The stadium smelled like wet grass and cold metal—an atmosphere Ares Locke had already begun to associate with pain, exhaustion, and the faint, unreachable idea of greatness. Dawn hadn't even broken yet, but he was already back on the field, cones lined carefully, boots tied tight, breath steadying as he prepared for what Rowan called "fundamental dribble mastery."
Fundamentals.
Ares nearly scoffed.
He had come here dreaming of legendary goals, impossible shots, S-tier skills that could break physics. Instead, he was learning to dribble around cones like a child.
But Rowan had been right.
He needed control. Precision. Balance.
Without them, every miracle would collapse under pressure.
Ares inhaled deeply.
Tapped the ball.
Moved tight circles around the first cone.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
He felt the weight shift in his hips, the tension in his calves, the subtle lack of coordination that only appeared after several repetitions. The rain from the previous night had left the grass slick, and the ball wobbled dangerously off his foot.
Ares exhaled sharply, catching it just before it rolled too far.
"That would've been an error," he muttered.
And an error meant failing the quest.
DING.
A soft system notification flickered into view:
⸻
Current Quest: Impress Rowan Vale
Status: In Progress
Progress: 63%
Errors Allowed: 0
⸻
No pressure.
Ares wiped the sweat from his eyebrows and continued.
His fingers trembled slightly from fatigue, but his mind replayed Rowan's instructions over and over.
Low center of gravity.
Soft touches.
Control, not speed.
Precision, not flair.
Mastery, not ambition.
He followed the rhythm, step by step, cone by cone.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Ares felt his breathing stabilize. His body warmed. His movements became smoother.
For the first time, the ball felt like it was actually listening.
Halfway through the circuit, he allowed himself a tiny smile.
"Maybe I'm getting it…"
He tapped again—
—and the ball slid too far left.
"No—!"
Ares lunged, regained control, heart pounding hard enough to shake his ribs.
He had saved it.
But that single moment of panic made one thing very clear:
He was still far from ready.
He dropped to one knee, hands on the grass, chest rising and falling sharply.
Another panel appeared.
DING.
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: Tension
Host Focus: Increased
⸻
A warm clarity washed through him. His tired mind sharpened like a blade.
Ares rose again.
"No mistakes," he whispered. "Not today."
He began again, this time slower—each movement deliberate, each touch measured.
And slowly, something changed.
His body began to anticipate errors before they happened.
His foot adjusted angles instinctively.
His balance corrected itself before he wobbled.
It was as if his senses were expanding—like he could feel the ball's direction through vibration instead of sight.
Another panel flickered.
DING.
⸻
Micro-Adaptive Reflex (Passive) — Activated (1%)
Your body begins learning from repeated motions, adjusting micro-movements without conscious effort.
⸻
Ares' eyes widened.
"I… got a new passive skill?"
He barely had time to celebrate before he completed the final cone.
Tap.
Tap.
Final tap.
Perfect.
He exhaled shakily.
For the first time since the quest began… he had made a complete circuit without a single mistake.
DING!
⸻
Quest Progress: 100%
Objective Met: "Controlled Dribble Sequence Completed"
Reward Processing…
⸻
Ares held his breath.
Rowan wasn't here yet.
No witnesses.
No pressure.
Just a silent stadium…
…and the moment that would determine the next stage of his evolution.
DING!
Panels exploded into view, brighter than usual:
⸻
Quest Reward Granted:
• Physical Stat Boost (Minor)
• Random Passive Perk Unlocked
Scanning…
Selecting reward…
⸻
Ares leaned forward.
Come on… something good… something useful…
DING!
⸻
New Passive Skill Acquired: "Fundamental Harmony" (Lv. 1)
Effect: Movement becomes more energy-efficient.
Stamina loss during dribbling and running reduced by 15%.
⸻
Ares froze.
Fifteen percent?
That was massive.
In football, stamina wasn't just endurance—it was survival. The moment pros tired even slightly, everything collapsed: precision, decision-making, recovery speed, execution.
Fifteen percent meant he could play longer.
Dribble smoother.
Move sharper.
And outlast anyone with more talent but weaker will.
Ares took a deep breath, the morning air chilling his lungs.
"This… this is huge."
He wasn't fast yet.
