Chapter 885: Always the Brightest Star on the Pitch
Manchester United kicked off first—thanks again to Bruno Fernandes, who won the toss. They planned to strike quickly from the start.
Harry Kane immediately passed the ball to Bruno.
But Bruno didn't launch a long ball down the flank. Quick attacks didn't always mean hastiness; if the timing wasn't right, those direct passes only handed possession back to the opposition.
As he took control of the ball, Chelsea's forwards—Timo Werner and Mason Mount—closed in aggressively. Everyone in Chelsea's lineup knew the truth learned over five years of battles: stop Bruno, and you neutralized half of Manchester United's threat.
Rather than retreat or dribble sideways to avoid pressure, Bruno made a bold move. He planted his right foot under the ball and snapped upward, flicking it off the outside of his boot. The ball zipped through the air, sailing right over Werner and Mount's heads.
The United supporters roared in delight from the stands.
"What a move! Bruno wastes no time showing off his magic—he's completely in the zone today!"
That dazzling first touch told Bruno everything—he was in supreme form.
...
Having lofted the pass forward to Kane, Bruno darted between the two stunned defenders, sprinting into open space.
Without the ball, he moved unmarked—Chelsea couldn't afford to focus on him when the ball wasn't at his feet. All eyes were on Kane.
Spotting Bruno's run, Kane played the return pass.
Chelsea, fully aware of Bruno's influence, sent two men flying in—Kai Havertz and Jorginho.
It looked like Bruno would take the ball, shaping up for the trap—only to spin away at the last second. The ball slid neatly through his legs and rolled straight to João Cancelo behind him.
Bruno slipped between the markers and sprinted ahead again. Gündoğan collected the pass and quickly sent it forward. Bruno took the ball this time, swept it back across the middle, and N'Golo Kanté surged forward to join him.
Kanté smartly dummied the ball, letting it roll to Gündoğan, who immediately threaded a through pass to Luke Shaw charging down the left flank.
This was United's counterattack—fluid, intricate, and lightning-fast. Not simply long balls and chaos, but seamless interchanges that disoriented their opponent.
United's pace wasn't about brute speed; it was rhythm. Their passes flowed unpredictably, creating a sense of irresistible momentum.
...
Luke Shaw burst into the Chelsea box.
"Luke Shaw!!" the commentator shouted.
Barely a minute had passed, yet United had already carved through Chelsea's defense into the danger zone.
This was no small feat—Chelsea, molded by Mourinho's legacy, were famous for their defensive solidity.
And yet, United broke through them at the very first attempt.
The penalty area was sacred ground—it wasn't just about blocking shots; it was about keeping the opponent out entirely. United had breached that sacred space with ease.
Once inside, the options multiplied—and defenders panicked.
Shaw whipped a low cross toward the six-yard box. The ball flashed across goal, hard and fast—less a pass, more a shot that went astray.
But that was exactly what made it lethal. The speed meant even the slightest misjudgment from a defender could cause an own goal.
It was the kind of cross Roberto Carlos once used to torment opponents—and now Shaw was doing the same.
Chelsea's defenders staggered, while United's strikers lunged forward, desperate to turn it in.
...
In the chaos, Harry Kane got there first, stabbing the ball toward goal. He felt the connection—only for it to skid agonizingly wide of the far post.
"Oh no! Kane's touch was inches away! Just inches from giving United an early lead!"
Groans of astonishment and relief echoed through the stadium—the United fans distraught, the Chelsea fans exhaling in relief.
Kane slapped the turf in frustration, then gave Shaw a thumbs-up. The left-back was already racing back to his position.
"United's attack has already rattled Chelsea's defense," the commentator said.
"Bruno's creativity changes everything—it all flows through him."
"This United team under Bruno's leadership just bursts with imagination!"
"It's football that's simply beautiful to watch!"
...
Even without a goal, praise poured in from broadcasters worldwide.
United played football unlike anyone else in England—thrilling, expressive, and endlessly inventive.
It was like that quote from Forrest Gump: "Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get."
For United fans, their team was the same—you never knew what Bruno and company would do next, but it always promised magic.
The cameras didn't linger on Kane or Shaw. Instead, they zoomed in on Bruno's face, capturing him in crisp focus—proof enough of who orchestrated the moment.
In this team, others might score or sprint down the wings—but Bruno was, without a doubt, the soul of it all.
...
After the restart, Chelsea began to fight back. They showed their class with two sharp shots, both turned away by David de Gea's brilliance between the posts. The Spaniard reminded everyone why he remained one of the world's best.
Once the pressure was absorbed, United countered again.
Once more, Bruno led the charge. He surged forward with the ball, facing two midfield anchors—Jorginho and Nemanja Matić. Feinting a pass, he froze them, then flicked the ball clean through the gap between them and sprinted ahead.
Both men—experienced, elite holding midfielders—were left flat-footed. Bruno was already gone.
Charging toward the Chelsea defense, he found Antonio Rüdiger standing his ground. Instead of passing, Bruno drove straight at him.
At the last moment, he poked the ball neatly between Rüdiger's legs—a nutmeg that sent the crowd exploding again—and the ball rolled toward the center of the box.
Kylian Mbappé sprinted in, stabbing a shot toward goal before Ben Chilwell could react, but Dean Henderson—Chelsea's keeper and former United man—pulled off a sharp save.
...
Everyone thought the attack was over—but Bruno had kept running.
When Henderson parried the ball, Bruno was right there to meet it.
Before him lay his former teammate on the ground—and a gaping empty net behind him.
It was as simple as it gets.
He calmly side-footed it past Reece James' desperate lunge and into the open goal.
"Too easy! In the 11th minute, United take the lead!"
"GOOOOOOOOAAALLLLLLL! MANCHESTER UNITED!!!"
"Despite Chelsea's pre-match swagger, it's United who strike first!"
"During the Ferguson era, Chelsea were United's fiercest English rivals. But since Mourinho took charge, the balance has shifted—United now dominate their duels with the Blues. Perhaps it's poetic justice, given Mourinho's history with both clubs."
"Bruno Fernandes! Once again the hero! The ultimate Chelsea killer! That's his fifteenth goal against them in sixteen matches across all competitions!"
The fans erupted in a thunderous chorus of his name.
"Bru-no! Bru-no! Bru-no!"
The captain cupped his hands behind his ears, soaking in the adoration.
Moments like this—this roar, this stage—he lived for them.
He wasn't just playing football. He was performing.
And tonight, as always, Bruno Fernandes was the brightest star on the pitch.
(END CHAPTER)
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