Chapter 7: The Keeper and the Ghosts
The second day's training session felt heavier than the first. Mateo still carried the residue of mental fatigue, and the river stone felt less like an anchor and more like a heavy, cold reminder of the tightrope walk he was performing.
Losa had set up the Pressure Shooting Drill in the small, fenced enclosure again. This time, however, there was a single full-sized goal positioned at one end, guarded by the Juvenil A starting goalkeeper, Hugo.
Hugo was a massive presence, a wall of confidence and muscle who regarded Mateo with open curiosity. The goal, framed by the white net, was a void that instantly sucked Mateo's attention back two years, to the deafening silence of his failure.
Losa stood by the center line, his clipboard replaced by a bucket of pristine white footballs. Dr. Cruz was at the fence, her monitoring equipment already set up.
"Ríos, welcome back to the scene of the crime," Losa said, devoid of humor. "This drill is simple: I will give you the ball, and you have exactly three seconds to score on Hugo. If you miss, you go back to the start. If you freeze, you go back to the start. You must score five times. That's all. Five goals."
Losa looked at Dr. Cruz. "Dr. Cruz will monitor for the physiological crash. If he spikes, we stop. We don't want a replay of the Sevilla disaster."
"Mateo," Sofia interjected, her voice firm. "This is the hardest test. You need to focus not on the result, the goal but on the execution. Anchor yourself to the cold, hard contact point on the ball, not the white net."
Mateo nodded, his throat dry. He could feel the cold certainty of the System fighting the hot paralysis of his trauma.
PQL 2: THE ANCHOR - ACTIVE
Current MF: 2.5 (Stable)
Stressors: Goalkeeper (Failure Consequence), Goal Frame (Trauma Trigger).
Objective: Score 5/5. Avoid MF Collapse.
Losa whistled, and immediately rolled the first ball toward Mateo.
Mateo took one touch to control it, his heart rate spiking instantly from 110 to 155. The world blurred; he only saw the goal, vast and empty, waiting to expose his fear. Don't miss. Don't repeat it.
He glanced down at the ball, his mind screaming the coordinates for a safe, low shot to the corner. But the pressure had already corrupted the signal. His ankle locked. He stuttered, taking a half-step too many.
Freeze.
"Stop!" Losa roared, snatching the ball before Mateo could even complete the shot. "Time out! What was that, Ríos? That was a panic attack disguised as a dribble! That was the Yips! The hesitation cost you the entire sequence! Start over!"
Mateo leaned down, gripping his knees, shame washing over him. He fumbled in his pocket for the river stone, his fingers closing around its smooth, reassuring weight.
"Heart rate 170," Dr. Cruz reported, making a note. "He is struggling to anchor to the execution. The presence of the keeper and the goal is overriding the cognitive focus."
Losa rolled the second ball. "Again, Ríos! Focus! I need a professional!"
Mateo received the ball, instantly gripping the stone with desperate intensity. This time, he forced himself to use the stone's reality against the goal's memory. Cold. Hard. Real. The net is just rope.
The Spatial Vision (SV 98) activated, a crystalline layer over his fear. It showed him the target: the lower left corner, outside Hugo's reach.
Shot Accuracy (MF 2.5): 60%
Sixty percent wasn't good enough. He needed certainty, not a gamble. He was already breathing hard, the familiar choking sensation rising. I need more clarity.
Mateo made a desperate, silent demand to the System Give me the focus!
The System responded with brutal efficiency, sacrificing a piece of his most precious resource for a temporary, calculated boost.
DEMAND DETECTED: COGNITIVE OVERRIDE INITIATED.
MF DRAIN: 1.0 Point.
Effect: Temporary +20% Shot Accuracy for 3 Seconds.
Current MF: 1.5
The world snapped back into terrifying clarity. The air felt colder. He saw the texture of the turf, the stitching on the ball, the slight shift of Hugo's weight anticipating a high shot. He knew exactly where the ball had to go.
Mateo struck the ball with the outside of his left foot, disguising the shot as a simple pass. It was a vicious, curling whip that hugged the grass and sliced through the tiny gap between Hugo's outstretched glove and the post.
GOAL. The net rattled.
Hugo stared at the ball, then at Mateo, a flicker of professional awe in his eyes. He hadn't moved.
One goal down. Mateo felt the powerful, jarring exhaustion that followed the MF drain. He was operating at less than half his capacity, yet he had achieved world-class execution.
"That was a world-class shot, Ríos," Losa admitted, his voice tight. "The disguise was phenomenal. But you took three full seconds, and you looked like you were going to collapse when you shot. Next!"
Losa rolled the third ball.
Mateo received it, his body still ringing with the shock of the MF drain. The familiar static of The Yips was fighting the raw, physical memory of the perfect strike.
He ignored the ball for a moment, focusing entirely on the stone, letting its weight anchor his breathing. He had to rely on the passive MF 1.5 now. He couldn't afford another full point of drain.