He wasn't strong yet.
He wasn't skilled yet.
But he was becoming something else—
someone who could break limits through pure will.
"Again," he murmured.
He lined up behind the cones.
Tapped the ball.
Moved.
Faster this time—
yet still controlled.
No errors.
No panic spikes.
Just flow.
Halfway through, his footwork felt almost intuitive, like the ball understood what he wanted.
He completed the circuit faster than ever before.
Just as he straightened up—
A voice cut across the field:
"…Good. Much better."
Ares jolted.
Rowan Vale leaned against the fence, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
"H-how long have you—"
"Long enough," Rowan said. Then added, "You managed to impress me."
Ares nearly dropped to the grass.
"You saw it?"
"The latter half," Rowan replied casually. "Your balance is still flawed, but your control improved dramatically."
Ares' heart fluttered with pride.
Rowan walked closer, examining the cones and the marks Ares left on the grass.
"You're evolving faster than expected," Rowan murmured. "Too fast, honestly."
Ares tensed.
Was he suspicious again?
Rowan looked him dead in the eyes.
"Tell me truthfully—did someone train you before I arrived?"
Ares swallowed.
He thought of the system…
Of readers somewhere out there…
Of skills that shouldn't exist…
Of future trajectories and micro-adaptive reflexes.
"…No one," he whispered. "Just me."
Rowan studied him a moment longer before sighing.
"Then you're far more interesting than I initially thought."
Ares blinked. "Interesting?"
Rowan nodded slowly.
"There are players born talented. There are players trained to be great. And then"—he gestured at Ares—"there are anomalies."
Ares stiffened.
"Anomalies?"
"You improve in ways that shouldn't be possible for your background, your history, or your physical profile."
Ares's pulse quickened painfully.
Rowan leaned slightly closer.
"Whatever your secret is… keep it. Just don't stop evolving."
Ares exhaled in relief.
Rowan stepped back and clapped once.
"Now that you've grasped fundamentals, we're moving on."
Ares blinked. "Already?"
"You have twenty-seven days left," Rowan replied. "We don't have the luxury of pacing."
He placed four new cones in a zigzag pattern.
"Today, we combine control with acceleration."
Ares nodded, adrenaline pumping.
He was ready.
Or so he thought.
The first attempt?
Disaster.
His footwork stumbled between cones.
The ball slipped twice.
Rowan sighed so loudly it could've shaken mountains.
"Again."
Second attempt?
Barely better.
"Again."
Third attempt?
He nearly tripped.
Rowan rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Did you forget everything you learned five minutes ago?"
Ares flushed. "N-No—"
"Then act like it," Rowan snapped. "Your movements are still too emotional. Football isn't desperation—it's calculation."
Ares inhaled sharply.
He looked at the cones again.
Reader eyes…
System evolution…
Limitless Vision…
Unyielding Spark…
Fundamental Harmony…
He wasn't the boy from a week ago.
He was becoming something else.
He straightened.
"Again."
This time—
his touches were cleaner.
His transitions sharper.
His focus unshakeable.
He was flowing.
He was remembering.
He was evolving.
He completed the entire course and stopped the ball dead at Rowan's feet.
Rowan stared at him for a long moment.
"…Now that was impressive."
Ares couldn't help it—
he grinned.
And the system chimed.
DING!
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: PRIDE
Temporary Boost: Motor Coordination +10%
⸻
Ares felt the warmth in his veins surge again.
He bowed his head slightly.
"Teach me more."
Rowan smirked faintly.
"Oh, I will. And starting tomorrow…" He paused. "We begin shooting drills. Real ones."
Ares's heart hammered.
Shooting.
The thing he wanted more than anything—
the thing that had changed his life the night the stadium went silent.
Rowan's voice grew serious.
"But be warned. Shooting training will break you if you're not ready."
Ares didn't hesitate.
"Then break me."
Rowan stared… then smiled.
"Good answer."
Ares knew one thing as he watched Rowan walk away:
He was no longer training to survive.
He was training—
to earn belief.
To forge will.
To rewrite destiny.
And somewhere in a place he could not see…
Readers leaned closer to their invisible screens.
Watching.
Waiting.
Expecting.
The boy with nothing was slowly—inevitably—becoming someone impossible to ignore.