The following morning, the roar of the corridors had been replaced by whispers of Of the upcoming year 3 Cross-Rank Challenges , Yes it's been announced. And this will be one of the biggest challenge. Although year one are prohibited from watching the competition, they can only watch them on their cerebrox band or in the broadcast hall.
After visiting the cafeteria and doing their morning training. Only the sound of cleats scraping against the tunnel floor remained as Bram walked back toward the locker rooms. The noise still buzzed in his ears — the crowd, the whistle — but now it felt far away, like an echo under water.
He stopped near the entrance, tilted his head back, and sighed. His chest still thumped. Not from exhaustion — but from something sharper. Confusion.
He clenched his fist. "Replay Vision…" he muttered. "Why didn't you work when I needed you?"
The ability had flickered in the middle of the game — not when he wanted it, not when he needed it — but later, after everything was over. He could still remember the late shimmer of golden light behind his eyelids, the delayed images rushing in too late to change anything.
He had used that power before. Controlled it, even — or so he thought. But this time… it slipped from his grasp.
And now, silence. Until—
[System Notification:] [New Mission Generated.]
[Objective:] [Train to grasp 50% control over [Replay Vision] — either fully or partially.]
[Reward: +5 to all stats.]
[Progression Bonus:] [Each progress point earns +1 Vision stat.]
[Current Progress: 10%.]
A shimmering blue panel formed in front of him, lighting up the empty corridor with a soft hum. Bram's eyes widened. "Ten percent? That's it?"
[Affirmative. Current grasp: 10%.]
His brow furrowed. "Wait, wait— you're telling me I've only been using ten percent of it this whole time?"
[Correction: You have only understood 10%. Your Vision stat is insufficient to process the full potential.]
Bram froze. "So even if I improve the skill… I won't be able to use it properly unless my Vision stat increases?"
[Correct. Replay Vision requires synchronization between visual perception and cognitive reflection speed. In short— your eyes can't keep up with your brain, and your brain can't keep up with your System.]
He blinked."…You could've just said I'm too slow."
[That works too.]
He rubbed his temples, groaning softly. "So, how do I train this thing? Any drills? Or am I supposed to guess?"
[Host should find that out himself.]
Of course. Bram chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Figures."
[Reminder: System level and access remain limited due to host's low general stats and incomplete awakening. Further guidance will unlock with progression.]
"Yeah, yeah… I get that," Bram said. "By Year Two, I'll fix that. Get stronger stats, better control, and maybe unlock more of your secrets."
[Host is ambitious. I approve.]
He snorted. "You better. Because I'm not planning to stay average forever. I'm aiming for the top."
[To reach the top, Host must qualify for Year Two's Class SS, S, or A. Lower tiers are subject to removal from the program.]
Bram went quiet. He'd heard that before — the upper-class system. The brutal part of the Academy. Year Two wasn't like Year One.
Only three classes stood at the top:
SS Class — the peak, the prodigies who represented the Academy in the inter-academy tournaments.
S Class — Prodigies, slightly below SS class.
A Class — elite performers with potential to rise higher.
Below that… you were gone. Dropped. Expelled. Forgotten.
He exhaled slowly, watching the faint blue glow of the system window fade."Yeah… that's a real disappointment," he whispered. "Fighting all the way here, just to fall off the ladder."
But his tone wasn't bitter — it was fire. Low, steady fire.
He straightened, shouldered his training bag, and turned toward the exit.
"Then I'll just have to work harder," he said.
The System's light dimmed completely. The hall went quiet again. For a long moment, Bram just stood there, thinking — his breath calm, his eyes narrow, determination building like slow pressure beneath stone.
Then, after a minute, he moved. Not to his dorm. Not to rest. But to the Midfielders' Challenge Dome — a wide, high-tech facility at the Academy's northern section.
Inside, every surface shimmered with holographic projections — training bots, field simulations, obstacle courses that mimicked real-time matches. The Dome wasn't just training — it was survival practice. Students came here to test their roles, polish their weaknesses, and earn Academy Points — the currency that bought everything from meals to equipment.
And right now, Bram needed both training and points. Badly.
He stood at the threshold, the blue light of the entrance scanning his ID tag. A soft chime echoed.
[Welcome, Player Bram Ashcroft — B7 Midfielder. Access granted: Level 2 facilities.]
The massive doors slid open. Warm, humming air brushed against his face. Rows of light patterns shifted on the turf, forming glowing pathways and moving targets.
Bram cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and smiled faintly.
"Alright then," he whispered. "Let's see if I can make sense of you, Replay Vision."
The System stayed silent — but somewhere deep in his head, a quiet hum stirred, like static behind glass.
