The Next Big Thing
Chapter 115: Shocking News

Chapter 115: Shocking News

"Fucking hell! Fuck! Fuck!"

David Jones’ voice echoed through the spacious but barely furnished living room. Weeks had passed since he moved to Manchester, yet the place still looked like someone in the middle of unpacking. Boxes were scattered across the floor, some half-open, others untouched. A flat-screen TV stood on a low table, not yet mounted on the wall. The place felt temporary, unsettled.

But none of that mattered to David right now. Not the apartment. Not the mess.

All that mattered was the match.

On the screen, UEFA’s logo flashed for a second before the scoreboard in the top left corner made his stomach drop further.

Sevilla 2 - Manchester United 0

David slumped back onto the bean bag in the center of the room, groaning loudly.

"Oooh, for Christ’s sake, what are these guys doing?" His voice was filled with disbelief and frustration.

A soft, feminine voice cut through his rant.

"Hey, don’t injure yourself it’s just a match."

Zoey.

David didn’t need to look at his phone to know it was her. They had been watching matches together over voice calls recently, reacting to every play like they were sitting side by side in the same room.

Without looking away from the screen, he muttered, "But look at these guys! What the fuck are they actually doing?"

Before Zoey could respond, something happened on the pitch.

David sat up immediately, eyes locked onto the TV.

Aaron Wan-Bissaka had just won back possession, sliding in with a perfectly timed tackle. He was quick to his feet, immediately playing the ball forward to Paul Pogba.

David’s heart rate spiked.

Pogba, ever the magician, controlled the ball with ease, shaking off an incoming Sevilla player before looking up. The pass he made next was ridiculous—a slicing, pinpoint ball over the top, perfectly weighted, bypassing the entire Sevilla midfield and defense in one motion.

David jumped up from the bean bag.

"Yes! Yes!"

The ball fell to Rashford, who controlled it brilliantly on the edge of the box. He had a clear sight on goal.

David leaned forward, hands clenched into fists.

Rashford was one-on-one with the keeper.

"Shoot! Shoot! SHOOT!" David yelled at the screen, his voice filled with desperation.

But Rashford hesitated.

Instead of taking the shot immediately, he took an extra touch. Then another. His eyes darted around as if searching for a better option.

David’s fists slammed into his thighs.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?!"

The delay was fatal.

A Sevilla defender recovered just in time, sliding in with an aggressive challenge. Rashford, now flustered, hurriedly struck the ball—but it was weak. A tame, half-hearted attempt, straight at the goalkeeper.

David’s mouth hung open for a second, then—

"FUCKING HELLLLL!"

His voice roared through the room, his frustration boiling over. He grabbed a pillow from the couch and flung it across the room.

"Why is he so indecisive?! He should just trap it and place the keeper! Why the hell is he looking around like a lost child?!"

Zoey exhaled on the other end of the call.

David didn’t even notice. His eyes were still glued to the screen, his pulse racing.

United were running out of time. And Sevilla? They were closing in on victory.

75 minutes.

David glanced at the time in the top corner of the screen, his body sinking back into the bean bag. He groaned, rubbing his hands down his face.

"Why can’t the guy just fucking shoot?" he muttered, exhaling heavily.

On the other end of the call, Zoey—who, for some reason, always refused to do video calls with him—finally spoke up.

"You guys have lost this match. Just forget about it."

David frowned. He had joked before that she avoided video calls because she was ugly, even teasing that they should still do one because his beauty would cancel out hers. She never played along.

Right now, though, he wasn’t thinking about that. His eyes were half-open, staring at the screen as if the match had physically drained him.

No. This isn’t over.

He knew how much this match meant. It was their last game of the season—their last chance to win anything. They couldn’t go trophyless. They just couldn’t.

He covered his face for a moment before shaking his head, conditioning himself.

Football is unpredictable.

Anything is possible until the 90th minute.

He started nodding, repeating to himself, "Yes, yes, it’s possible."

"What?" Zoey asked, confused.

David sat up straight, voice firmer now.

"I said this is football! Everything is possible. United can still win this match."

Almost as if to slap reality back into him, the TV screen showed Suso—the Sevilla right-winger—cutting inside past Brandon Williams. The young fullback had come on for Luke Shaw after his injury earlier in the game, but he looked completely out of his depth.

David tensed up.

Suso took a touch, shifted the ball onto his stronger left foot, and let one fly.

The shot wasn’t even that powerful. It was straight at De Gea—should have been an easy save.

But then—

The ball slipped.

David saw it in slow motion—De Gea’s hands fumbled it, the ball rolling loose in the box. Before he could even react, he saw Ocampos sprinting in, eyes locked onto the ball like a predator about to pounce.

David leaped from the bean bag.

"WHAT?! NOOOOO!" he screamed, voice cracking from the sheer panic.

Ocampos lunged forward. De Gea, realizing his mistake, scrambled to recover.

For a split second, David’s heart stopped.

Then—

De Gea snatched the ball back just in time, mere inches before Ocampos could poke it into the net.

David exhaled sharply, collapsing back onto the bean bag like his soul had just left his body.

"Yeah, no. You guys are gonna lose," Zoey said dryly.

David shot her an irritated look—even though she couldn’t see him.

"Don’t say anything negative here. Hey, we’re winning this match. Believe that."

Zoey didn’t even try to hold back her laughter. "Dude, you can’t be this delusional."

David gritted his teeth. "What are you saying? It’s just—" He glanced at the clock.

81 minutes.

Panic crept in.

"It’s just the 81st minute!" he said quickly, like he was trying to convince himself. "We still have 9 minutes left. Plus extra time, which should be a lot thanks to Shaw’s injury. We have enough time to equalize and head to extra time. And it’s not like Sevilla is any good. We’ve just been poor."

