Football Dynasty

Thuram intercepted Bergkamp's dribble cleanly, barely breaking stride as he carried the ball down the left. A quick glance up — Pirlo was already peeling into space in midfield. The pass was crisp, perfectly weighted.

Pirlo's first touch killed the ball dead, his second sent it slicing diagonally across the pitch to the right. Zidane, unmarked, received it without a hint of panic, letting the ball roll across his body before threading a long, raking pass forward.

Trezeguet rose to meet it, flicking a deft header into the path of Zidane, who had continued his run into the box.

Keown lunged with a sliding tackle. He mistimed it. His boot clipped Zidane's shin.

PHWEEEEEE~

The referee pointed straight to the spot, yellow card in hand.

The Arsenal defenders swarmed to protest. Keown barked at Zidane, accusing him of going down too easily. Zidane just smirked, brushing off the words as teammates pulled the two apart.

The noise in the stadium swelled. This was the chance for City to level.

Zidane stepped up, placing the ball with almost ceremonial care. Seaman, a giant in goal, stared him down, hands twitching. The whistle blew.

Zidane approached slowly, body angled as if to whip the ball into the top corner. Seaman guessed early, launching himself to his right.

But instead of blasting it, Zidane gently scooped the ball down the middle — a perfectly executed Panenka.

The ball floated like a feather and dropped over the line, brushing the net with the softest whisper. Seaman was left sprawled on the turf, glancing back in disbelief.

"GOAAAL! Beautiful from Zidane! The audacity! A Panenka, in a match like this!"

Manchester City 1 - 1 Arsenal

City's fans exploded in celebration, scarves twirling in the floodlit stands. Zidane simply jogged back to the halfway line, calm and almost amused, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

On the Kippax Stand, the fans were singing and dancing, the loyal supporters of the Cityzens had stopped fearing Arsenal altogether.

Indeed, City was currently an unstoppable force. The team was packed with talent, each player a skilled star in their own right. In the eyes of the fans, every player on the field had ample reason to become a legend, as long as they stayed in the club!

As for The prevous player like rivaldo, solkaer, ferdiannd, who had been fondly remembered years ago, many of the newer fans who had just begun to follow the club would often ask, "Who's that?"

Arsène Wenger stood motionless for a moment, arms folded, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. He didn't shout, didn't throw his hands up — just that measured, calculating look he always had when replaying the last ten seconds in his mind.

Then, without taking his eyes off the pitch, he raised a hand and beckoned over Patrick Vieira.

Finally!

The young Frenchman jogged to the touchline, leaning in as Wenger spoke quickly, gesturing toward the midfield and tapping two fingers into his palm as if drawing a diagram no one else could see.

Vieira nodded sharply, clapped his hands toward his teammates, and prepared to enter the pitch, replacing Ray Parlour. Wenger stayed at the edge of his technical area, arms folded once more, quietly watching, waiting for the shift to take hold.

It was unclear what adjustments Wenger had planned during halftime, but the moment Vieira entered, Arsenal's attacking presence through the middle noticeably increased as the second half began. Vieira's advanced positioning was proof of the tactical shift.

Originally, Wenger had used Ray Parlour for his discipline and defensive work — a perfect balance for Petit and Overmars, who were more attack-minded. But now, with City having leveled the score, Wenger wanted to go all out.

O'Neill and Mourinho watched from the sidelines, noting how Vieira operated deeper, supporting Overmars' skill and Petit's commanding presence and precise passing. At times, Vieira would surge forward while Petit stayed back to cover.

Vieira had already shown promise and significant ability early in his career, but keeping him in France would be a waste — the league itself would stagnate in the years to come.

Mourinho, aware that Vieira was a former teammate of Zidane and Makelele, immediately began analyzing his play. He had weighed the idea carefully, but after observing the first fifteen minutes of Vieira on the pitch, he reached a conclusion.

