Chapter 4:Five Steps of Composure
The leather arrived at Mateo's foot with the urgency of a ticking clock. It was a fast, hard pass from the center-back, Guillermo, demanding an immediate response. Mateo had successfully executed the first pass, but his hesitation had been noted, not only by Coach Losa but by the entire circle of players. The intensity of the Rondo drill had doubled.
The System, running on the meager reserves of his Mental Fortitude (MF 2), screamed its data. The play demanded a first-time flick to bypass a surging defender and reach Carlos, the wide player on the perimeter.
Execution Window: 0.3 Seconds
Current Pass Accuracy (MF 2): 45%
Mateo could feel the familiar, sickening pressure seizing his ankle, trying to root him to the spot. The fear whispered, Safety first. Clear the ball. End the torture.
But the System's overlay, despite its low power, showed the geometry, the perfect, unobstructed line. He knew that the safe, short lateral pass would slow the tempo, break the spirit of the drill, and confirm Losa's worst suspicions. He had lied and said he was fixed; he could not afford to look afraid.
He didn't rely on courage. He relied on the numbers.
He used the outside of his right boot, deflecting the ball with a calculated, feather-light touch. The ball skewed exactly where the Spatial Vision (SV 98) had predicted, slicing past the defender's stretched foot and landing precisely at Carlos's feet. It was a piece of effortless, detached genius.
Two clean passes. The chain held.
The defenders cursed under their breath. They knew they had been beaten by pure precision, not luck. When the ball returned, they were desperate. Two midfielders, Adrián and Óscar, converged on Mateo instantly, boxing him into a claustrophobic triangle near the corner of the small box.
Mateo received the ball, and the noise of their breathing, the crunch of the turf, and the internal scream of his panic merged into one debilitating sound.
Losa's voice cut through the clamor, sharp and focused, aimed right at Mateo's deepest insecurity. "They know you're afraid to turn, Ríos! You'll never survive a league match if you only play backward! Show me a spine!"
Turn. That simple command was the trigger for The Yips. Turning his back to the defense meant momentary blindness, a vulnerability that had haunted him since his collapse. His stomach churned.
MF STRESS LEVEL: 95% (CRITICAL)
Decision Required: Execute high-risk turn or fail composure check.
Mateo felt his vision tunnel. He didn't have the MF to fight the panic and execute the turn simultaneously. Instead of turning, he executed a lightning-fast feint, dipping his shoulder as if he intended to pass it back to Guillermo. Adrián bought the move, leaning slightly away to intercept the phantom pass.
In that millisecond of space, Mateo slammed a sharp, low pass between Adrián's planted legs and Óscar's supporting foot, threading a needle to the right winger. The pass was audacious, perfectly weighted, and impossible to intercept.
Three clean passes. The chain was singing now, the momentum undeniable.
Pass 3 Complete (Grade: Excellent).
MF DRAIN: 1.0 Point (Cost of deception and stress management).
Current MF: 1.0
He was running on fumes. Losa, witnessing the raw talent, was not satisfied. He wanted the collapse. He stepped right up to the Rondo circle, his tall, imposing shadow falling directly over Mateo.
"I'm tired, Mateo," Losa said, his voice quiet but carrying terrifying weight. "One more shaky pass, and I will announce to every staff member here that the great hope of '99 didn't just fail to be professional, he failed to be a basic athlete. I'll ensure your name is permanently retired from any consideration. Don't make me waste my afternoon."
The words struck with the force of a physical blow. The shame, the memory of the final, silent stadium, the realization that his professional dreams were hanging by a single thread—it was too much.
Mateo's mind went blank. The familiar white static of The Yips began to bloom at the edges of his vision, and he couldn't process the movements of the players around him. He could feel his feet losing connection with the ground.
MF CRITICAL. EMERGENCY PROTOCOL: ACTIVATION
Current MF: 0.8
Objective Failure Imminent.
Mateo knew he couldn't execute Pass 4 naturally. The paralysis was setting in. He didn't have enough MF for the Flow State Drain that had saved him in the street match, but the System offered a desperate alternative.
Option B: COGNITIVE FOCUS BOOST (Temporary override of paralysis. Cost: ALL REMAINING MF. Grants 5s clear vision.)
ACCEPT B! Mateo mentally screamed the command. He needed clarity, not composure. He needed the System to pilot his body for five seconds.
The moment he accepted, the last 0.8 MF was stripped away. A sudden, jarring silence replaced the panic. The fear did not vanish; it was simply muted, locked in a soundproof chamber in his mind. The System's SV 98 became the sole occupant of his consciousness.
