The Next Big Thing
Chapter 112: United vs Chelsea FA Cup Semis

Chapter 112: United vs Chelsea FA Cup Semis

"GOALLLL!" The deafening screams erupted from the Manchester United bench as Bruno Fernandes coolly slotted his world-famous penalty, sending the goalkeeper the wrong way. The ball nestled comfortably in the back of the net, and the stadium erupted in celebration.

David jumped up from his seat, waving his hands in the air, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Told you so! Told you so! Goal! Goal! Goal!" His excitement was contagious, and the whole bench seemed to come alive, their spirits lifted by the early lead.

As David finally sat down, still grinning ear to ear, he heard Juan Mata’s calm voice cut through the chaos. "David, calm down. The match just started." Mata spoke with his usual composed demeanor, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

David laughed, his confidence undented. "Come on, I already told you—we’re winning this match!" He leaned back, flashing a wide smile. "Don’t forget, I’m—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Paul Pogba wrapped an arm around him from behind in a playful hug. "Lucky charm, right?" Pogba said, laughing as he ruffled David’s hair. "Ha ha ha, maybe it’s true. Maybe I should stay close to you more—keep these injuries away, eh? What do you say?"

David chuckled, nodding as he replied, "For sure, no problem. I’ll keep the luck coming!"

Pogba burst into louder laughter, clapping him on the back. "That’s my guy! Plus, I hear you’re Nigerian, yeah?"

David tilted his head in confusion, his smile faltering slightly. "Uh, yeah, I am. But... why does that matter?"

Pogba wiggled his eyebrows dramatically, making an exaggerated gesture with his hands. "Then I must be your friend! Nigerians are full of luck, my brother. Maybe your magic can finally help me stay fit, eh?"

David stared at Pogba, utterly confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. Unsure how to respond, he forced a fake laugh and nodded. "Yeah, no problem. Ha ha."

Pogba laughed even harder, clearly amused by David’s awkward response, before letting go and turning his attention back to the pitch.

David, shaking his head, refocused his gaze as well. It was time for the match to restart. Kickoff was just seconds away, and David’s heart was already racing again. Let’s see what happens next.

As David tried to refocus on the match after Pogba’s bizarre antic, his eyes followed the ball rather than any particular player. He wasn’t analyzing the game as a future professional; he was watching it like a true fan—just one lucky enough to be seated on the Manchester United bench.

The ball zipped across the pitch as Chelsea began to string together an attack. Mateo Kovačić received the ball deep in midfield, showcasing his impeccable control as he held off Fred’s press. He turned swiftly, feeding the ball to Reece James on the right flank. James pushed forward with speed, forcing Luke Shaw to backpedal, before slipping the ball inside to Mason Mount, the heartbeat of Chelsea’s offense.

Mount was sublime, turning with the grace of a dancer to shrug off Scott McTominay’s challenge. His sharp movement opened space, and he threaded a beautiful pass to Olivier Giroud, who had ghosted between Maguire and Lindelöf. Giroud, with his trademark composure, took a clever touch but hesitated for a fraction of a second, allowing Aaron Wan-Bissaka to lunge in and block the shot. The ball ricocheted off Wan-Bissaka’s boot, spinning awkwardly back toward Mount, who volleyed it instantly.

The strike was clean, but De Gea was ready, diving to his left and punching the ball away. The sound of his gloves connecting with the ball echoed around an eerily quiet Old Trafford, where the usual roar of fans had been replaced with the shouts of coaches and players. David couldn’t help but nod at Mount’s brilliance, even if it made his pulse quicken.

As the ball was cleared, Manchester United quickly switched into counter-attacking mode. Bruno Fernandes latched onto the loose ball, skillfully shrugging off a challenge from Kovačić. He turned and launched a perfect through ball into space for Daniel James. James, known for his explosive pace, bolted down the right side of the pitch like a sprinter off the blocks. The players on the Chelsea bench rose to their feet as Azpilicueta desperately tried to close him down.

But just as James reached the edge of the box, indecision struck. Instead of squaring it to Rashford, who was perfectly positioned to tap it in, James hesitated and took one touch too many. His angle narrowed, and as he attempted a weak shot, the ball sailed harmlessly wide of the post.

"Fucking hell!" David yelled from the bench, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. His voice carried clearly in the silence of the stadium, drawing amused glances from some of the coaching staff.

Chelsea wasted no time seizing control again. Mount, once more at the center of things, picked up the ball near the halfway line. He carried it forward, gliding past McTominay with ease, and threaded a risky but accurate through ball toward Giroud. It was a perfectly weighted pass that carved open United’s defense like a hot knife through butter.

David’s heart skipped a beat as Giroud raced onto it, but De Gea read the danger brilliantly. The Spaniard came off his line with lightning speed, sliding in to collect the ball cleanly before Giroud could get a touch.

David let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders loosening as De Gea rose to his feet, cradling the ball like it was a precious artifact. "Safe hands," David muttered under his breath, giving the goalkeeper an approving nod from the bench.

The match continued at a relentless pace, the two teams evenly matched. Chelsea dominated possession, using their quick, short passing to keep United pinned back. Mount, Kovačić, and Jorginho orchestrated the midfield like a symphony, shifting the ball from side to side, waiting for gaps to open. Their composure and patience on the ball were masterful, forcing United’s players to stay disciplined and compact in their defensive shape.

Meanwhile, Manchester United stuck to their defend-and-counter game plan. With Bruno pulling the strings, they looked lethal every time they surged forward. Rashford and James stretched Chelsea’s defense, using their pace to exploit the spaces behind the full-backs. It was a tactical chess match, both teams probing for weaknesses but unable to land a decisive blow.

Then came the 42nd minute. Old Trafford was buzzing—not with cheers, but with the electrifying energy of a match that felt destined to end extraordinary...