While Vieira had organizational skills, there was still a gap compared to Pirlo. Partnering him with Makelele could form a top-tier defensive pair, but their attacking creativity would be limited. Confident in Makelele's defensive prowess, Mourinho saw no need for additional security. The defensive duties would remain with Makelele, while the creative spark would be left to Zidane — a structure much like the French national team a decade later.

As Arsenal pushed harder through the center, City settled into a calmer rhythm. Their offensive bursts became less frequent, but their control improved significantly.

Their attacks began tilting to the right, with Pirlo frequently directing play toward the flank where Zanetti and Pires combined, putting Winterburn under constant pressure.

In the 58th minute, Pires received the ball and, after a quick exchange with Zidane, darted toward the goal. Winterburn was forced to help compress space inside the box. Under pressure from May and Bould, Zidane calmly switched the ball back to the left.

Ronaldo cut inside, drawing defenders toward him, and instantly freed up Capdevila, who surged down the line before delivering a perfect cross.

Trezeguet and Adams both jumped for it in front of goal but failed to connect, their runs overlapping too closely and arriving a fraction too soon.

By the time the ball dropped, the young Trezeguet — entrusted this time as the lone striker — had already adjusted his position, leaping to meet it with a powerful header.

Behind him, Pires had anticipated the play. He didn't even jump at the near post, knowing he couldn't reach it, instead positioning himself for a possible rebound or second chance.

The header from Trezeguet thundered toward the far post, but Seaman reacted brilliantly, diving full stretch to parry it away. The ball didn't travel far — it bounced awkwardly just inside the six-yard box.

Pires, already in motion, pounced like a predator. One quick step forward, body angled perfectly, and with his weaker right foot, he lashed it goalward before anyone could close him down.

Seaman was still on the ground from the first save, his arms scrambling upward in vain.

BANG!

The net rippled.

"GOAL! Robert Pires! Manchester City take the lead!" Andy Gray's voice cracked under the roar of the home fans.

Pires wheeled away toward the corner flag, fists pumping, while his teammates mobbed him. In the chaos, Ronaldo leapt onto his back, and even Zidane, usually so composed, cracked a wide grin.

Seaman could only watch in despair as the ball rocketed into the net. He took a couple of steps back, helplessly placing his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

The second goal felt inevitable—City's confidence was swelling, their play opening up with every passing minute.

Manchester City 2 - 1 Arsenal.

Makelele, calm and composed, was relentless in pressing Overmars and Petit whenever Arsenal tried to build from midfield. Both were capable passers, but neither had the dribbling strength to consistently evade pressure. The burden of linking defense to attack weighed heavily on their shoulders, and City knew it.

Under pressure, Overmars miscontrolled the ball. Unable to turn forward, he played it back blindly to whoever was behind him.

Vieira!

Still scanning the pitch, calculating his next move, Vieira was caught off guard.

In the split second it took him to react, Zanetti darted in from behind and cleanly stole the ball, immediately feeding it to Pires.

"Where were you passing to?!" Vieira snapped in frustration, berating Overmars for the risky pass, putting him in such a vulnerable position.

Pires, meanwhile, had already killed the ball with the inside of his right foot near the center circle, halting its pace instantly. Keown closed in from the front, but he feinted left, rolling the ball with the sole of his boot before pivoting on his standing leg.

Without breaking stride, he accelerated into open space—only to find Steve Bould stepping across to cut him off. A subtle drop of his shoulder and a smooth touch to the right sent the ball gliding past Bould's extended leg.

The crowd let out a collective gasp.

"What a sublime piece of skill from Pires! The way he controls the ball, feints past Keown, and then dances past Bould—it's pure artistry. That touch, that pivot, that acceleration—he makes it all look effortless. This is the kind of finesse that turns matches around!"

Bould spun to recover, but Pires was already surging forward, head up, scanning for the next move as though the two defenders he'd just beaten were nothing more than training cones.

Then he saw Ronaldo ahead of him. The decision was instantaneous.

Seaman's stomach dropped—he spotted the danger too late.

Pires's pass zipped through the gap, just three meters from the keeper, and straight to Ronaldo's feet.

