Lahat ng Kabanata ng Goal! The Manchester United Captains: Kabanata 91 - Kabanata 100

The flash of cameras felt endless.Everywhere Maya turned, another lens waited, another voice calling her name with that same fake warmth — “Maya, over here! Give us a smile!”She smiled anyway. Because she had to. Because it was part of the performance now.From across the stage, Leo’s eyes found hers — steady, calm, but exhausted. The way he looked at her said everything they couldn’t say aloud: just a little longer.The bright lights, the reporters, the perfect illusion of a fairytale — it was all so fragile. One crack, one slip, and the world would see the truth.When the press event finally ended, Maya exhaled. Her hand brushed Leo’s as they stepped offstage. The contact was quick, barely noticeable, but real — grounding.“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered.Leo nodded, offering a faint grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You read my mind.”They slipped into the car waiting out back, the tinted windows closing out the flashing lights. For a moment, silence. Then Maya let out a l

The Manchester United City training ground had never looked like this.Usually, it was a fortress of sweat, drills, and discipline — but today, it looked like a polished movie set. The annual Youth Development Day had arrived, and the club had transformed their sacred turf into a corporate carnival. Banners flapped in the wind, camera crews swarmed like flies, and PR agents with clipboards barked orders through wireless headsets.For Maya, it was suffocating. The air didn’t smell like cut grass and rain anymore. It smelled like cologne, camera flashes, and fake smiles.She adjusted the red ribbon tied around her wrist — a tiny symbol of the old her, the one who played for love, not for headlines. Now she stood in a tailored dress that made her look more like a brand ambassador than an athlete.Leo, beside her, wasn’t much better off. Gone was the fiery captain in his boots and armband. Today he wore a charcoal-gray suit — expensive, perfect, and completely alien. He looked like he bel

The press called it a “historic moment.” The PR team called it “a show of unity.” But for everyone on that field, it felt like a circus.Banners fluttered from the stands, reporters lined the sidelines, and a dozen cameras caught every laugh, every glance, every mistake. The men’s and women’s teams were back together for the first time since the Julian Vance scandal — smiling for the cameras, pretending that the club had healed.Chloe adjusted her captain’s armband and muttered under her breath, “Unity and transparency, my ass.”Beside her, Maya smirked. “Smile, captain. They said the drone’s picking up facial expressions now.”Chloe gave her a look. “Then let it pick this up,” she whispered, forcing a bright grin that didn’t reach her eyes.The session was chaos wrapped in choreography. The PR handlers barked directions like stage managers. “More interaction! Look friendly! Make it natural!”It wasn’t natural. It was survival.And right in the middle of it all — Ben Carter.He stood

Leo believed her. He believed the way Daniel had been lately: closed off, snapping at jokes, walking like he carried a stone in his shoe. He could imagine someone watching Daniel and holding a list of his faults like a map.“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Chloe said. “Stay with Maya. Don’t go look for trouble alone.”“I won’t,” Leo said.He hung up and paced the room until the house felt like it could hold him again. He called a friend, a teammate, someone who owed him more than loyalty and less than everything. He arranged to meet at the training ground before dawn. He wanted to find Daniel. He wanted to tell his brother that whatever storm blew, they would stand inside it together.When he left the Sterling house, the sky was the thin blue of sleep. He met his teammate under the old floodlights, the place where boys became men and men tried to be boys again. The grass smelled like damp and effort. The teammate handed him an envelope and didn’t say a word.“What’s this?” Leo asked, thumbed

Leo stared at the screen like it was a living thing. The numbers, the coded messages, the transfers—they weren’t just random; they were a map. A trail of a man’s ambition, and his weakness. Sir Reginald Sterling, the golden boy of international football, the man everyone called charming and untouchable, had a secret. A quiet, insidious weakness that could ruin everything.“Are you seeing this?” Leo whispered, his voice barely carrying over the hum of the cafe. He pointed at the screen. “Look at the shell companies. Look at the way the funds move. It’s not illegal—at least, not exactly. But it’s corruption in slow motion. He built this empire quietly, invisibly. And no one suspects a thing.”Maya leaned closer, her brow furrowed. “It’s like he’s playing chess while everyone else is playing checkers.”“Exactly,” David said, his low voice threading through the air like smoke. “He doesn’t bribe. He facilitates. He doesn’t threaten. He negotiates. He doesn’t cheat… he rewrites the rules qu