The afternoon sun beat down on the dusty football field of Meijiang Middle School. Students from both classes lined the sidelines, their voices mixing with the sound of sneakers scraping against dirt.
The scoreboard told a brutal story: Class 1-A trailing 1-5 against Class 1-C.
Aiden Shen wiped sweat from his forehead as he jogged toward the bench. Thirty minutes had passed, and his legs already felt heavy. Behind him, the opposing team celebrated their fifth goal with loud cheers and high-fives.
"Water break!" shouted the makeshift referee, a senior student with a whistle around his neck.
Aiden Shen's teammates gathered in a loose circle, their faces showing different shades of frustration. Some stared at the ground. Others glanced toward the scoreboard and shook their heads.
Geng Yang pulled off his goalkeeper gloves and slammed them against his thigh. Sweat dripped from his chin as he marched toward Aiden Shen. His usual calm expression had been replaced by something much sharper.
"Aiden Shen," Geng Yang called out, his voice cutting through the chatter of other students. "Will you actually play like a forward? Because if you can't, then switch with me. I'll take your spot and you can stand in goal."
The circle of teammates went quiet. A few birds chirped in the trees beyond the field, but nobody spoke. Aiden Shen felt heat rise to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.
Aiden Shen had loved football since he could walk. His father would sit in their small living room every weekend, eyes glued to the television screen as European leagues played out their weekly dramas.
The old man would shout at missed penalties and leap from his chair when his favorite teams scored. Those moments had planted something deep in Aiden Shen's chest—a dream that felt as real as his own heartbeat.
When their class monitor had announced plans to form a football team a month ago, Aiden Shen's hand had shot up immediately. "Forward," he had said without hesitation. The position felt natural to him, like putting on a favorite shirt.
But wanting something and being good at it were two very different things.
In the first half, Aiden Shen had found himself in perfect scoring positions three separate times. The goal had stretched wide in front of him, the goalkeeper scrambling to get back into position.
Each time, his shots had sailed wide or been easily saved. Two other golden opportunities had slipped through his fingers when he had hesitated instead of shooting.
Five chances. Zero goals.
The other players in their makeshift team had started giving him looks—quick glances that said more than words ever could. They were beginning to doubt him, and Aiden Shen knew it.
Geng Yang had never wanted to be a goalkeeper. When they had formed the team, positions had been claimed on a first-come, first-served basis. By the time Geng Yang had arrived at the meeting, only the least popular position remained
Nobody ever dreamed of being the one standing alone between the goalposts, getting blamed for every goal that slipped past.
"I scored plenty of goals in junior high," Aiden Shen said, trying to keep his voice steady. He waved his hand in what he hoped looked like confidence. "I just haven't played in a few months because of entrance exams. My touch is a bit off, but I'm getting it back. Give me the second half and I'll show you what I can do."
Since school had started less than a month ago, most of his teammates were still getting to know each other. Nobody wanted to be the one to crush a classmate's dreams in front of everyone else. A few players nodded reluctantly. Others just looked away.
Geng Yang wasn't satisfied. "You said you'll definitely score in the second half, right? Fine. But if you don't score even one goal, we switch positions. I play forward, you take the gloves."
Aiden Shen felt his stomach tighten, but he couldn't back down now. Not in front of everyone. "Deal. But you won't get the chance. I'm going to score in the second half."
Geng Yang snorted and turned away to grab his water bottle. The other players started their own conversations, leaving Aiden Shen standing alone with his promise hanging in the air.
Inside, panic was starting to build. Aiden Shen knew Geng Yang wasn't bluffing. If he failed to score—or worse, if he wasted more easy chances—he would lose his position.
The dream of playing forward, of maybe someday becoming like his hero Ronaldo, would be over before it had really begun.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the second half going differently. Maybe his shots would be more accurate. Maybe the opportunities would come easier. Maybe—
A strange electronic sound suddenly echoed inside his head.
[Football Championship System successfully bound to host Aiden Shen. Body scan complete. Data initialization successful. Host may communicate with system through thought.]
Aiden Shen's eyes snapped open. He looked around quickly, expecting to see someone with a phone or tablet nearby. But his teammates were scattered across the field, some stretching, others still drinking water. Nobody was looking at him or holding any device.
The voice had been crystal clear, but it had come from inside his own mind.
'Who are you?' he thought, feeling slightly foolish.
The response came immediately, as clear as if someone were standing right beside him.
Through this strange mental conversation, Aiden Shen began to understand what had happened to him. He had somehow been bound to a football system—something that existed beyond normal science, something that would stay with him for the rest of his life.
The system would help him become what he had always dreamed of: a goal-scoring machine, a champion, a player known around the world.
A transparent screen appeared in front of him, invisible to everyone else. On it, Aiden Shen could see information about himself:
[Host: Aiden Shen
Nationality: Chinese
Age: 15 years old
Height: 163cm
Weight: 52kg
Level: 0
Experience: 0/10
Skill Points: 10
Club: None]
The system explained that the 10 skill points were a welcome gift. Later, he would earn more points by leveling up and completing tasks. Different levels would give different rewards—5 points for levels 1-10, 10 points for levels 11-20, and so on.
The experience section showed he needed 10 points to reach level 1. In these amateur school matches, the system would award 1 point for assisting a goal, 2 points for scoring, and 4 points for winning the entire game. Draws gave nothing—the system demanded victory.
Beyond his basic information, Aiden found pages showing his current abilities. Each skill was rated out of 20, with his current level shown first and his natural potential shown second:
[Shooting: 6/13
Passing: 5/13
Dribbling: 4/10
Speed: 7/11
Physical: 6/12
Defense: 3/7
Goalkeeping: 1/5
Vision: 5/11
Off-ball Movement: 2/8]
The numbers painted a clear picture. Even with perfect training and natural development, Aiden would never become world-class. His shooting potential topped out at 13 out of 20—decent, but far from elite level.
But next to each number was a small "+" sign. The system could push him beyond his natural limits.
"Second half!" the referee called out, his whistle cutting through Aiden's thoughts.
The transparent screen vanished as Aiden jogged back onto the field. His teammates took their positions, and the opposing team lined up for kickoff. The scoreboard still showed 1-5, and the afternoon sun seemed to shine even brighter.
Geng Yang caught his eye from the goal and pointed at him. The message was clear: 'This is your last chance.'
Aiden nodded and turned toward the center of the field. His heart was pounding, but for the first time all day, it wasn't just from nerves. Something had changed. Something impossible had happened to him.
Aiden focused on the glowing "+" signs he could still see in his mind. Ten skill points waited to be used. The question was: which ability should he improve first?