Ronaldo positioned himself perfectly, pivoting to face Seaman. Seeing Seaman approach, he instantly ignited his speed, using his explosive power to leave Seaman behind as he advanced toward Arsenal's goal.

Empty!

"Goal number three! Vieira's mistake has handed City a decisive advantage. They executed a classic counter-attack goal, with a rapid exchange between Zanetti, Zidane, and Ronaldo that was simply mesmerizing. Ronaldo's goal marks his 24th of the league, continuing Manchester City's magical display."

In that instant, Pires passed to Ronaldo, who dashed forward. The Brazilian deftly evaded Seaman's marking, remaining unmarked, before nudging the ball into the box.

"A beautiful display of skill and a precise assist from Pires, Martin. But this marks Ronaldo's 24th league goal of the season, leading the scoring charts ahead of Dion Dublin, Michael Owen, and Chris Sutton by a significant margin. It seems undeniable that this season's Premier League Golden Boot will go to a Manchester City player. The question now is: will Ronaldo challenge for the title of Europe's top scorer? This 21-year-old is carrying forward the great form he showed last season, showcasing his skills as a top striker under O'Neill. Whether with his head or his feet, he finds the net with ease—a true forward that every team dreams of having!"

O'Neill was enthusiastically clapping from the sidelines, and the other coaches were equally excited. Mourinho even ran over to O'Neill and shouted, "Give him more chances! Let's break that Premier League scoring record!"

O'Neill didn't respond but thought for a moment that the pressure of the league had lessened. It might be possible to allow his players more freedom to create scoring opportunities for Larsson and adjust the tactics accordingly. However, he made no promises, keeping this thought to himself for now.

The top league scoring record was nearly untouchable, having stood for almost seventy years. A long-forgotten Everton player had once reached 60 league goals—a European record likely to remain unmatched forever.

As Arsenal fell two goals behind, Wenger began shuffling his lineup, bringing on Gilles Grimandi and taking off Steve Bould to achieve a more balanced formation, while substituting Ian Wright for Anelka.

With just over twenty minutes left in the game, City led by two goals. Arsenal was starting to show signs of collapse. Wenger rose from his seat, his expression serious; he couldn't allow his team, which had finally found some stability, to crumble completely, or they would face disaster in the remaining fixtures.

He could only gesture to his players to tighten their defense and look for counter-attacking opportunities—but what use was that when they were already two goals down in a comeback situation?

The ball went out, and O'Neill seized the chance to make his substitutions.

Pirlo was replaced by Hidetoshi Nakata.

Zidane was replaced by Frank Lampard.

Ronaldo was substituted for Jay-Jay Okocha.

Sitting on the bench, Pirlo felt a mix of relief and exhaustion. He had given his all during his time on the pitch. Just as he began to settle, Mourinho was already striding toward him.

"How are you feeling?"

Pirlo looked bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"Is the pressure in midfield too much?"

"Not really. No one's really targeting me."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, truly."

With Makelele providing protection, Pirlo had found his position comparatively easy. Even against the duo of Petit and Overmars, he felt he could manage as long as he coordinated with Makelele; he was quite comfortable.

Mourinho advised him, "Next time, learn to expand your movement. After passing forward, push up."

There was no need for further explanation; Pirlo understood. He had become more astute in his play, focusing on his strengths. He wasn't great at dribbling past players, but he could move the team forward effectively with short passes. He wasn't adept in the box, so he honed his set pieces and long-range shots, both of which could pose a direct threat to goal.

"Thank you," Pirlo said.

"A thank you for what? This is just the beginning! Listen, Andrea, this doesn't even count as an opening. You haven't even touched 20% of your best yet! If you're satisfied, then I've really misjudged you!"

A smile broke out on Pirlo's youthful face as he realized Mourinho was encouraging him.

But without realizing it, Mourinho himself was already beginning to imagine how he could direct a talented squad like City's.

He wanted to manage them.

"Only a matter of how and when," he muttered to himself, eyes drifting toward O'Neill, who was deep in thought on the sidelines.