The afternoon sky over the old stadium was streaked with deep orange, the sun drooping like a tired eye about to shut.
Ares Locke stood in the center of the field, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin and soaking the collar of his shirt.
Every muscle in his legs throbbed. His ankles felt like they were wrapped in molten iron. His lungs burned.
But Rowan Vale wasn't even close to satisfied.
"Again," Rowan commanded.
Ares' jaw tightened. His foot tapped the ball forward, beginning yet another dribble sequence through the cones.
Rowan watched him with that same unreadable, analytical expression.
Cold. Sharp. Calculating.
The same way a jeweler might inspect a stone to see if it was worth polishing… or tossing out.
Ares weaved left, right, left—too wide.
Rowan clicked his tongue.
"Again."
Ares reset.
Left. Right. Left—sloppy touch.
"Again."
Reset.
Left. Right—
His toe caught the turf and the ball sailed too far ahead.
Rowan exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Ares, I said tight control. Not frantic stumbles."
"I'm… trying," Ares said breathlessly.
Rowan stared at him for a long second, then replied,
"Yes. And for someone who has never received proper training, you are improving. But we're running out of time."
Thirty days.
Twenty-eight now.
Ares planted his hands on his knees. His breathing hitched.
"But why does it feel like I'm getting worse the more I practice?"
Rowan answered instantly:
"Because your body is unstable. You lack fundamental muscle memory. You're relying on raw determination to power through everything, which is admirable—but unsustainable."
Ares didn't respond. He knew Rowan was right.
Determination could not substitute technique.
Not forever.
Not in the Rising Star Trials.
A slight vibration buzzed inside his mind.
DING.
A panel flickered into existence.
⸻
System Alert: "Strain Threshold Approaching"
Warning: Excessive physical repetition without adaptation may reduce training efficiency.
Recommendation: Seek emotional activation from readers to trigger a micro-boost.
⸻
Ares gritted his teeth.
Reader activation again.
Always tied to his emotions. His struggles. His moments of pushing the edge.
He wasn't sure how readers existed or where they were, but somehow their invisible expectations were shaping his growth.
And right now… they were quiet.
Too quiet.
"Get up," Rowan said calmly. "We're resetting the drill."
Ares stood again, ignoring the tremble in his thighs.
Rowan stepped closer and crouched down beside the cones.
"Ares. Football isn't only about speed. It's the art of moving the ball exactly where you want it to go—even when your body is screaming. Even when pressure swallows you whole."
He tapped the nearest cone.
"This is the ball."
He tapped the next one.
"This is the defender."
He tapped the third.
"This is the space you're trying to create."
Ares listened carefully.
"You don't fight the defender with strength. You fight them with ideas."
Rowan rose and stepped back.
"Try again. But this time, don't think about being fast. Think about being intentional."
Ares inhaled deeply.
He placed his foot on the ball.
Tap. Tight touch.
Tap. Close control.
Tap. Controlled movement.
His body still wobbled. His left foot was still too heavy. His right touches were inconsistent.
But this time… he focused not on speed—
—but purpose.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Rowan's voice cut the air:
"Better."
That single word lit something inside Ares.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
DING.
Another panel appeared.
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: FOCUSED INTEREST
Micro-Boost Activated:
+3% Ball Control
+2% Balance
Duration: 60 seconds
⸻
Ares felt the clarity return.
His body aligned with his intent—foot, ankle, hips, shoulders—moving as one.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
He finished the sequence without a single mistake.
Rowan's brow lifted slightly.
"…Again."
Ares repeated it.
Perfect again.
Rowan stepped forward, expression tightening as if realizing something unexpected.
"Ares," he said slowly. "Your progression rate is abnormal."
The words sliced through Ares' chest like a blade of cold steel.
He forced his expression still.
"H-How so?"
"You corrected flaws within minutes that usually take players weeks," Rowan said.
His eyes narrowed. "And this improvement… it feels almost explosive."
Ares swallowed. Hard.
He couldn't tell Rowan the truth.
The system.
The readers.
The boosts.
Rowan stepped closer, the weight of his gaze heavy.
"Is there something you're not telling me?"
Ares kept his voice steady.
"I'm just… motivated."
Rowan stared at him a moment longer, then exhaled.
"Motivation alone doesn't explain it," Rowan said. "But… whatever it is, keep using it."
He didn't push further.
But Ares knew the suspicion was there, lingering like a shadow.
Rowan stepped back.
"All right. Enough dribbling. We're moving to shooting."
Ares perked up slightly. Shooting was the one aspect where he had felt that spark—that touch of something greater.
Rowan placed the balls in a line.
"Your objective is accuracy first. Speed comes later."
Ares nodded.
He took position.
Exhaled.
Ran up—
KICK!
The ball sliced left, curving into the net.
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "Again."
KICK!
This time, top corner.
Rowan's eyes widened slightly.
"Again."
KICK!
Low and sharp, bottom corner.
Ares wasn't thinking anymore.
He wasn't analyzing.
He wasn't forcing skill.
He was tapping into the feeling—the small flicker of confidence, the silent pull of the readers watching.
Rowan rubbed his chin.
"That trajectory control…" he muttered. "That's beyond a beginner's level."
Ares' heart pounded.
He didn't want to stand out too much.
Not so early.
Not in front of someone observant like Rowan.
But the system chimed again.
DING.
⸻
Reader Excitement Rising
Temporary Buff: "Momentum Edge"
+8% Shot Precision
+10% Curve Stability
⸻
Ares lined up the next shot—
—and the ball soared with a perfect arc, slicing through the air like it obeyed his command.
Rowan stared at him.
"…You're not normal."
Ares' breath caught.
But Rowan didn't say it as an accusation.
He said it as realization.
And maybe… hope.
Rowan sighed deeply.
"All right, Ares. That's enough for today. If you continue like this…"
His expression sharpened.
"You might actually survive the Trials."
Ares felt a rush of warmth in his chest.
Survive.
Not excel.
Not dominate.
Not win.
But survive.
And somehow… that felt like a challenge he was more than willing to accept.
Rowan gathered his things.
"Be here tomorrow at six. Earlier, if you want to be extraordinary."
Ares nodded.
"I'll be here."
Rowan paused, then smirked faintly.
"I know."
He left the field.
The stadium fell quiet.
Ares collapsed onto the grass, exhausted but alive with energy.
The system chimed softly.
DING.
⸻
Quest Completed: Maintain Perfect Dribble Sequence in Training
Reward Granted:
+Minor Physical Boost (All stats +2)
Passive Perk Unlocked: "Steady Rhythm"
Effect: Slightly increases probability of maintaining technique under fatigue.
⸻
Ares laughed breathlessly.
"Finally… something that helps."
He looked at the fading sky.
Twenty-eight days.
He wasn't ready.
But now?
For the first time—
—he believed he could be.