The physical tests wrapped under a pale Hamburg sky.
Julian’s chest still rose and fell with each steady breath, sweat tracing down his neck as the last timer beeped.
He hadn’t finished at the bottom.
Not the middle either.
Respectable. Not dominant.
But for a newcomer—especially one from high school football—it was more than enough to draw eyes.
Still, "enough" had never been his goal.
His mind wasn’t on comfort. It was on targets.
If this was war, he needed to map the battlefield—
The fastest, the strongest, the most dangerous.
Names flickered through his scan log.
Total Attributes: 697
A keeper with sharp eyes and iron hands. A fortress in gloves.
Aerial Clearances (Rare)
Reliable Backup (Rare)
Total Attributes: 666
A defender built like a tank. Air control, strength, reliability—pure backbone.
Defensive General (Rare)
Last-Ditch Heroics (Rare)
Total Attributes: 674
An organizer, a commander. One of those defenders who reads the chaos before it happens.
User: Tjark Hildebrandt
Commanding Presence (Rare)
Interception Master (Rare)
Total Attributes: 655
A veteran among them. Awareness, leadership—steady and strong.
User: William Mikelbrencis
Relentless Overlap (Legendary)
Two-Way Dynamo (Rare)
Total Attributes: 733
Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly.
733. A machine. A right-back who never stops moving. He’s got lungs of iron and the will to match.
User: Leonardo Posadas
Midfield Shield (Legendary)
Tactical Compass (Rare)
Total Attributes: 685
The pivot. The anchor. The one who breaks play before it begins.
User: Ayukayoh Mengot
Rapid Breaker (Legendary)
1v1 Dribble Artist (Rare)
Total Attributes: 648
A winger built for chaos. Acceleration, flair, daring—one mistake, and he’s gone.
Creative Spark (Legendary)
Gamebreaker (Legendary)
Total Attributes: 707
Two Legendary skills. That’s not a playmaker. That’s an artist.
User: Emmanuel Appiah
Total Attributes: 624
A straight-line sprinter. Unstoppable in space.
And in CF position beside Otto sange there is another person
Cold Finisher ( Legendary )
Big Game Scorer (Rare)
Total Attributes: 700
Julian’s gaze lingered.
A rival carved from precision and poise.
Balanced stats. Killer’s eyes. His numbers are higher... but that’s fine.
This wasn’t a school team—this was a fortress of future pros.
And these—the 700s, the legends—they’re the starters.
Julian flexed his fingers, feeling the pulse of his system thrumming beneath his skin.
He wasn’t here to blend in.
He was here to conquer.
One by one, I’ll take your spots. One by one, you’ll know my name.
As he lowered his hand, his eyes brushed past Fabio Baldé. The winger’s jaw tightened, gaze lingering on Julian a fraction too long before he turned away.
Melvin Wiesnet stretched his legs nearby, but every so often his head shifted, a glance sharp as a blade. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel-fire.net
And Omar Silah? He didn’t hide it—meeting Julian’s stare with the faintest curl of a smirk, as if saying: try me. The tension wasn’t open hostility yet. But it was the first spark before fire.
The players gathered near the touchline, the late-morning sun bleeding across the pitch in silver bands.
Coach Soner stepped forward, clipboard tucked beneath his arm, voice cutting through the hum of chatter like a blade.
"Alright, listen up!"
Every head turned. Silence rippled across the formation.
"We drew our last match against FC Phoenix Lübeck. That’s done. The next one’s what matters."
He paused, eyes scanning the squad, tone steady and sharp.
"Our next fixture is against Kickers Emden—Friday, July seventh. Their home ground."
Julian’s mind ticked automatically.
Five days to earn trust. Five days to prove he belonged here.
The name Kickers Emden stirred faint murmurs among the squad. A rugged team, hard to break, their home ground notorious for a tight pitch and fierce crowd.
A place where battles weren’t won with finesse alone but with grit. Julian caught pieces of whispers—"scrappy midfield," "aggressive pressing," "ugly but effective."
Even he knew enough: they weren’t glamorous, but they’d drag you into the mud and drown you there if you let them.
Coach Soner continued, voice shifting from steel to challenge.
"We’re not here to chase promotion. We’re here to develop—to build players who can climb, who can make it beyond this level. Kickers Emden’s form has dropped lately. That means I’ll be rotating the squad. Everyone here has a chance at more minutes."
A faint murmur of excitement stirred.
"But—" Soner’s tone snapped, commanding attention again.
"—minutes aren’t given. You earn them. Show me something that forces me to start you."
The unified shout cracked through the air like a soldier’s salute.
Julian felt his heartbeat steady—calm, precise, focused.
Every rep. Every drill. It all counted now.
He knew what the others were thinking.
For some, this fixture was a chance to pad stats, to climb one rung higher on the internal ladder.
For others, it was survival—minutes meant relevance, and irrelevance in HSV II was the first step toward a quiet transfer slip.
Julian wasn’t here for survival. He was here to break the ladder entirely.
"Alright," Soner barked, stepping back. "Split up. Five-vs-five, six-vs-six. Intensity—on!"
Whistles blew. Cones shifted.
Grass brushed beneath boots as the squads split into color vests and scattered across the field.
Julian rolled his shoulders once, eyes glinting in the light.
Another battlefield. Another chance to carve his mark.
He jogged into position, breath even, fire simmering beneath the calm.