The alarm cracked through the stillness like a referee's whistle cutting through a silent stadium. Leon's eyes snapped open. The ceiling above him was shrouded in the murky gray of pre-dawn, the world outside still cloaked in shadows.
He didn't move at first.
Just stared up into the quiet, listening to the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall. He could still hear the muffled hum of the fridge from the kitchen. His breathing was calm.
This is the beginning.
No locker room speeches. Just the rustle of sheets and the creak of wood as he rolled out of bed.
He dressed quickly—training top, shorts, runners. His boots dangled from his bag, laces tied together. He reached for the door and paused, glancing back at the dimly lit hallway.
Then, with careful steps, he tiptoed past his mother's door, not making a sound. He stopped for a moment, hand hovering over the doorknob. A trace of warmth flickered in his chest.
She deserves to sleep in peace.
The door clicked shut behind him, and he stepped into the cool dawn air.
The sky was still a canvas of ink, the horizon just starting to blush with light. A hush hung over the street. No engines, no chatter—just the occasional coo of pigeons and the rhythmic thud of his footsteps as he began to jog.
Bag bouncing lightly on his back. Breath fogging slightly in front of his lips.
Each step reminded him of where he was… and where he wasn't.
Not in the Championship. Not in stadiums filled with tens of thousands. Not on TV screens.
[Objective Updated: Get Scouted]
[Insight System – Stage 2 Unlocked]
A faint shimmer flashed across his vision, transparent but crisp, like a heads-up display only he could see. His legs kept moving, rhythm natural now, part of him. But his mind buzzed.
Stage 2… That means there's more. Much more.
The road to Athlion Academy wound along the edge of a park still buried in mist. He passed the occasional jogger, a cyclist, a man with a newspaper tucked under his arm.
His eyes scanned them, instinctively now.
Man (early 30s, delivery worker)
Ability: 12 | Potential: 41
Teenage girl on the phone, stylish clothes
Ability: 15 | Potential: 50
Old man in a wool coat
Ability: 9 | Potential: 37
Leon slowed down slightly.
Most of them were… just people. Good at something, perhaps. But not this. Not football. Not the game he bled for.
So many lives drifting through routines, unaware of the worlds they'll never touch.
I've been given another shot. In a body younger, faster… I can't waste this. Not again.
But even with that conviction, a sliver of unease twisted in his gut.
Am I the only one who sees the world this way?
He turned the corner toward the academy entrance, a stretch of road flanked by tall hedges and rusted fences. His boots clicked against the pavement.
A figure was ahead of him. Tall, lean, and moving with that unshakable calm that only elite athletes carried—every stride measured, balanced, confident.
A black hoodie. Hands tucked in his pockets. Bright blonde hair catching the morning light as it filtered through tree branches.
[???: Unknown Player]
Ability: 88 | Potential: 96
Leon's breath caught in his throat.
He blinked, and the numbers remained. Bold. Blazing.
That number… that's not just academy level.
And potential—96? That was rare. That was generational talent level. The kind that turned academies into factories and players into legends.
No way… that number's insane.
He has to be a pro. But what's a guy like that doing here?