Tito's room was dark. The only source of light was the weak, blue glow of the streetlamp sneaking through his window blinds. He lay in bed, wrapped in silence, the blanket tucked up to his chin as if trying to shield himself from the shame that clung to him like a second skin.
The mocking laughter of his teammates echoed endlessly in his ears. Their jeering faces swirled in the space behind his eyes, a carousel of humiliation. He shut his eyes tighter, biting the inside of his cheek to chase away the sting.
"I was so useless," he whispered into the darkness. "Why did I even speak up?"
His fists clenched under the covers. The memory was fresh—how he had raised his hand, soft-spoken, offering to play left wing when no one else could. The way Coach Samuel had stared at him, skeptical but desperate, before muttering, "Alright, fine. You're in."
And how Tito had stepped onto the field, his heart pounding louder than the cheering spectators. He remembered the way the ball felt awkward beneath his feet, how his legs betrayed him, sluggish and stiff. The opposing defenders looked like giants—hulking, aggressive, confident. His breath had caught in his throat every time they charged.
He'd failed. Spectacularly.
Tito rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head.
Then—a sharp chime pierced the silence.
> DING.
A soft blue light spread across the room.
He peeked from under the blanket. A screen hovered in midair above his bed, casting an eerie glow on the walls.
[User Assessment: PATHETIC.]
You froze. You flopped. You failed.
No speed.
No dribbling.
No guts.
You asked for help.
You prayed.
So now we answer.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Tito sat up in bed, mouth ajar, heart drumming.
[Welcome to THE PERFORMER SYSTEM.]
You are not here to be a star.
You are not here to win matches.
You are here to SHINE.
You are here to DAZZLE.
You are here to leave kings HUMILIATED—
—with a grin on your face.
You are the JOKER.
BEGINNER GIFTS:
- Dribble++: Execute flashy, high-speed dribbles with perfect control.
- Fancy Feint: Every move you make becomes a spectacle. 1v1s become your stage. Almost impossible to counter.
PASSIVE SKILL UNLOCKED:
- Star Aura: Every feat you perform draws the crowd's awe. It dazzles their minds. Everyone watches you—and only you.
You asked to become a footballer?
No.
You will become a PERFORMER.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Tito stared at the screen, stunned.
A grin tugged at the edge of his lips. It was small at first—nervous, uncertain. Then it widened.
He wasn't being mocked. He was being forged.
He stood slowly from his bed, the blue light reflecting in his eyes like fire.
"Let them laugh," he said. "I'll make them cheer next."
---
The next morning, Tito was already dressed before his parents woke up.
Cherry Gustov stood at the kitchen doorway, watching her son. "You're up early?"
He nodded, sipping from a glass of water. "I want to go to Bodens BK today."
John glanced over his newspaper. "You're serious?"
Tito met his father's eyes. "Yes. Take me to your friend. Coach Thomas."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
John smiled behind the rim of his coffee mug. "Then let's go."
---
Bodens BK, Boden, Norrbotten County, Northern Sweden. A humble football club nestled in the chill of early spring, where frost clung to the edges of the grass fields and coaches blew on their fingers before touching a clipboard.
They arrived around 10 a.m., and waiting at the gate was Thomas Dalton—young, energetic, still green. He was new to the club, in charge of the lesser 12–14-year-olds. The real prospects trained under Coach Dave, the veteran with a winning streak as thick as his ego.
"John! You made it!" Thomas beamed, clapping him on the back. "This must be Tito."
Tito nodded. His expression was unreadable.
Thomas gave them a tour of the facility, showing them the turf, the indoor gym, the locker rooms. All while explaining today was the weekly showdown: his youth team versus Dave's.
"We've never won one," he muttered.
As they neared the main pitch, they met Dave himself.
A grizzled man in his late fifties, with a sharp jawline and a gaze like ice.
"Morning, John," Dave said, shaking hands briefly. "Here to watch us humiliate Thomas again?"
John chuckled politely.
Dave gave Tito a quick glance. "Your boy plays?"
"Just watching today," John replied.
Dave shrugged. "Suit yourself. Watch the show."
---
The crowd settled as the whistle blew. It was the weekly showdown between Team Thomas and Team Dave—two under-14 sides of the Bodens BK youth academy. The score history was lopsided. Dave's team had won every match. Today looked no different.
First Half: 0–30 Minutes
From the moment play began, Dave's team took control. Their striker burst down the middle, weaving through Thomas's uncoordinated midfielders, and slotted the first goal in just the second minute.
"Come on, tighten the line!" Thomas shouted from the sidelines, his voice cracking.
But it was no use. His boys were too nervous, too new. They hesitated under pressure, miscommunicated during set pieces, and failed to keep their formation. Dave's team played like a well-oiled machine. In the 10th minute, a precise lob found their right winger, who volleyed it into the net.
2-0.
Tito sat quietly on the bench beside his parents, watching, absorbing.
By the 25th minute, the score was 5-0.
Halftime came with silence from Team Thomas. The boys looked defeated, some kicking at the grass in frustration. They even started to argue almost each other , the front trashing the defenders for letting easy passes , the defenders shouting at forward for not scoring it was almost a full blown fight until Thomas stepped in to stop it.
