Chapter 174: Manchester United Vs Crystal Palace
"Hurry, hurry, the game will soon start!"
Beneath the roaring crowd and bright lights of Old Trafford, tucked away in a narrow, dimly lit corridor just behind the players’ tunnel, was a small utility room—rarely used, half-forgotten, its door creaking on its hinges. A single bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting flickering shadows across the walls lined with cleaning supplies, spare training bibs, and unused gear. This was the spot. The secret meeting place. And in the center of it all knelt Mohamed, his hands pressed against David’s left calf, his brows furrowed with concern.
"David, this is reckless," Mohamed said, his voice rushed, tight. "Wouldn’t it be better to just tell the coach your leg is hurting? Say you can’t play?"
Mohamed had been at home just minutes before, finally enjoying some peace after chasing his sisters out of his room. He’d set up his snacks, leaned back with his laptop, ready to watch his best friend play for Crystal Palace against Manchester United. He was already yelling at the TV, cursing the commentators for underestimating David—when his phone buzzed. Urgently. It was David.
The voice on the other end had been strained, breathless. Desperate. "Mo, I need you to come. Now. Stadium. Please."
Mohamed hadn’t hesitated. Not even to grab his shoes properly. He ignored his sisters yelling at him to stay, pushed out the door, and practically ran the whole way. Because he knew David. Proud, independent David. If he was calling like this—asking for help—then it had to be serious.
And it was. Now, kneeling in front of him, Mohamed stared down at the leg.
David’s left shin was swollen, the area around the ankle red and inflamed. Veins popped slightly under the surface, and the skin was tight with pressure. Even just touching it made David flinch. The sort of pain you couldn’t just walk off—not on matchday. Not at this level.
David sat on a folded-up kit bag, trying to stretch and rotate the leg.
"Come on, dude," he said, attempting a chuckle. "It’s just a little soreness. Nothing I can’t handle."
He laughed—awkwardly. The kind of laugh meant to downplay what everyone could see was serious.