The Dome's doors closed behind him with a heavy hiss.
A cool wave of air swept over the synthetic turf. The sound of humming generators echoed faintly from the upper scaffolds — almost like the heartbeat of a machine watching him.
Bram walked to the center of the field, hands on his hips. The dome lights adjusted, tracing his figure in soft blue. He could feel the pressure in the air — the invisible weight of motion sensors waiting for his command.
He pressed on the basic drills button.
[Midfielders' Reflex Trial — Level 2 initiated.]Estimated duration: 30 minutes. Difficulty scaling enabled.
The ground shifted. Glowing lines appeared on the turf, forming hexagonal grids that blinked in and out. From the far side, a training drone emerged — sleek, orb-like, with a silver-blue glow pulsing at its core.
It zipped forward without warning.
"Whoa—!" Bram barely ducked as the drone fired a light sphere toward him. The ball curved sharply, bouncing once before sliding across the grid and dissolving into sparks.
He exhaled, steadying his breath. The drill had begun.
The first ten minutes were pure chaos. His eyes struggled to keep up with the shifting grids, his body reacting slower than his thoughts. Every flash of light forced him to predict where the next move would come from — but by the time he guessed, the drone was already on the opposite side.
Sweat dripped from his jawline. "Too slow," he muttered, panting. "Everything's too damn fast."
[Progress: 11%. +1 Vision]
He paused, blinking. "Wait… already?"
[Each moment of successful reaction contributes to progression. Current Vision stat: 57 → 58.]
"Alright," he said, grinning faintly. "Then let's make it 59."
He tightened his stance, heart thumping again — but this time not from frustration. From rhythm.
Five minutes later, he began to see it. Not the ball, not the drone — but the faint trails of motion behind them. Ghost images that shimmered half a second after every movement.
He blinked rapidly. "Replay Vision?"
The trails flickered — weak, blurry — like echoes of reality playing just behind time.
He followed one trail, dashed left, and struck the hovering light ball. The sphere ricocheted back perfectly. Right into another incoming shot.
The clash of light burst into small holographic sparks.
Bram froze, a grin spreading across his face. He didn't just predict it. He saw it before it happened.
[Progress: 14%. +1 Vision]Current Vision stat: 59 → 60.
"Now we're talking."
The next sequence grew harder — two drones now, circling him, their light-balls firing from random angles. He ducked, turned, slid. Every dodge burned through his stamina. But the more he moved, the clearer the after-images became.
A faint hum filled his head — not the system this time, but something deeper. His heartbeat synced with the Dome's pulse. Time didn't slow down, but his focus stretched — every second split open like a thread being pulled apart.
[Progress: 16%. +1 Vision]Current Vision stat: 61 → 62.
He could feel it. The space between moments — the half-beat before the pass, the shift before the strike. It wasn't about reaction anymore. It was about rhythm.
And Replay Vision wasn't just about seeing the past. It was about connecting the present to it.
He trained for nearly two hours — longer than planned, ignoring the ache in his legs and the pulsing behind his eyes. The drones began to blur, then fade, signaling the drill's end.
He stumbled backward, collapsing onto the turf, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. Every part of his body screamed, but his mind felt sharp — alive.
[Mission Progress: 20%.][Vision: 62 (+5)]
He stared up at the Dome ceiling, laughing weakly. "Only twenty percent…"He turned his head toward the floating panel beside him. "At this rate, I'll be old before I reach fifty."
[Correction: Stat growth curve accelerates as synchronization improves.]
"Meaning?"
[Meaning— keep going, Host.]
He grinned tiredly. "Heh. You're learning how to be motivating."
The System stayed silent this time.
For a long while, Bram just lay there, the dim glow of the Dome lights flickering across his eyes. He could still see those faint trails of light — lingering even though the simulation was over. He blinked, and they vanished.
Somewhere deep inside, he felt it — a shift. Small. Subtle. But real.
His control was growing. And for the first time, he wasn't chasing the ability. He was beginning to understand it.
[ Updated Player Status: Bram Ashcroft ]
Age: 12
Position: Midfielder (Undeclared Specialty)
Overall Potential: ??? (Locked)
Stamina: 62
Agility: 55
Strength: 46
Passing: 70
Dribbling: 55
Shooting: 47
Vision: 62 (+5)
Composure: 52
Determination: 78
Replay Vision – Mastery: 20%(Each progression increases Vision by +1 until base synchronization is achieved.)
The dome lights dimmed to a faint silver glow, signaling the system's shutdown cycle. Bram remained sprawled on the turf, chest rising and falling, his breathing uneven but steady. His pulse throbbed behind his eyes. Every time he blinked, faint streaks of light still traced across his vision like echoes refusing to fade.
