Chapter 63 – Tired of being the golden boy
Carrington.
The day after Napoli.
Rain swept sideways across the windows. The glass rattled softly with every gust, as if the building were sighing. Inside, the dressing room smelled of muscle rub, turf, and that faint bitterness of tired bodies.
Nathan sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His quads felt like stone, and there was a deep, lingering tension in his lower back.
And yet, even as his body protested, his mind refused to slow down.
The goal.
The silence that followed.
Osimhen's smirk.
Amorim's voice cut through the fog.
"We're in sixth."
The players turned. The manager stood by the whiteboard, his arms crossed.
"Forest is right behind us. One point."
No one said a word.
He stepped closer. "You all saw what we did against Napoli. But if we lose sight of the league, none of it will matter. No top four? No Champions League. This next match isn't a breather—it's a f*cking trap."
