The electronic scoreboard beamed a cruel reality in bright red LEDs that cut through the humid haze of the stadium floodlights.
[INDONESIA (0) - (3) SOUTH KOREA][TIME: 70:00]
The atmosphere in the Gelora Bung Karno Stadium was suffocating. It was a humid Jakarta night, the air thick with moisture and the collective disappointment of forty thousand fans. Although it was just a friendly match to prepare for the qualifiers, the gap in skill wasn't just apparent; it was embarrassing.
The South Korean U-19 team didn't play like teenagers. They moved like a pack of mechanized wolves—organized, relentless, and terrifyingly fast. They shifted across the pitch in a unified block, a "Red Tide" that swallowed every Indonesian attack before it could even cross the halfway line.
Rio sat on the bench, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt.
He watched his teammates gasping for air, their hands on their knees, eyes wide with panic. Every time an Indonesian player touched the ball, two Korean players would swarm him instantly, cutting off passing lanes and physical escape routes.
It was the famous "Tiger Pressing"—a high-intensity, high-pressure tactic designed to suffocate the opponent until they drowned in their own errors.
"They are slaughtering you," Specter commented, floating casually above the bench. He was smoking a spectral cigar, looking bored as he watched the massacre. "Your teammates are exhausted. Their lungs are burning. But look at the Koreans... they aren't even sweating. It's like watching grown men fight toddlers."
Rio tore his eyes away from the field to look at the interface burning in the corner of his vision.
[CURRENT LIFESPAN: 79 Days, 12 Hours, 15 Minutes]
The numbers ticked down relentlessly. :14... :13... :12...
He wasn't just losing the match. He was losing his life just by sitting here. He was dying on a plastic bench while watching his country get humiliated.
"Coach!" Rio yelled, unable to take it anymore. He grabbed Coach Bima's arm, his grip desperate. "Put me in! We need a goal!"
Coach Bima whipped around, sweat dripping from his forehead. He looked haggard, his eyes darting between the decimated squad on the field and the fragile boy gripping his sleeve.
"Remember the deal, Valdes," Bima hissed, pulling his arm away. "You play the last fifteen minutes. Not a minute sooner. I don't want you collapsing on my watch. The waiver protects the team legally, but it doesn't protect my conscience."
"If we wait five more minutes, it will be 4-0!" Rio argued, his voice cracking. "What's the point of saving me if the game is already dead?"
"Sit down!" Bima snapped.
But his eyes betrayed him. Bima looked at the field again. Kevin, the striker, was isolated, frustrated, and walking. The midfield had collapsed. The crowd was starting to boo.
Bima cursed under his breath. He signaled to the fourth official with a trembling hand.
"Valdes, warm up. You're going in."
Minute 75.
Rio stood on the sideline, the substitute board raised high. The number #7 flashed green.
The crowd gave a polite, lukewarm applause. It was the sound of resignation. To them, Rio wasn't a savior. He was just the sickly kid who had collapsed during tryouts—a skinny, pale unknown thrown into a slaughterhouse to eat up minutes.
"Don't die," Coach Bima whispered as Rio stepped over the white line.
As Rio jogged onto the pitch, a Korean defender—a giant named Park—jogged past him. Park towered over Rio, standing at nearly 190cm of pure muscle. He glanced at Rio's pale skin and thin frame, then smirked.
He muttered something in Korean to his teammate, laughing.
"He said you look like a breeze could blow you over," Specter translated helpfully, hovering by Rio's ear. "He also wonders if Indonesia ran out of players and started drafting patients from the hospital."
Rio stared at Park's retreating back.
"Show him," Specter whispered, his voice turning dark. "Show him what a hurricane looks like."
Tweet!
The whistle blew. Game on.
Rio took his position as a Shadow Striker, lurking behind Kevin. But the game didn't change just because he entered. The Korean machine kept grinding. The ball rarely reached him. The Indonesian midfielders were too busy panicking under the pressure to find a pass.
Finally, in the 78th minute, a loose ball rolled toward Rio near the center circle.
Here it is.
Rio trapped the ball. It was a decent touch.
But immediately, the light around him vanished. A heavy shadow fell over him.
Park, the giant defender, was already there. He hadn't just closed the distance; he had hunted Rio down. Park didn't just tackle; he slammed his entire body weight into Rio's back.
THUD!
It felt like being hit by a car.
Rio was thrown off balance violently. His weak physical stats—[Strength: F-]—meant he was like a sheet of paper trying to stop a boulder. He lost possession instantly. A jarring shockwave ran up his spine, rattling his teeth.
Park stole the ball effortlessly and launched a counter-attack.
"Too slow!" Park shouted in broken English, laughing as he thundered past Rio.