Tito looking at this sensed an opportunity to test himself against the dominating team.
"Coach," Tito said softly, stepping forward.
Thomas blinked. "Yeah?"
"Put me in. Left wing."
"You serious?"
"I want to try."
Thomas then looked at his left winger Terry who surged his solder showing he didn't care. He was already getting beaten up by the defenders why not let the newby get the taste himself.
Thomas looked at him for a long second. Then sighed. "Alright. We've got nothing to lose."
Second Half: 30–60 Minutes
The whistle blew again.
Tito stepped onto the field, stretching slightly. The wind ruffled his hair, and the sun peeked through the clouds. At that moment—a soft ding echoed in his mind. The Performer System was awake.
[Passive Skill: Star Aura – Activated. All eyes focus on the Performer. Audience entranced.]
[Dribble++: ON]
[Fancy Feint: ON]
The ball came to Tito near the halfway line. A defender rushed forward casually, expecting an easy steal.
Tito's body moved on instinct. His left foot flicked the ball outward; his right circled behind it. A sudden stepover flowed into a fluid nutmeg. The ball passed between the defender's legs.
"What the—"
Tito was already gone.
The audience leaned forward.
A second player cut in. Tito feinted left—hard. The defender bit. But Tito spun right, dragging the ball with the sole of his boot. The movement was flashy, over-the-top, ridiculous.
And it worked.
He reached the box. One touch. One quick strike. The ball curled past the keeper.
Goal.
5-1.
Gasps filled the stands.
Thomas blinked several times. Dave frowned.
The next play began. Tito stood wide again. This time, three players started closing in.
He didn't hesitate.
The ball bounced slightly. Tito flicked it up, bouncing it on his knee twice. Then launched a rainbow flick over the first boy. Mid-air, he spun and backheeled it around the second.
The third tried to foul him. Tito's body twisted unnaturally—he bent backward, dodging the leg sweep—and retained balance. Too fast. Too flexible.
He drove forward. A dummy shot. The keeper dove.
Tito chipped gently over him.
Goal.
5-2.
The crowd erupted in noise.
Thomas screamed, "Yes! Yes!!"
Tito didn't even react. His mind was calm. His body was moving on its own. Thoughts slowed, time stretched. Each defender looked sluggish, like they were underwater.
He received the next pass. This time, near the edge of the field. He paused. Four defenders stood ready.
He dribbled—stepover, stepover, flip-flap, double drag-back, spin.
Star Aura flared.
He ghosted past them. Crowd screaming now. One defender lunged—Tito jumped, landed, and crossed with a flicked heel.
The forward tapped it in.
5-3.
Another kickoff. Dave barked orders. "MARK HIM! DOUBLE MARK!"
Didn't matter.
Tito toyed with his markers. He stopped the ball dead, waited, let them come, then flicked it over their heads.
He sprinted through, ball bouncing. One defender managed to shoulder him—but Tito's body absorbed it, twisting like a contortionist. No injury. No imbalance.
He slid into the box.
Shot.
Goal.
5-4.
Seeing the goal Dave fell down cluching his chest, near him assistant ran to hold him. It felt like a heart attack.
Dave stared from the ground, stunned. "This isn't possible…"
Final ten minutes.
Tito now drew all the attention. The crowd, the players, even Thomas—everyone watched in disbelief.
He got the ball again. Now near the right flank.
He juggled. Five, six times. Then lobbed it into the air, ran under, controlled it off his chest, and rocketed it into the top corner.
5-5.
Thomas covered his mouth.
Tito's mother gasped. "John… that's our son?"
John could only nod.
Dave looked pale, hand on his chest. "What is this demon child…"
Final Minute:
Dave's team, desperate, launched one last counterattack. They found a gap. Their striker made a run and slammed it past Thomas's keeper.
6-5.
Whistle.
Game over.
Dave exhaled like he had just escaped death. "Thank God…". He finally got up.
Thomas ran to Tito. "You… You were electric!"
But Tito wasn't angry. Nor disappointed.
He looked at the sky, smiling.
"I lost… but I did what I had to do."
He whispered to himself:
"The Joker humiliates kings with jokes they can't defend."
High above, the senior academy coach, Daniel Forsberg stood silently. He was talking with the first team coach Tomas Eriksson who was complaining about few young players in first team and lack of attackers, when he saw the ongoing halftime match when he saw Tito at first he was intrigued when Tito scored the first goal he was impressed by second goal he was shocked and after that he knew he had to have this player in team he was too good.
"Tomas you will not believe what I am seeing now in front of me"
Tomas " What are you seeing how will I know . What is so shocking than our teams performance"
Daniel goes "You will not be saying this if saw what I just saw, I think we might have found the next great gem that will shock Europe as it did to me today"
Tomas suspecious" What Daniel are you high right now what are you talking about"
Daniel " wait you will see I will send you the CCTV photage then you will see how crazy this is . Wait it's over I will call you after some time wait"
Tomas " Stop what wait you craz..."
Daniel shouts" Dylin , Dylin where are you"
Dylin the assistant comes running " Sir you called"
"Get me the name of that boy."