The Next Big Thing
Chapter 103: Bench Talks II

Chapter 103: Bench Talks II

"But why? I’m not competing against him, though.

David’s voice sounded in the bench seat, gathering almost everyone’s attention.

That made both Mata and Odion Ighalo stop mid-thought.

"Eh?" they said almost in unison.

Even Mason, who had been sulking moments ago, turned his head back, now paying attention.

Ighalo frowned. "What are you saying, kid? Aren’t you both wingers? Of course, you’re competing."

David blinked, then, in the most natural tone—like he was stating the most obvious fact in the world—he said,

"Yeah, but we aren’t competing, though. I’m going to be fighting for a starting spot. He’s a sub. How are we competing?"

For a moment, there was complete silence.Then, as the words sank in, Ighalo’s laughter exploded through the room, loud and hearty. Mata wasn’t far behind, chuckling as he shook his head.

Mason narrowed his eyes at David, a frown covering his face.

"You cheeky sod," he started, shaking his head.

Before he could say anything else, a sudden shout erupted from across the room

."GOALLLLL!"

Eric Bailly, who had been quiet the entire time, was now on his feet, pumping his fists in the air.

Immediately, every head turned toward the pitch, all thoughts of their conversation vanishing. Their minds raced, trying to process what had just happened. Had someone scored?

For a brief second, the tension in the air shifted. Whatever rivalry or competition had been lingering between them moments ago was momentarily forgotten. Now, all that mattered was the game.

They all turned toward the pitch just in time to see Ole Gunnar Solskjær jumping up and down on the touchline, his fists clenched in pure joy.

David leaned forward, his eyes scanning the pitch, trying to make sense of the chaos.

The Manchester United players had swarmed one man, piling on top of him in celebration. It took David a second, but then he spotted the familiar figure at the center of it all—Paul Pogba.

Even without seeing the goal itself, David knew what had happened. United had scored.

"GOALLLL! GOALLLL! GOALLLL!" he screamed, his voice nearly cracking with excitement.

Around him, his teammates clapped and cheered, the energy in the room electric. United were leading 2-0 in the derby against their bitter rivals, Manchester City. A win was desperately needed, and now, they were on the verge of getting it.

David was ecstatic, bouncing on his feet, adrenaline coursing through his veins.But then—

A strange, sharp noise cut through the celebrations.

A scream

.Not one of joy.

David tilted his head, confused, and slowly turned to the source of the sound.

There, on the sidelines, was Pep Guardiola.

The Manchester City manager was a sight to behold—his hands were clawing at his bald head, fingers digging in as if he were trying to pull out hair that didn’t exist. His mouth was wide open, an agonized wail escaping his lips as he stomped his feet like a man who had just been cheated and lied on.

Then, as if the weight of the world had just crushed him, he hunched over, hands on his knees, screaming at the pitch in sheer despair.

"No! NOOOO! Qué estás haciendo?!" he roared, before throwing his arms in the air like a man pleading to the heavens.

Bailey couldn’t hold it in—he burst out laughing. The entire room followed, Mata nearly doubling over as Ighalo clutched his stomach

.Even Mason, still reeling from David’s earlier comment, had to admit it was comedy gold.

"Man’s fighting for his life out there," Ighalo wheezed between laughs.

"Somebody check on him before he explodes," Mata added, wiping tears from his eyes.

David shook his head. He understood that passion. This was football. This was the derby. And he was living every second of it.

David leaned forward as the replay started, his eyes glued to the big screen.

Manchester City had been on the attack just moments ago, moving with that signature fluidity that made them so dangerous. Rodri had the ball in midfield, scanning for an option before spotting Kevin De Bruyne’s run.

With a perfectly timed pass, he sent the Belgian through.

KDB barely needed a touch before he played a slick through ball to Raheem Sterling, who took off like a bullet.

David chuckled. No matter how many times he saw it, Sterling’s running form always cracked him up. The way he pumped his arms like he was trying to fly—funny, but damn, was he fast.

Lindelöf had no chance. Sterling blew past him like he wasn’t even there, barrelling into the box with the goal in his sights

.For a moment, the entire stadium must have held its breath. Sterling wound up for the shot—But then—Out of nowhere,

Aaron Wan-Bissaka came charging in from midfield like a predator hunting its prey. He had no right to make it in time, but somehow, he did.

Sterling, realizing the danger, tried to cut back, thinking he had tricked him.

Big mistake.

Wan-Bissaka slid in with perfection, his tackle so clean it was like he snatched the ball with invisible hands. Sterling went tumbling to the ground, arms flailing as he immediately turned to the referee, shouting for a foul.

But Wan-Bissaka was already up, unfazed.He played a sharp pass to Pogba, then another to Bruno Fernandes. Then, instead of staying back, he sprinted forward, turning defense into attack in the blink of an eye.

A City defender gave chase, but Wan-Bissaka was relentless, pushing ahead until he reached the wing. João Cancelo moved in to block him, positioning himself to stop the run.

Wan-Bissaka feigned like he was going to burst past him, forcing Cancelo to shift his balance—then, at the last second, he cut back and played a pass behind him.

Straight to Pogba.

Paul Pogba, standing just outside the box, took a touch, lifted his head, and then—

Bang.

A nasty, curling shot that twisted through the air like it had a mind of its own.

The ball sailed past Ederson, kissing the net in a way that sent the stadium into chaos.On the bench, David and the other players erupted

."Oooooh!"

"Damn!"

"Fuck, man, that’s nasty!"

The reactions were everywhere—clapping, shouting, hands thrown on heads in disbelief.

Even Mason, who had been sulking earlier, was screaming now.

David sat back, beaming. The match was going exactly the way they needed it to.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. Ole Gunnar Solskjær was approaching. As soon as he reached the bench, the players greeted him with wide smiles and laughter.

"Congrats, gaffer!"

"We stuck it to those glory hunters, man!

"Ole simply smiled, the calm in the storm."Ighalo, go warm up. You too, Bailly."

Both men grinned, nodding. "Yes, sir!" they said, already moving. Then, Ole turned his gaze to David.

David met his eyes. "How’s the game?" Ole asked. David couldn’t hide his excitement."It’s great. This is insane," he said, still buzzing from the goal.Ole nodded, then his expression shifted ever so slightly—his voice lowering just a bit, a trace of something more serious creeping in."Looking at that pitch," he said, eyes scanning the field.

"Who do you think was the most important player today? "David blinked.

The question lingered in the air, the weight of it sinking in.He looked back at the pitch, mind racing.

And for the first time that night, he wasn’t just watching the game.

This Chapter is dedicated to Julius_Hansen_6916 thank you so much for my first and only so far golden ticket for the month of February

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