Rio lay on the grass, gasping for air. His chest tightened.
Badump. Badump. Badump.
Just one physical clash, and his heart was already pounding an alarm. The warning lights on his System interface flickered red.
[SYSTEM WARNING][HEART RATE ELEVATED][RISK OF CARDIAC EVENT: 15%]
"Get up!" Specter barked, his face appearing directly in front of Rio's. "You can't beat them with muscle, you idiot! Look at your stats! Strength F! Speed F! You're trying to arm-wrestle a gorilla!"
Rio scrambled to his feet, wiping dirt from his mouth. He watched the Koreans pass the ball with machine-like precision.
Specter was right. If I try to fight them physically, I'm dead. Park will snap me in half.
I have one weapon. [Flash Step].
But it has a 5-minute cooldown. I can only use it maybe twice before the game ends. If I use it now in the midfield to chase a lost cause, I waste it.
He had to time it perfectly. He had to be patient. He had to be a sniper with only one bullet.
He had to wait for the moment the Tiger opened its mouth.
Minute 85.
The score was still 0-3. The Indonesian team had given up. They were walking, hands on hips, looking at the clock, just waiting for the mercy of the final whistle. The crowd was already leaving the stadium, the exits clogged with disappointed fans.
But Rio was watching.
His eyes, sharpened by the desperation of a dying boy, scanned the field. He noticed something.
The Korean defensive line was pushing up high. They were arrogant. They thought the game was won. They thought the Indonesian strikers were broken.
There was a gap. A massive expanse of green space behind Park.
Rio saw Kevin get the ball near the halfway line. Kevin was exhausted, frustrated, and looking for an excuse to get rid of it.
"Kevin!" Rio screamed, pointing to the empty space behind the Korean line. "Through pass! NOW!"
Kevin looked up. He saw Rio pointing. He didn't like Rio—he still remembered the humiliation at tryouts—but he hated losing more.
"Go!" Kevin grunted.
Kevin swung his leg and launched a long, high ball over the Korean defense.
It wasn't a perfect pass. It was hit too hard. It was slightly too far. It looked like a turnover.
Park saw it. The Korean giant turned and started sprinting back. He was fast for his size. He was closer to the ball. He was 100% sure he would reach it first and clear it.
"He's going to get there first," Specter warned. "Unless..."
Rio took a deep breath.
The world seemed to slow down. The noise of the crowd faded. The pain in his chest receded into the background.
All he saw was the ball dropping from the night sky, and the back of Park's red jersey.
Cost: 5 Minute Cooldown + Severe Muscle Strain. Reward: Survival.
Rio focused his will on the interface.
[ACTIVATE SKILL: FLASH STEP]
ZWOOSH!
It didn't happen in a run. It happened in a blink.
One moment, Rio was five meters behind Park. The next moment, a blur of red and black tore through the fabric of the game.
The air cracked. Rio's muscles screamed as they were forced to contract at unnatural speeds. He accelerated from 0 to 100km/h in a single heartbeat.
Park widened his eyes. He felt a gust of wind, a sudden shift in air pressure. He turned his head—
And Rio was in front of him.
"Nani?!" Park shouted in confusion, stumbling as the blur overtook him.
Rio was there. The ball dropped.
He trapped it perfectly with his chest, killing its momentum dead. He was now one-on-one with the goalkeeper.
The stadium erupted. The fans who were leaving stopped in the tunnels and ran back. A roar of disbelief shook the concrete.
But the goalkeeper—the Korean captain—was rushing out like a mad bull. He was big, intimidating, and closing the shooting angle fast.
Rio's legs were screaming.
The Flash Step duration was over (2 seconds). The after-effects hit him instantly. His speed plummeted back to his normal, pathetic F-Rank pace. The "crash" hit his muscles—his calves seized up, burning with lactic acid.
He didn't have the energy to dribble past the keeper. He didn't have the strength to body feint.
"Shoot!" Specter yelled, his voice echoing in Rio's mind. "Use the last of your strength! Do it now!"
Rio planted his left foot. It wobbled.
His vision blurred. The goal looked miles away. The goalkeeper looked like a wall.
He didn't have a shooting skill. He hadn't bought one yet.
He only had his instinct. And his fear.
If I miss, I lose 30 days. If I miss, I die.
Rio swung his right leg. It wasn't a technical masterpiece. It was a desperate, ugly, violent kick. He put every ounce of his dwindling life force, every second of his remaining 79 days, into the strike.
[SYSTEM WARNING: CRITICAL STAMINA DEPLETED][LIFE FORCE CONSUMED FOR SHOT POWER]
BAM!
A desperate prayer launched toward the net.