After the coach's video call ended, my apartment was silent, but my mind was a roaring engine. I had the blueprint for a master-level skill, but the system notification was a stark reminder of the work ahead: [Data Integration: 10% Complete]. Replication required physical practice.
I didn't sleep.
The sun had long set over Ahmedabad, but my day was just beginning. I grabbed my gear and headed straight for the familiar, comforting decay of Court 7. Under the flickering glow of the arena lights, I activated the practice module. The wireframe ghost of Silas, 'The Surgeon', appeared before me, its movements a symphony of efficiency.
The night became a grueling cycle of failure and tiny victories. Mastering the principle of 'Aether Compression' was a hundred times harder than learning a simple swing. It required a delicate, internal focus, a conscious effort to shape the energy field within the Aether ball itself. My first few hundred attempts were pathetic, the energy dissipating from my hand. But with every attempt, I felt my new Aether Sense grow sharper, allowing me to feel the subtle flows of energy I was trying to contain. Slowly, painstakingly, the integration number began to climb. By the time the first hints of dawn appeared, I was hollowed out with exhaustion, but the number stood at a hard-won 55%.
I arrived at the Westwood arena at 5:50 AM, running on nothing but adrenaline and defiance. I walked straight to Coach Valerius and handed him my datapad with the analysis he'd requested. He took it, gave the screen a brief glance, and then looked at me, his eyes seeming to bore right through me. He didn't say a word. He just nodded, a single, sharp gesture.
The atmosphere in the locker room was just as icy as the day before. The whispers continued, a low hiss of resentment that followed me to my locker. I ignored them. Their opinions were based on the player from the tryouts. They hadn't seen what I could do now.
On the court, the coach started practice without any conditioning. "Yesterday, we found your limits," he barked. "Today, we see who can perform under pressure. Today's practice is simple. We run the gauntlet. One-on-one drills. Two-on-two. The results of these matches will determine the starting lineup for our first preseason game. Nothing is guaranteed. Earn your spot."
My heart hammered in my chest. This was it. The final test.
I was up first, paired against a senior player named Marcus, a solid defender who had looked at me with open disgust in the locker room. He clearly expected an easy win. The other players gathered to watch, many of them smirking, waiting for the "rat" to be put in his place.
The whistle blew.
Marcus came at me, confident and aggressive. I fell back on what I knew best: defense. I dodged and weaved, my movements efficient, my mind focused. The familiar
ping of the system began to echo in my head as I started my chain, earning precious MP.
Marcus grew frustrated. "Just going to run and hide again?" he taunted, firing a heavy shot.
This was the moment I was waiting for. I didn't just dodge. I planted my feet, my body flowing into the perfect kinetic chain I had practiced all night. I raised my hand, and this time, I focused on the new principle. Compress.
The ball of Aether that formed in my palm was smaller than before, but it shone with a fierce, intense blue light. It didn't just pulse; it vibrated.
I unleashed my Power Shot.
ZZZING!
The sound was completely different. It wasn't a hiss or a thwack. It was a sharp, cutting sound, like ripping metal. The blue bolt shot across the court, leaving a thin, razor-sharp trail in its wake.
Marcus, expecting the weak shot from the tryouts, put up a hasty block.
My compressed shot slammed into his shield. It didn't explode. It pierced. The shot drilled a clean hole right through the center of his energy shield and continued, striking him squarely in the chest plate. The impact sent him stumbling backward, his eyes wide with shock. The goal behind him chimed.
Point.
The entire court went silent. The players who had been smirking now stared, their jaws slack. Jax, who had been watching from the sidelines, straightened up, his usual contempt replaced by a flicker of genuine surprise.
I won the next two points just as decisively. My defense earned me the openings, and my new, piercing shot was too fast and too precise for Marcus to handle. I won the match 3-0.
I continued through the gauntlet, winning my next two matches as well. I wasn't the strongest player, not by a long shot. But the combination of my perfect defense and my suddenly lethal offense was a puzzle none of the lower-ranked players could solve.
From the sideline, Coach Valerius watched every move I made. His face was a stone mask, but I knew he saw it. He saw the new technique. He saw the result of his test. He saw his calculated risk beginning to pay dividends.
At the end of the drills, he called a short break. He walked over to a large digital display on the wall and began setting up the pairings for the final stage of the gauntlet: a full 5-on-5 scrimmage.
The roster for "Team A" appeared on the screen. My name was on it. In a starting position.
My breath hitched. I wasn't a benchwarmer. I was a starter.
Then the roster for "Team B" appeared. My eyes scanned the list. And then I saw it. Playing the position that would be my direct matchup, the player I would have to face for the entire scrimmage.
Jax.