Trust the process. Trust the TEC 94. The technique is infallible.
He used a quick tap shuffle, settling the ball slightly. Hugo, now wary of the disguise, held his ground, waiting for the tell.
Mateo's SV 98 showed a low percentage target: a smash shot under the crossbar, aiming to exploit the time it takes for Hugo's hands to rise.
Shot Accuracy (MF 1.5): 75%
Seventy-five percent was risky, but doable. He had a slight delay in his ankle,the shadow of the Yips but the stone was working as a buffer, preventing the full paralysis. He struck the ball with his laces. It was a bullet, rising sharply.
Hugo reacted instantly, leaping, his fingers grazing the ball. But the shot's pure velocity was too much. It hammered off his fingertips and into the center of the net.
GOAL.
Two goals down.
Dr. Cruz noted, "Heart rate peaking later, but the physical exhaustion is evident. He is performing at a high level, but the cost is immense."
The drill continued, a terrifying, repetitive cycle of pressure and release. Losa kept the psychological assault focused entirely on Mateo's past failure, constantly reminding him of the missed penalty, the shame, and the waste of his talent.
Goal three Mateo used another small, tactical MF 0.5 drain, giving him just enough clarity to chip the ball over the diving keeper. MF 1.0. World-class.
Goal four Mateo relied purely on the anchor and sheer will. His foot felt stiff, but he managed a simple, side-footed placement, a low-percentage safe shot that Hugo managed to get a hand to but couldn't keep out. MF 0.8. Professional.
Mateo felt sweat stinging his eyes, his breathing ragged. He stood over the fifth ball, his knees visibly shaking. He was staring at the goal, and the white static was back, thicker than ever. The System was screaming its final, desperate warning.
MF CRITICAL. PROXIMAL COLLAPSE IMMINENT. RECOMMENDED ACTION: USE ALL REMAINING MF FOR EXECUTION BOOST.
He had 0.8 MF left. He needed this final shot to complete the drill. He couldn't afford to fail now.
Sacrifice it all.
He triggered the final Cognitive Focus Boost. The last 0.8 MF vanished in a painful, mental rush, giving him one final, beautiful view of the geometry.
Hugo, sensing the moment of truth, took a small, nervous shuffle to his left. That tiny movement was all the System needed.
Mateo curled the ball with the inside of his right foot, aiming for the exact space Hugo had just vacated. The ball flew with breathtaking pace and curve, a pass disguised as a shot. Hugo lunged back but was half a second too late. The ball kissed the inner side of the post and settled into the net.
GOAL.
Five goals. Drill complete.
Mateo didn't celebrate. He just stood there, the exhaustion absolute, his mind totally blank. He was operating with MF 0.0. He had nothing left to power his consciousness.
Losa walked over, his expression finally shifting from cold calculation to a reluctant, heavy satisfaction.
"Five shots, four goals scored under the influence of an acute psychological disorder," Losa stated. "You are the most frustrating player I have ever coached, Ríos."
He pointed to the net. "That final goal, the way you exploited the keeper's micro-shift that's why you are here. But the mental cost is too high. You are currently non-functional."
Dr. Cruz rushed over, checking his wristband. "Mateo, talk to me. Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Your heart rate is spiking and falling rapidly."
Mateo could barely formulate a coherent thought. He looked at Dr. Cruz, then at the river stone in his hand. He was at her mercy now, forced to admit his absolute mental dependency.
"I… I used the anchor," Mateo whispered, the lie feeling weak and fragile. "But… it wasn't enough. I had to force the focus. It cost me everything."
Sofia frowned, her keen eyes assessing the depth of his fatigue. "The 'anger' override," she summarized. "You forced the focus, and now you have the price. You have depleted your emotional reserves. This is exactly what we need to solve."
PQL 2: THE ANCHOR - PROGRESS
Pressure Shooting Drill Complete.
MF Base Stat Loss: 1.0 (Total MF Depleted).
Current MF: 3.0 (Base) -> 0.0 (Active).
REWARD: EXP +50 (System Acknowledgment of Core Trauma Confrontation).
Next Action: Mandatory Psychological Debriefing and MF Regeneration.
Losa tossed Mateo the keys to the locker room. "You're done for today, Ríos. Debrief with the Doctor. Tomorrow, we start putting you with the reserves. You'll be playing with the team. Let's see how your focus holds up when you have ten teammates depending on the man who always chokes."
Mateo managed a weak nod. He was physically and mentally broken, but he had survived the first two days and proven his genius. The System was feeding him EXP, and the base MF was holding steady. The problem was Dr. Cruz, who was watching him with a complex mix of professional concern and intellectual curiosity.
"Come, Mateo," she said gently, guiding him toward the administration building. "We need to talk about why the trauma is so much stronger than your focus."
Mateo felt the icy dread. The final challenge was not Losa or the keeper; it was convincing Dr. Cruz that his calculated, cold brilliance was just "anger" and not a digital System operating on its own terrifying logic.