Football Dynasty-Chapter 571: Moyes + Leicester = Counter + Crossing

The Premier League’s 38th round of matches kicked off at Filbert Street.

Leicester City had already secured their place in the league without any worries, so their players were feeling a little too relaxed. After repeating the previous season’s 10th-place finish in the FA Premier League, David Moyes didn’t want to put too much pressure on his team—especially since they were facing Manchester City, who were currently in their best form.

In the past, the loudest atmosphere always came from the South Stand, but today was different. Fans were holding up banners all around the stadium.

"MOYES, KEEP GOING!"

"Good job, David!"

"We’re with you!"

Finishing 10th in the FA Premier League earned Moyes even more credit for stabilizing the club after their rise from the Championship following Mark McGhee’s departure. Every Leicester City fan firmly believed that Moyes would be a reliable head coach for the team’s future.

Before the match, inside the narrow tunnel of Filbert Street, the noise of the crowd above rumbled like distant thunder. Boots scraped against the concrete floor. The air felt thick with anticipation.

But for a brief moment, the tension of competition faded.

Neil Lennon stood near the Leicester lineup, adjusting the tape around his wrist. He had been waiting for this fixture ever since the schedule was announced. Facing his former teammates was never just another game.

He had arrived quietly in December. A loan signing from Celtic, brought in as an emergency solution after Robbie Savage suffered his injury setback.

One by one, the Manchester City senior players approached him.

The first was Zambrotta. Without warning, he slapped Lennon lightly on the back of the head—a playful tap that made Lennon jolt forward in surprise.

Lennon spun around, ready to protest, but when he saw the culprit, a grin instantly spread across his face.

"Still causing trouble, Neil?" Zambrotta teased.

Lennon smirked. "Only for you."

And not only Lennon. Another former City player, Theodoros Zagorakis, was also on the pitch.

They clasped hands, which quickly turned into a brief but tight hug. Soon the others joined in. A handshake here, a shoulder bump there, quiet words exchanged. For a few seconds, the tunnel felt less like a battlefield and more like an old reunion.

Then the referee’s voice cut through the moment.

"Let’s go, gentlemen."

The smiles faded.

The lines formed.

As both teams began walking toward the pitch, the roar of the stadium grew louder and louder, swallowing the laughter that had filled the tunnel just moments before.

PHWEEEE~

Unlike Leicester, Manchester City approached this match with complete seriousness. From the very first minute, they played with great intensity—their players full of spirit and entirely focused on the game.

Leicester City, looking slightly too relaxed, quickly faced the consequences.

In this match, Ronaldo showed once again why he was called "The Phenomenon." After recovering from his knee injury setback, he had become even more elusive with his runs. His ability to exploit the gaps between full-backs and center-backs was now nothing short of remarkable. Whenever there was the slightest space in the defensive line, he would pounce—ready for his instinctive teammates to deliver the ball straight to his feet.

Before this, many people had predicted that his position would eventually be replaced by players like Trezeguet, Larsson or Henry. But he was now proving why he still mattered.

In just the ninth minute, his clever positioning paid off.

Trezeguet drifted quietly from the right flank, timing his movement perfectly before darting into the heart of Leicester’s defense. Zidane spotted it instantly. With a single, elegant touch, he delivered a perfectly weighted through ball that sliced clean through the back line like a blade through silk.

Today, using a 4–4–2 formation, Mourinho placed great expectations on his two strikers: Ronaldo and Trezeguet.

Trezeguet was tasked with breaking down the opposition’s defense, using his physical presence and sharp movement inside the box. Ronaldo, meanwhile, was expected to rediscover his best form after returning from injury.

The partnership looked dangerous on paper.

As Trezeguet raced onto the through ball and faced the advancing goalkeeper, Ronaldo was sprinting alongside him, completely unmarked and calling for the pass. It would have been the simplest finish of the night.

But Trezeguet, who had already scored 27 league goals this season, wanted his 28th.

