The Next Big Thing
Chapter 98: Manchester Derby

Chapter 98: Manchester Derby

Matchday 30 at Old Trafford. The Theatre of Dreams. And what a match we have for you today!

The voice of Peter Drury echoed through the broadcast, carrying the weight of anticipation and history. He smiled, adjusting the mic slightly before continuing.

"It’s the Manchester Derby. Second versus third in the Premier League table. And should I just say—it’s good to be back! And What a way to return!"

He paused, letting the significance of the occasion sink in before pressing on.

"Now, some of you might think this match isn’t a big deal. After all, Liverpool ran away with the league before the break, sealing the title with games to spare. But you’d be wrong to dismiss this one."

"For Manchester United, this is everything. The race for the Champions League is on the line. Chelsea are breathing down their necks, only trailing on goal difference, while Leicester lurks just two points behind. A slip-up here could be costly. And for Manchester City? For them—and even for United—this match is more than just three points. It’s about something far greater."

"It’s about respect. About the city. About which team truly owns Manchester. It’s about bragging rights. And beyond all of that—it’s about pride."

Drury’s voice took on an almost poetic rhythm, building up the stakes with every word.

"Sir Alex Ferguson once declared that as long as he lived, Manchester City could never be favorites in a derby. But Pep Guardiola—former treble-winning coach, the man who defeated Ferguson twice in Champions League finals—came to Manchester and rewrote that statement. City have won the last three meetings. The balance of power has shifted."

"And if you still think this isn’t about bragging rights or pride... just take a look at the lineups."

He let the moment breathe, the weight of history and rivalry thick in the air.

"For Manchester United, we have goalkeeper David De Gea between the sticks, with Victor Lindelöf, captain Harry Maguire, and Luke Shaw forming the defensive line in front of him. Aaron Wan-Bissaka, Fred, Nemanja Matić, and Paul Pogba take their positions in midfield, with Bruno Fernandes just ahead of them in the attacking midfield role. And can we just take a moment to talk about how influential he’s been since arriving? He’s played, what, nine games for United and already has four goals and three assists!

Leading the attack, we have academy graduate Marcus Rashford, who is enjoying a fantastic season with 14 goals and five assists in the Premier League alone. Alongside him is the Frenchman, Anthony Martial, also on 14 goals but with four assists to his name. The duo has been flying high—let’s see if they can find a way past this City defense, who, let’s not forget, beat them 2-0 earlier this season.

Manchester United are lining up in a 3-4-1-2 formation, with Wan-Bissaka taking on a midfield role today—an interesting tactical decision. Let’s see if Ole Gunnar Solskjær knows what he’s doing with that change.

On the bench, we have another academy talent, 18-year-old Mason Greenwood, as well as the experienced Nigerian striker Odion Ighalo—two subs to keep an eye on if United need a game-changer."

"And for Pep Guardiola’s Manchester City, here’s how they line up today!"

"In goal, the ever-reliable Brazilian, Ederson, standing tall between the sticks. At center-back, we have captain Fernandinho alongside Nicolás Otamendi, forming the heart of the defense. On the left, João Cancelo slots in at left-back, while on the right, the fastest defender in the world—Kyle Walker—takes his place. There were doubts about his fitness, and some even left him out of their Fantasy Premier League squads. To those people, I can only say... sorry!"

"In midfield, Rodri anchors the team in the defensive role, partnered by Ilkay Gündogan and—back in action after a long injury layoff—Kevin De Bruyne. The Belgian maestro plays his first match since January, and you just know he’s itching to make an impact."

"And then, up front, it’s a front three packed with pace, skill, and firepower. On the right, the Stockport Iniesta—Phil Foden. On the left, Raheem Sterling, always a threat. And leading the charge, the legendary Argentine, Sergio Agüero."

"A lineup built for goals. A lineup built for battle. The stage is set. The Manchester Derby is here!"

"Looking at this lineup, I can only say—this will be an uphill battle for Manchester United. Because wow—Pep Guardiola has gone all out! He’s fielded his very best, world-class players in every position."

"And if you think that’s scary, just look at the bench! Bernardo Silva, Gabriel Jesus, David Silva, Leroy Sané, and Riyad Mahrez—all waiting in the wings. That kind of squad depth is just frightening. Manchester City... they look inevitable."