Zoey sighed.

"Dude... since I’ve been watching football, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Man United beat Sevilla. And now you’re talking about a comeback in 10 minutes?" She let out a dramatic sigh. "Nah, forget this match. Just focus on next season."

David clenched his jaw, staring at the screen.

"What do you even know about football, eh? And since when have you been watching ball for you to say we’ve never beaten Sevilla?" David shot back, his tone filled with skepticism. "You this young one—"

He didn’t finish his words. His eyes were already glued back to the screen, tracking every movement on the pitch.

Zoey scoffed. "What is this one saying? I know ball. Or are the beatings I give you in FIFA not enough proof?" She didn’t wait for his response before adding, "And for your information, I’m older than—" She suddenly stopped. "Forget about that."

David barely paid attention, still fixated on the match.

"Just forget about the match," she said louder this time. "Not like you’re the one playing."

Right on cue, Martial got a clear chance on goal.

David sat up. This is it!

Martial took the shot.

Straight at the keeper.

David screamed. "Fucking hell, this twat!"

His hands flew to his head in frustration. That was the moment!

Zoey’s words finally registered in the background. The first and last part of her sentence stuck with him, and they pissed him off.

"Even if I’m not playing, they’re still my team!" he shot back. "And as for what you said—knowing how to play FIFA doesn’t mean you know football. And I’ve told you, until you and I play on the same console and you beat me, I’m not accepting shit. I still haven’t ruled out you cheating yet!"

Zoey’s voice came through defensively. "What cheat? I’ve told you a hundred times, there’s no cheat in FIFA. It doesn’t exist! Do you think this is GTA or some shit?"

"Well, there has to be, because that’s the only way you can beat me!"

"You egotistical, bullheaded—!"

Before she could finish, a ding sound rang through the living room.

David paused. His head tilted toward the kitchen.

"Wait, did you hear that?" he asked.

Zoey, still annoyed, snapped, "What?"

David sat up straighter, stretching his neck toward the kitchen like he was trying to listen better.

"I heard something," he muttered, trying to place the sound.

Zoey, now mildly curious, asked, "What did you hear?"

David’s eyes suddenly widened in horror.

"Fuck! My cheesecake!" he screamed.

Panic hit him like a freight train. His cheesecake—the one he had lovingly placed in the oven, one of the few things he actually cared about in his kitchen—was probably ruined.

He shot up from his seat, ready to sprint to the kitchen—

Then he heard another scream.

"GOALLLL!!!"

Zoey’s voice rang through the call like an alarm.

David froze mid-step. His head whipped back to the TV.

No way.

He had turned around for one second—who the hell just scored?!

His eyes darted to the screen, and what he saw made his heart leap.

Pogba.

The camera cut to him grabbing the ball from the net, sprinting back to the center circle.

David’s brain barely processed it before he exploded.

"FUCK YES! LET’S GO, RED DEVILS! FUCK YES!"

He jumped back onto the couch, completely abandoning the cheesecake.

"Glory, glory, Man United! Glory, glory, Man United!" he sang, pumping his fists.

The scoreboard flashed: 87:32

A wicked grin spread across his face.

"I told you we’re winning this game! Just wait, I told you!"

Zoey, laughing on the other end, finally gave in. "Ha ha ha, okay, okay! Let’s hope they win." Then, still chuckling, she joined in. "Glory, glory, Man United!"

David smirked.

Now, all they needed was one more goal.

Then, David and Zoey sat in their respective places, watching the final moments of the match in silence—well, apart from David’s occasional shouts and grumbles.

The whistle blew.

Final score: Sevilla 2 - Manchester United 1.

David stared at the screen, his eyes blank. His brain refused to process it.

Then, without a word, he grabbed the remote and turned off the TV.

A loud, dramatic hiss escaped his lips. "Mctheww!"

And just like that, the floodgates opened.

"Fucking imbeciles!" he ranted, throwing his hands in the air. "How the fuck could they lose that match? And that ref—four minutes of extra time? FOUR? Is he blind? Corrupt? A fucking PIPE?! This is horrible, man. Absolute fucking disaster!"

Zoey’s voice came through the call, barely holding back a laugh. "Sorry, man. It’s all good. At least next season, they have you, uh?"

David exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Yeah, man, if I was there—"

Then, suddenly—

A sniff.

A pause.

A whiff of smoke.

His eyes widened. His head whipped toward the kitchen.

Wait.

His brain connected the dots a second too late.

"Shit—FUCK! THE OVEN!"

In a flash, he was on his feet, any disappointment about the match instantly replaced by sheer panic. His leg—his so-called "injury" from sitting too long—miraculously healed as he sprinted toward the kitchen like a man possessed.

Behind him, Zoey burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Oh my God, David—!"

"Shut up, Zoey!" he yelled, frantically opening the oven. A thick cloud of smoke greeted him.

While David was dealing with his oven disaster and Manchester United fans were drowning in collective misery, someone else was facing an entirely different kind of pressure.

In the sacred grounds of all United supporters—Old Trafford—inside the CEO’s office, Ed Woodward sat at his desk.

The usually powerful and composed CEO of Manchester United looked anything but that at this moment. His face was pale, his shoulders slumped, his fingers nervously drumming against the mahogany surface.

His eyes remained fixed on the screen of his laptop, staring at the email he had just received.

A simple message from his boss.

"DO IT NOW."

That was it. No greeting. No explanation. Just three words that carried the weight of an empire.

Ed exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. He shook his head. He knew what needed to be done.

I just realized we’ve passed 100 Chapters! To everyone who has supported me along the way—thank you from the bottom of my heart. I truly appreciate each and every one of you.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.