The ball arrived, a simple, ground pass. The defenders, seeing his momentary hesitation, lunged to intercept.
Mateo saw the single, perfect solution. The center-back, desperate to cut the pass, had slightly overcommitted, leaving a few inches of air above his outstretched boot. It was a space that required world-class audacity to exploit in a tight Rondo.
Mateo received the ball with his left, shielding it momentarily, and then, using the tiny boost of clarity, he executed a delicate, high-risk lobbed pass. The ball ascended barely a meter, perfectly weighted to arc over the defender's head and drop precisely at the feet of the perimeter player twenty meters away. It was an action that instantly stretched the entire Rondo, moving the ball from the tightest space to the widest, changing the entire rhythm of the drill.
The silence that followed was palpable. The receiving player barely had to move. It was a pass that spoke of a vision beyond the academy level.
Four clean passes.
Pass 4 Complete (Grade: World Class). MF: 0.0.
WARNING: MF DEPLETION. IMMEDIATE PSYCHOLOGICAL COLLAPSE IMMINENT.
The cold calm vanished instantly. The crippling exhaustion, the nausea, and the paralyzing fear came flooding back, tenfold, now backed by zero Mental Fortitude. Mateo stumbled, his knees feeling suddenly weak.
The fifth and final pass was a simple two-meter lateral tap back to Óscar. Mateo barely registered the ball. He just threw his foot out, making contact out of pure muscle memory, and the ball rolled lamely to its target.
Five clean passes. The Rondo was complete.
Losa did not speak for a full minute. He simply walked slowly into the center of the circle, retrieved a loose ball, and kicked it hard toward the rest of the team, signaling the end of the impromptu trial. The other players quickly resumed their training, avoiding eye contact with the center.
Mateo felt like he might vomit. He swayed slightly, his legs trembling violently now that the adrenaline was gone.
Losa walked back to him, his expression completely unreadable.
"That pass, the lob," Losa said, his voice flat. "That was a pass you make in a World Cup quarter-final. Absolute, undeniable genius. But then you nearly fell over on the next one."
Losa jabbed a finger hard into Mateo's chest, where his heart hammered against his ribs. "You lied to me, Ríos. You haven't fixed anything. You're still a world-class player with a psychological panic disorder. You are a weapon that misfires."
He took a breath, his eyes narrowed, calculating the risk. "We need a DLP. No one else here sees the game the way you do. But I cannot have you crashing in front of the reserves. That kind of mental vulnerability is contagious."
Losa pulled a folded document from his pocket. It was a temporary training contract.
"You have a spot in the Juvenil A Reserves. It is non-guaranteed and conditional," Losa stated, holding the paper out. "Condition one: You are here to fix your brain, not your technique. You follow my training plan to the letter. Condition two: Every day, after morning training, you report to the club's new Head of Sports Psychology, Dr. Sofia Cruz. She is strict, she is brilliant, and she will report directly to me on your emotional state. If she gives me one reason to believe you are a liability, you are gone."
Losa dropped the contract into Mateo's shaking hand. "Sign it, and show up at 8:00 tomorrow. Or don't. Either way, my afternoon is now finished."
Mateo didn't need to read the terms. The paper felt like a life raft and a shackle all at once. He had his spot. He had fulfilled the System's demand.
PQL 1: THE RETURN — OBJECTIVE COMPLETE.
REWARD: +1 MF BASE STAT.
NEW MF: 3.0
STATUS CHANGE: RUSTED PRODIGY has been upgraded to PRODIGY IN RECOVERY.
IMMEDIATE STATUS WARNING: MENTAL FATIGUE (CRITICAL)
Cause: MF Base Stat (2 -> 3) upgrade exhaustion + Cognitive Focus Boost drain.
Current Effect: Severe Cognitive Lag, Mandatory Psychological Support Required.
NEW PRIMARY QUEST LINE DETECTED:
[PQL 2: THE ANCHOR]
Objective: Establish a working, trust-based relationship with Dr. Sofia Cruz and stabilize psychological vulnerability.
Time Limit: 10 Days.
Mateo stared down at the contract, his mind a painful, empty void. He had won the battle, but the war for his sanity had just begun, and the System had just forced his primary conflict the secret system into direct collision with his solution, Dr. Sofia Cruz. He looked up, intending to ask Losa where to find the psychologist, but the coach was already halfway across the pitch.
Mateo was alone, clutching the paper, staring toward the main administration building where his newest, and potentially most dangerous, challenge awaited. He needed to be fixed, and he knew Dr. Cruz was the only human who could help him. But he could never let her see the System.