PHWEEEEEEEEET!

The referee's whistle was a tiny, sharp sound, immediately swallowed by the roar of 40,000 screaming Chelsea fans.

Michael Sterling stood in the director's box, his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. His suit felt too tight. The expensive chair felt all wrong.

This was Stamford Bridge. This was the FA Cup Quarter-Final.

This was insane.

In his ear, the commentator was already going crazy, his voice cracking with excitement.

"AND WE ARE OFF! It is the 'Kings of Europe' versus the 'Barnsley Braves'! David versus Goliath doesn't even begin to cover it, folks! Chelsea, the billion-pound squad, look calm, they look arrogant, they look like they want this over by halftime!"

Michael watched as the Chelsea players, all [CA 85+] superstars, zipped the ball around. Their movements were so fast, so clean. It was like watching a different sport.

A jolt of pure, cold fear shot down Michael's spine.

They're so fast...

Within two minutes, Chelsea's £100-million-pound left-back, a superstar we'll just call 'Rico,' was already 70 yards up the pitch, playing like a winger.

"See?" Michael whispered to himself, his eyes glued to the pitch. Arthur had called it. He'd told the press he'd "taken note." This was the plan.

Chelsea's star striker got the ball and shoulder-barged his way into the box.

He was about to shoot!

THWACK!

A huge, desperate, sliding tackle from Captain Dave Bishop cleared the ball out for a corner.

The 3,000 traveling Barnsley fans, tucked away in the corner of the stadium, roared their approval.

"Bishop saves the day! But Barnsley are pinned back!" the commentator yelled.

"They can't get out!"

The corner was cleared, but Chelsea kept the pressure on. They were a blue wave, crashing against Barnsley's new, untested red wall.

Then, in the eighth minute, it happened.

Dave Bishop, a true warrior, won another massive tackle, poking the ball away from a World Cup winner. It rolled perfectly to the feet of Danny Fletcher.

Danny, the "Brain," looked up. He didn't panic. He saw the blue wave. He saw his teammates. And then... he saw the huge, gaping, beautiful ocean of green grass that Rico, the superstar left-back, had left completely empty.

Danny didn't even take a second touch.

PING!

He launched a perfect, 50-yard diagonal pass, a laser beam right into that empty space.

The entire stadium gasped.

"OH! WHAT A BALL!" the commentator shrieked. "IT'S A SENSATIONAL PASS! Barnsley are on the break! Who is that?! IT'S FINN RILEY! THE 'WILD FOX' IS IN! HE'S ONE-ON-ONE!"

Finn, his [PA 92] legs eating up the grass, was flying. A giant, £80-million-pound defender, a man who looked like a walking mountain, was charging across, his face a mask of panic.

Arthur Milton was on the sideline, his face purple, screaming, his cane forgotten.

"GO, FINN! GO! FINISH IT!"

The mountain-man defender lunged, a desperate, sliding tackle that was meant to send Finn into the stands.

But Finn just... stopped.

He put his foot on the ball, did a lightning-fast step-over, and the defender slid, pathetically, right past him. The dribble was done! Stamford Bridge was silent!

"HE'S DONE HIM! HE'S LEFT HIM FOR DEAD! RILEY IS IN THE BOX! HE'S GOING TO SHOOT!"

Michael was on his feet, his hands on his head.

This is it! 1-0!

But Finn... didn't shoot. He saw Jamie Weston, his "Wonder Twin," storming into the box. Finn, in a moment of pure, beautiful unselfishness, cut the ball back for an easy tap-in.

The pass... was just a tiny bit behind Jamie.

Jamie had to stretch, his foot just grazing the ball as a different Chelsea defender cleared it off the line.

GAAAAAAH!

Michael let out a huge, agonized groan and slumped back into his seat. A golden, golden chance, gone.

Down on the pitch, Finn and Jamie were already laughing.

"Just shoot it, you crazy fox!" Jamie yelled, giving him a friendly shove.

"I was setting you up, slow-coach!" Finn yelled back, grinning from ear to ear.

"Keep up next time!"

