty seconds felt like an eternity. Barcelona earned a corner kick almost immediately when a desperate long shot was tipped wide by Veldhuizen's fingertips. The entire Barcelona team, goalkeeper included, pushed into the Utrecht box for the corner.

A tense hush fell as the corner was swung in. For a heart-stopping moment, the ball pinballed around in the penalty area – a half-clearance by Noah, a headed attempt by a Barca player that bounced off a sea of bodies. Legs swung and missed, players stumbled. It was chaos. Amani, stationed just inside the box, rushed toward the cluster of bodies and managed to get a foot on the ball, poking it away from an attacker. It rolled out to the edge of the area where Tijmen booted it further upfield.

The danger passed. The referee glanced at his watch... and put the whistle to his lips.

Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!

Full time.

The small ground erupted in celebration. The Utrecht players on the pitch threw their arms up and shouted in triumph. From the bench, substitutes and staff came streaming out, cheering and running to join the players. They had done it. Against all odds, FC Utrecht's U17s had beaten FC Barcelona U17.

Amani stood bent over for a moment, hands on his knees, chest heaving as he caught his breath. A wide smile was plastered on his face, and laughter bubbled out of him unbidden. He straightened up just in time to be nearly tackled by an ecstatic Dani and Tijmen. The three of them hopped in a circle, yelling incoherent happiness. Nearby, Malik was lifted onto the shoulders of one of the defenders amid whoops of delight – the hero with two goals.

Coach Pronk and Assistant De Vries were shaking hands and hugging other staff on the sideline, pure joy and pride on their faces. Pronk's cheeks were wet – perhaps tears of happiness at what his boys had just achieved. He quickly gathered himself and walked onto the field to congratulate each of his players in turn, offering a firm embrace or a pat on the head.

When he reached Amani, Pronk gripped him by the shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. "Brilliant, son," the coach said, his voice thick with emotion. "Absolutely brilliant." Amani beamed. There was so much he wanted to say – about how the team never gave up, about how much he appreciated the trust – but words failed him. He simply nodded and, in an uncharacteristic move, gave Coach Pronk a quick hug. Pronk chuckled and squeezed Amani's shoulder before hugging Malik and the others.

Across the way, the Barcelona players and coaches handled the defeat with quiet grace. A few of the Spanish boys traded handshakes and respectful nods with the Utrecht players. Adama Traoré, still catching his breath, walked up to Amani and extended a hand. "Good game," he managed in English, eyes reluctantly admiring. Amani shook his hand firmly. "Good game," he replied, sincerity in his voice – Adama had been a nightmare to defend. They exchanged tired smiles, young competitors acknowledging each other.

As the teams began to file off, the public address announcer confirmed the astounding result: "Full time: FC Utrecht 2, FC Barcelona 1." A fresh round of cheers and applause came from the local fans in attendance. Even some neutrals and rival team scouts were clapping, impressed by the spectacle they'd just witnessed.

Amani walked slowly toward the touchline, drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted, but feeling more alive than ever. In his mind, the system's interface glowed with a flurry of achievements and progress updates, but he pushed it aside for now. There would be time later to revel in those details. At this moment, he just wanted to soak in the atmosphere – the delighted faces of his teammates, the warm late-day sunlight over the pitch, the sound of celebratory Dutch pop music now blaring from the speakers in congratulations.

This victory put FC Utrecht U17 at the top of Group B with 6 points, virtually securing a semifinal spot. More importantly to Amani, it proved something fundamental: that they, a scrappy, lesser-known academy team, truly belonged on this elite stage. They hadn't just survived against Barcelona's wonderkids – they had triumphed.

Tijmen threw an arm around Amani's shoulders as they walked off. "We actually did it," Tijmen laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. Amani grinned, leaning into his friend's side for support. "We did," he echoed softly. His gaze drifted upward, beyond the stands, where the sky was turning a rich orange with the approaching dusk. In that sky he saw no limits, only promise.

As the team disappeared down the tunnel amid excited chatter and the lingering echoes of applause, Amani allowed himself one deep, satisfying breath. Two games, two incredible wins – their Future Cup dream was very much alive. And with each match, Amani could feel himself growing: more confident, more composed, more determined.

Whatever came next – the final group game against Manchester United, and perhaps the semifinals beyond – they would face it with the heart and belief of giant-killers. Together, this team was forging something special, and Amani was right at the center of it, ready for whatever challenges awaited with clear eyes and an unyielding spirit.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

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Wrote this Chapter in a crowded place on my phone. I don't know if it is satisfying but Thank you for the support.