The goal crashed through the stadium like a detonation, and the King Power erupted.
The roar was deafening.
“Beautiful finish!” “The finish was good, but that pass was even better!” “That number 23 again!” “Incredible combination play!” Up in the stands, fans whipped their blue Foxes scarves in wide arcs.
The color of Leicester City rippled across the terraces like a wind-whipped sea.
On the pitch, the Derby County players stood frozen.
Every face wore the same hollow, beaten look.
That goal had snuffed out their fight.
It had killed the game dead.
And it had shown them, firsthand, exactly what Leo Hale could do.
They had given him just one moment without pressure.
One give-and-go to turn, and he had found the seam between two center-backs and carved open a goal.
Replaying that scalpel of a through ball in their minds, the Derby players shot glances at Leo.
Those looks carried shock and a deep, unsettled confusion.
The part they could not wrap their heads around: Leo had never once lifted his head to look before he passed.
So how did he know the gap was there?
Was this really the so-called future star the media had been hailing as the next great midfield maestro?
From their perches across the stands, scouts from a dozen clubs had watched every second of the sequence unfold.
One by one, they pulled out their notebooks and scribbled furiously, faces lit with excitement, logging Leo’s first Championship assist.
“It’s me again.
That Leicester kid, another assist.” “His passing is something special.
An absolute gem of a talent.
No question.” Inside the furnace of the home crowd’s celebration, Mahrez did not peel away toward the corner flag alone.
He ran straight for Leo, hand raised, and pulled him into a clapping embrace.
“Leo, that was gorgeous!
I knew you’d find me!” Leo smiled back and clasped his teammate’s shoulder.
“Congrats.
First Championship goal.” As he spoke, the rest of the squad swarmed in, piling on to celebrate.
For the next ten minutes, Derby County had nothing left.
They drifted through the motions like office workers glancing at the clock, just praying for the final whistle.
And Leicester’s players did not push for more.
Under Leo’s direction, they simply held the ball, controlled the tempo, and drained the match to its last seconds.
“Beep.
Beep.
Beeeep!” The referee’s long blast echoed across the pitch.
It was over.
Leicester City had dismantled their direct promotion rivals Derby County three-nil, locking down their place at the top of the table.
For the visiting Derby players, it would be a bitter, miserable afternoon.
For Leicester, it was pure sweetness.
And for Leo and Mahrez, both making their Championship debuts, it was a day to remember.
Twenty minutes on the pitch.
One assist.
A game put to bed.
A performance like that had to be worth at least a seven in the post-match ratings.
Leo had barely stepped back into the changing room when the system’s crisp chime sounded inside his head.
[Ding!] [Achievement Unlocked: Championship Debut] [Achievement Rating: B] [Reward: 1 Free Attribute Point] Hearing the prompt, a flicker of thought moved through Leo’s dark eyes.
Over time, he had come to understand his Green Legend System more deeply.
It turned his attributes into hard data he could read at a glance.
And whenever he performed well on the pitch, he would unlock an achievement and earn the corresponding reward.
So far, both achievements he had completed were milestone moments.
What would happen when he got promoted with the team and made his Premier League debut?
What about a brace, an assist double, or a hat trick in the Premier League?
What kind of reward would the system hand out then?
Would there be a chest with a Prime Kevin De Bruyne player card inside?
Leo knew the answer to every one of those questions would only come one way.
He had to go out and find it himself.
— Beating fourth-place Derby County at home gave Leicester three full points and kept them locked at the top of the table.
But second-place Burnley and third-place Queens Park Rangers had both won their matches in the same round.
The gap at the top stayed tight.
And one week later, Leicester would travel to West Yorkshire, to Elland Road, for a raw, full-blooded showdown with the Whites: Leeds United.
Away matches were never easy.
And the opponent waiting for them was a Leeds side with real attacking firepower.
Still, after dismantling Derby at home, Leicester had now won their last five league matches in a row.
Add in the FA Cup comeback against Stoke City, and within twenty days they had ripped off a six-match winning streak.
Riding that wave, the Leicester squad marched into Elland Road.
But the tens of thousands packed into the old ground met them with bellowing songs and a storm of jeers, defending their home turf with everything they had.
And the Leeds players stood shoulder to shoulder, dead set on ending the league leaders’ run right here.
From the very first minute, both sides went to war in midfield, hacking and scrapping for every loose ball.
Under the weight of brutal challenges and constant fouls, the match locked into a stalemate no one had seen coming.
By the sixtieth minute, the score was still zero-zero.
And then, after hammering away with no breakthrough, Leicester nearly got sucker-punched.
A Leeds corner almost put the home side ahead.
“Corner, swung in!” “Lovely bend on it…” “McCormack!” The commentator’s voice spiked as a figure in the white number 45 shirt launched himself into the air.
A heartbeat later, a sickening crack rang out as the ball smashed against the crossbar and ricocheted away.
Standing in front of goal, Leeds striker Ross McCormack clutched his head with both hands, the picture of pure agony.
The Whites’ top scorer sat at the top of the league’s scoring charts with sixteen goals.
Six of those had come from his head.
But this time, Lady Luck had turned her back.
A point-blank header.
Straight onto the bar.
Every Leicester player, even the normally stone-cold Schmeichel and captain Morgan, felt a cold jolt shoot through them at that thundering header.
As the ball was hoofed clear by a defender and sailed out of play, Leicester manager Nigel Pearson let out a long, slow breath on the touchline.
If that header had gone in, the home crowd would have lifted Leeds onto their shoulders, and the momentum would have swung hard.
The rest of this match would have turned into a nightmare.
To take down a stubborn opponent like this away from home, something had to change.
The thought crystallized.
Pearson spun without hesitation, faced the substitutes warming up on the sideline, and waved them over.
His voice was sharp and final.
“Leo!” “Mahrez!” “You’re both in!”