The halfti whistle had blown, and Derby County's players were jubilant as they made their way into the locker room. Wayne Rooney led the way, his broad grin infectious, as the team filed in. The air buzzed with excitent, and every pat on the back felt like a trophy.
David Jones was at the center of it all, still reliving the goal in his mind. His teammates were hyping him up, shouting things like, "Jonesy, that was unreal!" and "You're making Old Trafford your playground!" He could barely sit still, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and disbelief. Rooney clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"You're doing great out there, kid," Rooney said, his voice calm but firm. "Keep it up, but rember—it's not over until it's over."
David nodded, his cheeks flushed. "We can do this, right? We're actually winning."
Rooney smirked. "One step at a ti. Focus."
anwhile, in the Manchester United locker room, the atmosphere was completely different. Ole Gunnar Solskjær stord in, slamming the door behind him. The players, heads hung low, sat in silence as Ole let loose.
"Are you kidding ?" he bellowed, his usually calm deanor shattered. His eyes locked onto Luke Shaw. "You're letting a kid run circles around you! A kid! Do you want your place in this team or not?"
Shaw's face flushed with embarrassnt, but before he could respond, Ole turned his attention to the entire squad.
"This is Manchester United! Start acting like it! I don't care what it takes—go out there and win this ga. Show you deserve to wear this shirt!"
The players mumbled their agreent, their pride stung. As they filed out for the second half, the determination on their faces was unmistakable.
The second half began with Derby County kicking off. David stood at the center circle alongside Martyn, the team's striker. The noise from the crowd was deafening, but David was locked in, ready to continue his magical night.
Within minutes, Derby was on the attack. In the 47th minute, David received the ball on the left wing. Shaw was marking him tightly, but David had a plan. With a quick flick, he nutgged Shaw, the ball slipping between his legs like silk.
The crowd gasped, and Shaw muttered, "Shit," as he turned, scrambling to recover. David surged past him, heading into the box. But just as he prepared to make the final pass, he felt a tug on his arm and went down. The referee's whistle blew instantly, signaling a penalty.
David hit the ground with a shout of triumph. "Yes!" he scread, punching the air.
Wayne Rooney stepped up to take the penalty. The crowd buzzed with anticipation. Rooney, ever the composed veteran, sent the keeper the wrong way and slotted the ball into the top corner.
"Wayne Rooney scores! 0-2 Derby County! The legend returns to Old Trafford and doubles Derby's lead!"
The away fans erupted in cheers, and even so United supporters clapped in respect. Rooney jogged back with a calm expression, but there was a glint in his eye.
David could barely believe it. They were up 2-0 at Old Trafford. We can really do this, he thought. We're actually winning.
But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, everything began to unravel.
In the 55th minute, Marcus Rashford broke free on the left wing. With his pace and skill, he cut inside and smashed the ball into the bottom corner. "Rashford scores! Manchester United pull one back! 1-2!"
The montum had shifted.
In the 73rd minute, Bruno Fernandes delivered a pinpoint cross into the box. Odion Ighalo rose highest and headed it into the net. "Ighalo equalizes! It's 2-2! Manchester United are back in it!"
Derby County was on the ropes. David tried to rally his team, creating two brilliant chances, but his teammates couldn't convert. Frustration boiled within him as he watched opportunity after opportunity slip away.
Then, in the 91st minute, the final blow ca. Bruno Fernandes played a short pass to Pogba outside the box. Pogba took one touch, looked up, and unleashed a thunderous strike that flew into the top corner.
"Pogba wins it for Manchester United! 3-2! What a coback!"
The stadium erupted. Derby County's players slumped to the ground, their dreams shattered. David stood frozen, his fists clenched.
As the final whistle blew, David stord off the pitch. The cheers of the United fans were deafening, but to him, it was all just noise. Everything felt blurry as he trudged toward the tunnel, his mind racing. He had been so close to a historic victory, but it had slipped away.
On the Manchester United side, Ole was all smiles in the post-match eting. Later that evening, he picked up his phone and called Ed Woodward.
"Congrats on the win," Woodward said, his tone cheerful. "It was tougher than expected, but isn't it a little late to be calling?"
"About that kid you said you got an email about," Ole replied. "What was his na again?"
Back on the Derby County bus, David sat by the window, staring out into the dark night. His thoughts were a chaotic mix of frustration and determination. Jason Knight plopped down beside him, grinning.