As the teams made their final adjustments on the pitch, the anticipation reached its peak. The moment had arrived.

Peter Drury gripped the mic, a line he had been waiting for months to say sitting at the tip of his tongue.

"And we are underway!"

A shiver ran down his spine. Butterflies danced in his stomach.

"Football is back, man."

Peter Drury settled in, his voice rich with enthusiasm as the game took shape.

"Ah, the Manchester Derby. A fixture laced with history, passion, and, dare I say—chaos! And already, you can sense the tension. United needing this for the Champions League chase, City playing for dominance... and somewhere, Sir Alex Ferguson is watching, probably chewing gum with a little extra vigor."

He chuckled, adjusting his mic as the game flowed.

"You know, it’s funny—Pep Guardiola once said he doesn’t coach tackles. Well, looking at this City side, I think he also doesn’t coach sitting deep. Just look at them—pressing high, squeezing United like a python!"

The game was barely four minutes old, and Peter was mid-sentence, setting up another fact, when suddenly—

"WHAT?! WHAT?! LOOK AT THAT!!"

A cross—no, a masterpiece—had just been delivered.

Bruno Fernandes, deep in his own half, spotted a run no one else had even imagined. With the outside of his boot, he sent a swerving, curling, physics-defying ball through the City defense. It bypassed Rodri, split Otamendi and Fernandinho, left Kyle Walker scrambling—and somehow, someway, landed perfectly at the feet of Anthony Martial.

"OH MY WORD! WHAT WAS THAT FROM BRUNO FERNANDES?! Is he not the BUY of the season?! Look at that pass! A KDB-esque splitting ball—right in front of Kevin De Bruyne himself!"

Martial, now one-on-one with Ederson, took one touch, then another. The Brazilian keeper rushed out, but it was too late. With the calmness of a man sipping tea on a Sunday afternoon, Martial dinked the ball over him.

The net rippled. Old Trafford erupted.

"ANTHONY MARTIAL!!! COOL AS YOU LIKE! That is outrageous! That is ridiculous! And that is Manchester United, slicing through the champions like a hot knife through butter!"

Peter Drury laughed, barely able to contain himself.

"My goodness. Football—you have to love it!"

The camera panned to Bruno Fernandes, grinning as his teammates mobbed Martial. On the touchline, Pep Guardiola stood frozen, arms crossed, shaking his head with a wry smile—almost as if he, too, had to appreciate the brilliance of that moment.

The Manchester Derby had only just begun.

And already, it had delivered magic.

Peter Drury was still in disbelief, shaking his head as replays of Bruno Fernandes’ pass played on the screens.

"That’s how you do it! That’s how you get it done! A moment of vision, a moment of audacity, and Manchester United lead in the derby!"

The match restarted, and City were far from rattled. If anything, the goal had woken them up.

"But you just know Manchester City will press on now. They have to. They won’t let this slide—not under Guardiola, not with the players they have. And already, here they come!"

The sky-blue shirts flooded forward, their signature passing rhythm clicking into place.

"De Bruyne... oh, you just know he wants to answer Bruno with a defense-splitting pass of his own! Here he is... KDB—OH, LOOK AT THAT! That’s a De Bruyne special!"

With a stroke of genius, the Belgian maestro threaded an inch-perfect ball between United’s lines. It dissected Lindelöf, danced past Wan-Bissaka, and landed right at the feet of Sergio Agüero.

"Agüero! He’s through! He rounds De Gea... GOAL! GOAL! IT’S—NO, WAIT!!"

Out of nowhere, a blur of red appeared.

Harry Maguire.

With one desperate lunge, the United captain stretched out a leg—right on the line—and hooked the ball away before it could cross. The stadium, empty due to COVID restrictions, should have been silent. But instead—

"FUCK YEAH!!!"

A voice rang out, loud and clear, cutting through the eerie stillness.

Peter Drury, mid-shout, stopped abruptly. The cameras themselves turned toward the sound.

There, in the stands, stood a kid—maybe 16 or 17—leaning forward on his crutches, his face alight with excitement, eyes wide, mouth still open from his outburst.

Drury, momentarily speechless, blinked before tilting his head in curiosity.

"And who might this kid be?" he said, his voice carrying both amusement and intrigue.

The match was alive. The drama was unfolding. And now, it had an unexpected guest.