With only a quick glance up, he made his decision.

Ignoring Ronaldo’s shout, he chose glory. He tried to force the shot through a narrowing angle.

The goalkeeper, Kasey Keller reacted instantly, spreading himself wide—and blocked it.

The rebound spilled loose inside the penalty area.

And Ronaldo was already there.

Without hesitation, he adjusted his body and unleashed a thunderous strike with his right foot. The ball rocketed upward, tearing through the air before smashing into the top corner of the net.

The net rippled violently.

1–0.

Trezeguet stood still for a moment, frustration flickering across his face. But Ronaldo didn’t even look at him. He simply turned toward the sidelines, took off his jersey, and revealed a white undershirt with "Jonathan. Keep going!" boldly written across the front.

Other teammates rushed over to stand beside him, pointing at Ronaldo’s message and raising their fists in solidarity.

Five months.

That was how long Jonathan Woodgate had to spend recovering after surgery following the injury he suffered during his first Premier League match.

What was meant to be a dream debut turned into a nightmare.

PHWEEEE~

Unfortunately... it was a yellow card.

"What are you doing?!"

On the sideline, Mourinho was fuming. The match had only been going for nine minutes, and already his player had picked up an unnecessary booking. Since last year, FIFA had enforced a strict rule against removing shirts during celebrations.

Ronaldo knew it. Everyone knew it.

He couldn’t have cared less however.

Mourinho shook his head in frustration, muttering under his breath.

"Completely unnecessary..."

Meanwhile, far from the stadium, Richard was watching the match live on television with Silva and Busquets.

They had jumped to their feet when the goal went in, applauding the team’s performance. Silva even let out a whistle of admiration at the strike.

But the celebration quickly died down when the camera showed the referee holding up the yellow card. Richard sighed and sat back down, half amused, half concerned.

No one noticed it. While everyone was focused on City’s goal and Ronaldo’s antics after receiving his yellow card, Leicester had already grabbed the ball from inside their own net.

They sprinted back to the center circle.

On the City bench, assistant manager Baltemar Brito was watching closely. He scribbled something in his notebook, eyes narrowing slightly. He leaned slightly toward Mourinho.

"They’re not folding," Brito muttered.

Mourinho didn’t take his eyes off the pitch.

"I know," he replied quietly. "Watch their midfield. They’re pushing higher."

Leicester, despite being behind, showed no signs of fear. If anything, they looked more determined than before.

Different mentality!

Even their fans refused to stay silent. They roared continuously, giving their full support, demanding that the team give everything in this final match of the season. The camera panned across the stadium as the commentators expressed their awe at the atmosphere.

Leicester this season had produced countless classic matches. They completed a home-and-away double over Arsenal, secured double victories against Liverpool, and delivered a stunning six-goal thrashing of Nottingham Forest away from home. They had created many unforgettable moments — and today, they were writing yet another emotional Chapter.

On the City bench, Baltemar Brito began to wonder if there was reason for concern. Even Richard, watching from afar, could sense it.

The potency of Leicester’s front line came from the way they creatively generated chances through multiple attacking threats.

In midfield, Neil Lennon partnered with Theodoros Zagorakis, providing balance and control. On the wings, they had a very tricky wide player capable of cutting inside or going down the outside, along with the excellent crossing ability of Steve Guppy. Up front stood the powerful Emile Heskey supported by the explosive Arnar Gunnlaugsson.

Sure enough, as the match reached the 26th minute, the entire City crowd rose in solemn silence, applauding continuously for a full minute.

Leicester were not dominating possession. In fact, against a technically superior Manchester City side, they rarely had the ball for long stretches. But they are ruthless on the counterattack.

City pushed high. Zambrotta and Ashley Cole advanced. Midfielders rotated confidently, probing for gaps. Ronaldo drifted wide. Trezeguet stayed central, hunting.

But every time Leicester regained the ball, there was intent.

And it began with a misplaced pass in midfield.

