The whistle shrieked across the field, sharp enough to cut through the chatter of the academy grounds. The players gathered in a circle for rondo drills, cleats thudding against artificial turf as the ball zipped between them in quick, crisp passes.
To most of the boys here, this was just another morning at the Hayes Academy's youth camp—a routine session, a chance to sharpen their touch before the weekend scrimmage. For Arthur Hayes, however, the sound of every pass felt like a reminder.
Every name called by the coach. Every cheer when a clean move was executed. Every snicker when someone mis controlled a ball. All of it piled onto him.
Because unlike the others, Arthur's surname carried weight. A heavy, suffocating weight.
Hayes.
Once, that name was etched into history books. The Hayes family senior team had stood among the nobility's top football houses for generations. Their academy had produced stars who were worshipped, nobles who were respected. The Hayes crest used to gleam like a crown, a mark of dominance both on and off the pitch.
But that was the past.
Now, whenever Arthur walked onto the academy pitch, his surname was not a badge of honor. It was a brand of shame.
Two relegations. Two humiliations. And with the senior team banned from competition, the Hayes were nobility in name only.
The whispers started again.
"Don't pass it to him," one boy muttered just loud enough for Arthur to hear as the ball skipped past. "He'll just lose it."
Another added with a sneer, "Fallen nobles shouldn't even be here. If he didn't have his family's name, he wouldn't have made the cut."
The ball zipped between them, quick touches, laughter following each flick and feint. Arthur kept moving, his cleats clicking softly against the turf, hands raised whenever he found space. His voice came out hoarse, almost pleading:
"Here. I'm open!"
Ignored. Again.
His runs were sharp, his positioning clever. But the ball never came. It wasn't that they didn't see him—it was that they chose not to.
Arthur forced his lips into a thin line, biting back the frustration bubbling in his chest. He couldn't lash out. Not here. Not now. This wasn't just about him; every action he took reflected on the Hayes name.
When the whistle finally blew to end the drill, Arthur exhaled in relief. He had touched the ball four times in nearly twenty minutes. Four. For an attacking midfielder meant to be the link of play, it was nothing short of humiliation.
The coach barked instructions for the next session but didn't glance his way once. Arthur caught that, too.
He jogged to the sideline with the others, sweat dampening his shirt, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.
Is this how it's going to be? he thought bitterly. Frozen out. Suppressed until I fade into the background.
The day dragged on with more drills, none of which gave Arthur the chance to show his worth. By the time practice ended, the whispers had already turned into open snickers.
"Waste of space.""Just give up already.""The Hayes are finished, and so is he."
Arthur clenched his fists but said nothing.
That evening, back at the Hayes estate, the silence of the mansion greeted him like a familiar ghost.
The estate was massive, sprawling with echoing corridors, manicured gardens, and walls lined with dusty portraits of footballing ancestors. But without the constant flow of visitors, journalists, and nobles who once filled these halls, the place felt more like a tomb than a home.
Arthur's footsteps echoed as he walked toward the dining hall.
His parents were already seated at the long oak table. His mother, Lady Evelyn Hayes, wore a faint smile, her delicate hands folded neatly by her plate. She had the look of someone who had weathered storms, her once-bright eyes softened by years of disappointment yet never fully dimmed.
"Arthur," she greeted warmly as he sat. "How was training today?"
Arthur hesitated, the taste of the morning's humiliation still bitter in his mouth. "It was… fine," he lied.
Her smile wavered but didn't fade. "That's good. You're working hard, I can see it."
Across the table, his father, Duke Leonard Hayes, cut his steak with slow, deliberate movements. His presence was heavy, commanding, the kind of man who could silence a room with a single glance. When he finally spoke, his voice was firm, steady, carrying the weight of a man who had seen his legacy crumble.
"Fine?" Leonard's knife clinked against his plate as he set it down. "Fine isn't enough, Arthur."
Arthur looked up, meeting his father's stern gaze.
"You are a Hayes," Leonard continued. "Do you understand what that means? Football is not just a sport for us—it is our foundation, our nobility. Without victory, without dominance on the pitch, our title is nothing but hollow air. Hayes is not meant to survive. We are meant to lead."
Arthur's chest tightened. He wanted to argue, to explain the way his teammates froze him out, the whispers that cut deeper than any tackle. But when he saw the steel in his father's eyes, he swallowed the words.
His mother reached over gently, placing her hand over his. "Don't be too harsh, Leonard. He's still finding his feet. He's our only son… let him grow into it."
But Leonard's expression didn't soften. "Grow into it? The world won't wait for him. Nobility won't wait. Every day we remain in disgrace, our family sinks deeper into the mud. Arthur, if you don't rise now, Hayes will be forgotten forever."
Arthur's grip tightened around his fork. Forgotten forever. The words echoed in his mind long after dinner ended.
That night, lying in his bed, the shadows of the room pressing in, Arthur whispered into the quiet:
"I won't let Hayes be forgotten. I can't."
And as if responding to his resolve, the system's mechanical voice chimed in his mind.
[New Quest Available: Passing Consistency]Successfully complete 50 consecutive short passes in training without losing possession.
Reward: Short Passing +1, Vision +1.
Arthur blinked at the glowing blue prompt floating before his eyes. Fifty consecutive passes. A cruel joke, considering his teammates barely passed to him at all.
His chest tightened, frustration bubbling, but then—slowly—he exhaled.
It wasn't impossible. Not with the system. Not with the Dream Ground.
Arthur turned onto his side, eyes narrowing in determination.
"I'll do it," he murmured to himself. "For Hayes. Even if they ignore me now… I'll force the world to see me."
.Sorry i made some changes, to make it more interesting.