Chapter 183: Win
Win.Win.Win.Win.Win.Win.Win.Win.
That was all David could hear inside his mind. Not the echoes of the empty stadium. Not the shout of his coach on the sideline. Not even the nagging pain pulsing through his left leg. Just that one word, repeated over and over like a war drum pounding inside his head.
Win.
It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a goal. It was a command. A need. The only thing that made sense in the chaos of ninety minutes.
He was on the right wing, locked in. Breathing through his nose, exhaling sharply through his mouth like a sprinter in the last seconds of a race. Sweat clung to his temple, dripping down the side of his face, mixing with the heat of frustration, adrenaline, and pain.
The ball came—fast, low, skimming the pitch. Pogba had spotted him, just inside the halfway line. The Frenchman’s touch was velvet, but the delivery had fire. David’s right boot cushioned the ball as it came in. It kissed his sole and rolled forward perfectly, the kind of touch that you could feel in your soul. He turned on instinct.
He could hear everything. That was the oddest part. There were no fans—COVID protocols had sucked the soul from Old Trafford—but the silence had a presence of its own. In that vacuum, the voices carried like bullets.
"Pass, David!"
"Switch it!"
"Back! Back!"
"Don’t let him turn!"