He sat up slowly, stretching his arms behind him. His muscles ached — the good kind of ache, earned and honest.
The System flickered again.
[Notice: Mental synchronization stabilizing. Emotional desync reduced by 17%.]
He smirked faintly. "Guess that means I'm doing something right."
A voice echoed from above. "Doing what right?"
Bram froze.
The echo wasn't mechanical — it came from the observation deck near the top of the dome. A silhouette leaned lazily against the railing, one leg propped over the other, watching him.
When the lights shifted, Bram recognized him. Reddish-brown hair, half-tied back; the faint glint of a Class A emblem stitched into his jacket. A senior. Year Two, maybe Three.
The older boy hopped down from the deck's ladder with fluid ease, landing on the turf a few meters away. His smirk was sharp, not cruel — but confident.
"Didn't think anyone would still be in here this late," the boy said, brushing invisible dust from his gloves. "Midfielders' Dome closes at twenty-two hundred. You're, what—thirty minutes over?"
Bram rose slowly, still catching his breath. "Didn't check the time."
The boy tilted his head. "Or didn't care."
Silence hung for a moment — only the soft hum of cooling circuits filling the air.
Then the senior chuckled. "Ashcroft, right? The one who went toe-to-toe with A-3."
Bram's brows lifted slightly. "You watched?"
"Watched? Please. Everyone did. Half the academy couldn't shut up about it." He smirked again. "You've got a good read on the game — calm, clean technique, no wasted motion. Reminds me of someone."
"Who?"
"Me," he said easily, stepping closer. "Name's Rylan. Year Two, Class S. Captain of the academy's reserve midfield squad."
Bram blinked. "Reserve? You mean the team below the official inter-academy lineup?"
"Exactly. The almost-greats." Rylan shrugged, grin unbothered. "We train where the real ones can't afford to fail."
He eyed Bram up and down, gaze flicking briefly over the faint blue shimmer that still lingered around him. "Tell me something," Rylan said quietly. "That move I saw just now — what was it?"
Bram's pulse spiked. He turned away slightly. "Just part of the drill."
"Hmm." Rylan's tone carried amusement. "Looked like more than that."
He started walking toward the exit, then paused. "You've got good instincts, Ashcroft. But instincts without composure just burn you out." He shot Bram a small, knowing look. "Keep training that… whatever it was. The academy eats raw talent alive if you don't polish it."
Then he left — leaving Bram alone again in the cooling dome, his footsteps echoing softly against the synthetic floor.
Bram watched the door slide shut behind him.
[System Notice: Heart rate elevated. Emotional Desync +3%.]
"Yeah," Bram muttered, rubbing his temples. "Because people keep sneaking up on me."
Outside, the night air bit cold against his sweat. The academy campus was quieter now — only a few distant lights flickering from upper dorms, the occasional hum of hover-carts carrying late-working instructors.
He looked up at the sky — thin clouds drifting past the twin moons above Arathia.
For the first time since the match, he felt something unfamiliar sitting under his ribs. Not anger. Not pride. Anticipation.
He remembered Rylan's words — instincts without composure burn you out. And his sister's — read the rhythm, not the motion.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the faint hum of energy behind his vision.
[Mission Progress: 21%.][Current Vision: 63.]
"Fifty percent, huh?" he murmured. "Let's see if I can hit that before the end of the league."
He walked back toward the dorms, steps slow but steady, determination hardening in his chest.
From one of the high towers, hidden behind the mirrored glass of the instructor's observation wing, a figure watched him.
She made a note on her pad. Ashcroft, Bram — Possible Category SS potential. Monitor progression.
Her pen stopped midway through the note. She smiled faintly. "An Ashcroft, hm? Seems the academy's going to get interesting again."
Bram reached his dorm just as the automated lights dimmed for curfew. He peeled off his sweat-drenched training suit and dropped into bed, muscles throbbing.
But sleep didn't come right away. When he closed his eyes, the world didn't go dark.
He still saw the trails — faint, lingering ghosts of movement — every step, every turn, every faint shift in wind pattern.
And through it all, the System's quiet voice whispered, softer than before.
[Host. The moment you stop seeing the world as it moves, and begin seeing how it breathes… that's when Replay Vision will truly awaken.]
He smiled faintly in the dark. "Then I'll just have to learn how to breathe with it."
The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was that faint shimmer — a thread of blue light pulsing once across his vision, like a heartbeat answering his own.
[Replay Vision Progress: 22%][Synchronization improving.]