This wasn't a team that got scared. This was a team having fun.

But Chelsea... Chelsea were not laughing. They were furious. They had just been embarrassed, at home, by a team of kids. The "bored" look was gone.

Now, they were angry.

"And Chelsea are on the attack!" the commentator's voice was tense.

"They look rattled! They look furious! And they are coming forward in numbers!"

The ball was a blur. Zip, zip, zip. It was poetry. It was terrifying.

It landed at the feet of their £150-million-pound superstar midfielder, Enzo.

He was 25 yards from goal. He had an inch of space.

Tom "The Interceptor" Harrison flew in, his [Interceptor (Lvl 2)] skill humming.

He was going to win it!

He was a split-second too late.

CRACK!

The sound was sickening. Enzo unleashed an absolute rocket. It wasn't just a shot; it was a missile, curling, dipping, and screaming towards the top-left corner.

Sam Jones, the "OP Keeper," exploded off his line. He flew, his body a perfect, horizontal line, his glove stretched as far as it could go.

He got a fingertip to it...

But it wasn't enough.

The ball smashed into the back of the net, bulging it with a vicious thwump.

1-0, Chelsea.

The stadium erupted. The sound was a physical, painful, deafening roar.

"GOOOOOOOOAL! A MOMENT OF PURE, UNDENIABLE, WORLD-CLASS GENIUS!" the commentator was screaming himself hoarse. "That is what £150 million buys you! A goal from absolutely nothing! The Barnsley 'Braves' are stunned! The fairy tale... has just hit reality!"

Michael just sat there, his heart in his shoes. His kids... they looked shell-shocked.

"Come on, lads," Michael whispered, his hands shaking. "Get your heads up..."

Chelsea, smelling blood, came right back at them. They wanted a second. They wanted to kill the game.

It was the 18th minute.

That same left-back, Rico, got the ball again. He was arrogant now, his confidence back. He tried to dribble past Captain Dave Bishop.

A huge, fatal mistake.

Bishop, the 33-year-old "Old Guard," was having none of it. He went in for a massive, thundering, perfect slide tackle. He took the ball, clean as a whistle, and the Chelsea star went flying over his legs.

It was a tackle that shook the ground.

But... Dave didn't get up.

The referee blew the whistle. The play stopped.

Dave Bishop was on the ground, clutching his knee. He was in agony.

Michael's blood ran cold.

"No... no, no, no, get up, Dave. Get up!"

The physio ran on. The "magic spray" came out. It wasn't working.

Bishop was shaking his head, his face pale. And then Michael saw it. He was crying.

He was done.

The stretcher was called. The entire stadium, 40,000 Chelsea fans and 3,000 Barnsley fans, rose to their feet, a wave of respectful applause for a true warrior.

Michael was devastated. His captain. His leader. Gone.

"What now?" he whispered, looking at the sideline. "What's the plan, Arthur?"

Arthur Milton stood by his bench, his face a mask of cold, tactical fury. His leader was gone. His defense was broken.

He turned to his substitutes.

Michael expected him to bring on another defender. To park the bus. To try and survive.

Arthur didn't even look at his defenders.

He pointed, a sharp, stabbing finger, at the youngest kid on the bench.

Raphael Santos. The [PA 90] "Magician," just back from his training.

"Raph! You're on! Get in the 'ten' spot! Go!"

Michael's jaw dropped. The commentator was losing his mind.

"WHAT IS THIS?! WHAT... IS... THIS?! Arthur Milton is taking off his best defender... and he's bringing on another attacker?! He's changing his tactics! He's moving Danny Fletcher back to center-back and going with two playmakers! This is either the bravest thing I've ever seen, or it's absolute suicide! We are at 20 minutes, and this game has already had EVERYTHING!"

Michael watched as Raphael, his face a picture of pure, stunned, terrified excitement, ran onto the pitch.

The game restarted.

Arthur looked across the field, right at the Chelsea manager. Then, he turned his head and stared right up at Michael in the director's box.

His eyes were on fire. He wasn't giving up. He was attacking.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.