The ball rolled toward him like a test.
Sunlight gleamed off its spinning panels. The air was crisp now—cooler after the earlier scare. The faint echo of cleats smacking turf filled the Training Ground. Wind rippled across the perfectly-trimmed grass. Somewhere in the background, Coach Holloway's sharp bark kept the tempo of the session.
But for Leon, everything had slowed to a crawl.
He adjusted his feet, let the ball come to him…
His right boot grazed the top, clipping it awkwardly. The ball sputtered sideways like a deflating balloon and bounced out of the grid entirely.
Then the laughter came—quick, cruel, and familiar.
"Oi, what was that, Fischer?"
"Man's rebooting like a broken FIFA player!"
"Fischer, you forget how to walk over the weekend?"
Leon stood frozen, chest tight with embarrassment. His cheeks burned. Every pair of eyes felt like spotlights trained on a clown mid-act.
He gritted his teeth, suppressing the urge to scream.
I played in the damn Championship… I've scored volleys with my eyes closed… and now I can't trap a simple pass?!
He clenched his fists, feeling the lightness in his limbs again. Everything about this body was off. Lighter. Quicker. The muscles reacted too fast, like a sports car he didn't know how to drive.
His balance was off. Timing too sharp. Like trying to wear boots two sizes smaller with springs in the soles.
Byon Elias jogged over, breaking away from his group. Sweat glistened on his brow, but his grin hadn't left since this morning.
"Focus, Leon," he said, calm but firm. "Coach is evaluating us today."
Leon looked up toward the sideline.
Coach Holloway stood with arms folded, jaw tight, chewing on the end of a whistle. His gaze was hawk-like. Not yelling anymore—watching. Which somehow felt worse.
Leon nodded, jaw clenched. "Yeah. Got it."
As Byon jogged back, Leon squared his shoulders and stepped back into the drill.
Another pass came his way. This time, he braced his core, adjusted his stride—
Clean trap. He cushioned it perfectly with his instep, and the ball obeyed. Simple..
There we go, he thought. Don't force it. Learn the rhythm again.
[Skill Boost Unlocked: Vision +5]
A glowing message flickered in his peripheral vision like a video game HUD. Blue font. Sleek borders.
It didn't fade right away. It hovered, translucent above his sightline. As if the world around him had truly become a game.
Am I… inside a system?
He shook his head slowly. This is mad. But the absurdity no longer frightened him. It fascinated him.
"Scrimmage!" Coach Holloway bellowed, blowing the whistle. "Red bibs vs. White bibs. Twenty-minute halves. Let's move!"
The teams split fast.
Leon ended up with Byon, Samir, and a lanky winger named Theo. On the other side:
Isaac Doyle. Lv. 41 | Potential: 89
His number shined like a floodlight compared to the rest. Slick build. Sharp turns. Leader's aura.
"That's the current star here…" Leon muttered.
"Of course he is," Byon said beside him, stretching his quads. "Isaac's basically our academy poster boy. People say he's the next Jude Bellingham."
Leon's eyes narrowed. We'll see.
And everything snapped into motion.
Kids sprinted. Voices barked commands. Passes zipped from boot to boot.
Leon didn't chase the ball.
He watched. Studied. Let the system in his mind process the patterns forming like chess lines.
Byon played deep—comfort zone. A pivot and shield. Good first touch, limited flair.
Theo was fast. He ran past space instead of into it.
Samir? Clean technique. But held the ball a half-second too long every time.
And Isaac Doyle? He was dictating the tempo like a young general. Sharp passes. Clever movement. Every time someone pressured him, he already had a way out.
Leon waited for the moment to act. Bided his time in midfield, tracking Isaac's habits.
Doyle pressed high, chasing Samir into a trap. Samir panicked and launched it toward Leon without looking.
The ball skipped once.
One touch to settle it. The second—a pass.
He split the two center-backs with a curved through-ball that bypassed five players in one heartbeat. It wasn't flashy. It was pure timing. Pure vision.
Byon, already sprinting, latched onto it.
He didn't even need to take a touch.
Even Coach Holloway's whistle lowered from his lips.
"Who the hell was that?" someone whispered.
"He's never played like that before…"
Byon turned toward him, breathless but laughing.
"Welcome back, Leon."
Leon exhaled, heart hammering.
And then it happened again:
[Player Insight System: Stage 1 Complete]
[New Objective: Become Athlion's Top Prospect]
The words glowed in front of him.
He stared at them for a moment. Took them in. Let the weight of those words settle into his chest.
Top prospect? That's the new goal, huh?