Zagorakis stepped in sharply, reading Makélélé’s play before it even unfolded. He didn’t celebrate the interception. He didn’t even look surprised. He simply won the ball cleanly and nudged it immediately to Neil Lennon.

Lennon didn’t hold it.

One touch.

Out wide to Guppy.

And suddenly, the entire stadium sensed something shifting.

Guppy drove forward down the left flank, head up, pushing the ball ahead of him with long, controlled strides. Ashley Cole was late tracking back, and John Terry rushed across to close him down. But Guppy slowed just enough to freeze him.

A feint inside.

Then he burst toward the outside instead.

In the middle, Emile Heskey was already moving, dragging defenders with him. Behind him, Arnar Gunnlaugsson ghosted into space at the edge of the box.

The two-versus-one situation left Cannavaro momentarily overwhelmed. And just as Terry prepared to slide in and tackle, Guppy delivered the ball.

A driven, curling cross whipped toward the penalty spot.

Heskey leapt, with Cannavaro following tightly behind him. Cannavaro’s presence forced Heskey slightly off balance, and he didn’t connect cleanly —

—but he didn’t need to.

The faintest flick of his head was enough to redirect the ball into Gunnlaugsson’s path.

Seeing the danger, Paul Robinson lunged forward desperately.

But Gunnlaugsson adjusted his body instinctively and struck through the ball with his right foot.

"THAT’S IT! Leicester City are level! It’s 1–1 at Filbert Street!"

The roar from the stands was deafening. Blue scarves spun in the air. Fans leapt from their seats, strangers embracing, fists punching the sky.

"Against the run of play — but absolutely clinical!" Andy Gray continued. "Leicester have punished Manchester City with a devastating counterattack!"

On the pitch, Gunnlaugsson sprinted toward the corner flag, arms wide, face lit with pure adrenaline. Heskey followed close behind, pounding his chest. Guppy raised both fists toward the South Stand, soaking in the noise.

Zagorakis allowed himself a brief nod of satisfaction before jogging back toward the center circle. Lennon clapped sharply, shouting instructions, already refocusing the team.

Back on the touchline, Mourinho stood rigid. For a few seconds after the equalizer, he said nothing.

Then he exploded.

"Makélélé!" he shouted, stepping to the very edge of the technical area. "What was that? That’s your zone!"

Makélélé, still jogging back toward the center circle, raised a hand slightly in acknowledgment.

Mourinho clapped his hands sharply.

"Focus! Stay compact! Don’t give them space to run! That’s the transition — that’s the danger!"

He pointed toward the midfield area where the ball had been lost, his frustration clear. The message was simple: "That’s the transition! That’s the danger!"

However, the shout did not last long.

Just after the applause faded, and with only three minutes remaining before halftime, Leicester struck again.

It began on the right side this time.

Guppy, drifting wider than usual, received the ball under pressure. Without hesitating, he lifted his head and delivered a precise diagonal cross into the penalty area — not floated, not hopeful — but sharp and purposeful.

Inside the box, Emile Heskey was already preparing.

He checked his run once. Then accelerated between the center-backs.

The timing was perfect.

He rose above the 18 years old Terry, powerful and commanding, hanging in the air for what felt like an extra second. Terry tried to disrupt him, but Heskey’s strength held firm.

The ball bounced once past the diving Robinson and buried itself in the back of the net.

2–1.

For a heartbeat, there was silence from the away end.

Then Filbert Street exploded.

After scoring, it was wild.

The Foxes fans celebrated as if they had just won the Premier League itself. Blue and white scarves spun wildly above their heads. Strangers embraced. Some supporters climbed onto their seats, screaming in disbelief and joy.

"LEI-CESTER! LEI-CESTER!"

On the touchline, Mourinho stood frozen for a second time.

From 1–0 up to 2–1 down.

All before halftime.

And now, the momentum belonged entirely to Leicester City. It was Leicester refusing to bow in their final match of the season.