David sat in the Derby County bus, staring out the window as the rain streaked across the glass. The city lights of Manchester blurred into long trails, matching the storm of emotions raging inside him. The ache in his chest wasn't physical—it was the weight of the loss, the taste of what could have been, and the cold slap of reality.
Jason Knight flopped into the seat beside him, grinning like they'd just won the FA Cup. His goofy smile and carefree deanor were at odds with David's brooding silence.
"Hey, bro," Jason said, his voice light, almost celebratory. "Nice match. We almost beat Manchester United!"
David turned to look at him, his expression incredulous. "You do know we lost, right? We were two goals up, Jason. Two goals. And we lost."
Jason laughed, clapping him on the back. "Exactly, mate! We had a two-goal lead against Manchester United! Do you know how crazy that is? We had them on the ropes! Sure, they ca back, but that was expected they are a better team but that was sothing, wasn't it?"
David blinked at him, unsure if Jason was joking. But when he glanced around the bus, he saw the sa energy from the rest of his teammates. Laughter and chatter filled the air. The boys were joking, recounting monts from the match with smiles on their faces, as if losing to Manchester United was so kind of victory.
And then it hit him.
David thought back to the ga. The roar of the crowd, the sheer magnitude of Old Trafford—it had all overwheld him at first. He'd been starstruck by the Manchester United players. Rashford, Pogba, Bruno—they were household nas, players he'd watched in awe on television. He'd started the match thinking, These are giants. Can I even stand on the sa pitch as them?
But as the ga unfolded, his awe had shifted. He'd dribbled past Shaw like he wasn't even there. He'd created chances, made runs, and scored a goal that left the crowd gasping. He'd felt unstoppable. For those fleeting monts, the Derby County badge on his chest didn't matter. What mattered was the ga, the ball, and the realization that he wasn't just keeping up—he was leading.
He hadn't won the Man of the Match award, but deep down, he knew the truth: he had been the best player on that pitch.
His eyes flicked back to Jason, who was now scrolling through his phone with a grin. Jason had always been like this—relaxed, easygoing. And for the first ti, David envied him, not for his attitude, but for his ignorance. Jason didn't seem to care about the loss. None of them did.
David's gaze shifted to his other teammates, still laughing and chatting as if nothing had happened. That's when the weight of the situation fully settled on his shoulders.
It wasn't that he had overestimated Manchester United earlier in the match. No, they had proven their ttle, clawing back to win with three clinical goals. The real issue was sothing much deeper, sothing far more troubling: he had overestimated his team. Worse, he had underestimated himself.
They're comfortable, David thought bitterly. That's the problem.
He glanced around the bus again, his stomach churning. These were his teammates—grown n, professionals earning salaries he'd only dread of as a kid. Yet here they were, laughing about a loss like it was so kind of moral victory.
David clenched his fists. They reminded him of the players he'd seen in youth academies back ho—players who were content just to make it, to scrape by with minimal effort. The only difference now was that these n were older, wealthier, and dressed in better suits. But inside, they were the sa: satisfied with diocrity.
David's mind wandered back to the ga again, replaying every mont. Every dribble, every pass, every missed opportunity. He thought about how he'd created two golden chances, only for his teammates to squander them. He thought about the goals Manchester United scored—clinical, precise, ruthless. That's what it took to be at the top. And then he thought about himself, running circles around Premier League defenders, nutgging Luke Shaw, winning a penalty at Old Trafford.
A part of him had doubted whether he belonged on that pitch. But now, he knew. He didn't just belong—he had thrived. For all the giants around him, he had been the brightest spark.
And that's when the anger ca.
Jason nudged him, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You okay, man? You've been quiet."
David didn't answer imdiately. His jaw tightened as he looked around the bus one more ti. The laughter grated on him now, like nails on a chalkboard. He wasn't angry at his teammates maybe slight disgust but not anger atleast not directly. They were who they were. The problem was what they represented: complacency.
Finally, he turned back to Jason, his voice low but firm. "I'm fine. Just... thinking."
Jason shrugged and went back to his phone, unbothered. David leaned his head against the window, the cold glass grounding him. He stared out at the city lights again, but this ti, his mind was clear.
I must never get comfortable.
The words echoed in his head, settling deep in his chest. He thought about where he wanted to be—not just on a Championship team scraping by, not just playing occasional big gas. He wanted more. He wanted greatness. And he knew, without a doubt, that he was capable of achieving it.
His teammates might be content with diocrity, but he wasn't. He couldn't be.
As the bus rolled on, David closed his eyes, right now as of at this ti he felt true disgust being here with his team.
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