THWACK.
The sound of leather colliding with the net wasn't just loud; it was violent. It echoed through the cavernous Gelora Bung Karno stadium like a gunshot, cutting through the humid Jakarta night.
The ball flew past the Korean goalkeeper's outstretched fingertips—so fast it was a blur of white—and detonated into the bottom corner. It spun violently in the mesh, tangling itself in the nylon, a testament to the sheer, terrified desperation behind the strike.
GOAL.INDONESIA [1] - [3] SOUTH KOREA
For a split second, there was absolute silence. The crowd didn't process it immediately. They had just watched a ghost blur past a giant.
Then, the eruption.
The roar of forty thousand frustrated fans exploded all at once. It wasn't a winning goal. It was a meaningless consolation goal in a losing friendly match. But to the crowd, witnessing a skinny, unknown substitute outrun a Korean defender and bury the shot was a moment of pure, inexplicable magic.
Rio didn't celebrate. He couldn't.
As soon as the ball crossed the line, the strings holding his body together snapped.
The effect of [Flash Step] vanished instantly. The backlash hit him like a physical blow. His legs gave out, turning to jelly, and he collapsed onto his knees in the penalty box.
He gasped for air, his chest heaving violently. His lungs felt like they had been scrubbed with steel wool. Every muscle fiber in his calves twitched uncontrollably, spasming from the supernatural strain he had forced upon them.
Thump... thump... thump...
His heart fluttered dangerously. But as he stared at the grass, his vision was flooded with blue light.
[SYSTEM ALERT][GOAL SCORED (International Friendly)]REWARD: +2 Days Lifespan
[SIDE QUEST COMPLETED: DEFEAT THE TIGER]REWARD: +5 Days Lifespan ITEM OBTAINED: [Premium Gacha Ticket x1]
Rio stared at the notifications floating in the air, ignoring the throbbing pain in his chest. A weak, bloody smile crept onto his lips.
"Seven days," he whispered to the grass, his voice cracking. "I bought myself a week."
Heavy footsteps thundered toward him. Kevin, the striker who had given up minutes ago, grabbed Rio by the jersey and hauled him up.
"You crazy bastard!" Kevin shouted, shaking him. There was no malice in his eyes anymore, only shock. "How did you run that fast? You were behind him! You were five meters behind him!"
Rio leaned his entire weight on Kevin, barely able to keep his feet. The stadium lights felt too bright.
"Secret training," Rio wheezed, forcing a grin. "Don't ask."
Behind them, Park—the Korean giant—stood with his hands on his hips. He wasn't angry. He was staring at Rio with a look of pure confusion, as if he had just seen a glitch in the matrix. He shook his head and walked away, his arrogance shattered.
The referee blew the final whistle moments later.
The game ended 1-3. Indonesia had lost. But as the team walked off the pitch, heads weren't hanging low. The mood on the bench had shifted. They had seen a spark. They had seen that the monsters from Korea could bleed.
The Locker Room. 20 Minutes Later.
The room smelled of steam, sweat, and the sharp sting of menthol muscle spray.
While the other players were showering or loudly discussing the game—exaggerating their own performances—Rio sat alone in the furthest corner. He had a white towel draped over his head, creating a small, private tent.
Under the towel, his eyes were glowing blue.
Specter was floating cross-legged in the air in front of him, chewing on his spectral cigar. The ghost was inspecting the glowing item in Rio's inventory with the eye of a jeweler appraising a diamond.
"Not bad," the ghost admitted, his voice echoing only in Rio's mind. "You didn't die. And you scored against a top-tier Asian academy team. I'll give you a passing grade. C-minus."
Rio rolled his eyes, hidden by the towel. "You're impossible to please. I almost snapped my Achilles tendons for that goal. My calves feel like they're on fire."
"I'm a World Cup finalist, kid. One goal in a friendly match doesn't impress me. I've seen players score hat-tricks in finals with broken ribs."
Specter leaned in, pointing a translucent finger at the pulsing gold ticket on the screen.
"But this... this might change things. This is the real prize."
[ITEM: PREMIUM GACHA TICKET]Rarity: Gold Description: A special ticket issued for completing a High-Difficulty Quest. Guarantees at least a B-Rank Skill or Item. No lifespan cost required.
"Premium?" Rio's eyes lit up in the dark. "Guaranteed B-Rank? No cost?"
"Open it," Specter commanded, his demeanor shifting from bored to hungry. "We need something better than Flash Step. That skill is a double-edged sword; it's too taxing on your weak body. If you use it twice in a row, your heart will explode. You need a passive skill. Something that helps you survive the full 90 minutes without killing yourself."
Rio nodded. His heart raced with anticipation—the gambler's high.
He reached out and tapped the ticket.
CLICK.
The screen didn't spin a roulette wheel this time. It exploded in golden light. A pixelated treasure chest appeared, shaking violently. Chains wrapped around the chest shattered one by one.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
The lid burst open.
A pillar of light shot out. It wasn't Blue (Common). It wasn't Gold (Rare).
It was Purple.
"Purple?" Specter's eyes widened, the cigar falling from his mouth. "Wait. That's not B-Rank. That's... A-Rank!"
[CONGRATULATIONS!][YOU OBTAINED: EAGLE EYE (Rank A)]
Type: Passive / Active Skill Origin: Andrea Pirlo (Prime Era) Description: Grants the user the ability to perceive the pitch from a 'Bird's Eye View' for 10 seconds. Effect: Allows user to see passing lanes, player movements, and heat maps that are invisible from ground level. Highlights defensive vulnerabilities. Cooldown: 20 Minutes. Passive Bonus: Increases Tactical Awareness by 20%.
Specter let out a low whistle of appreciation.
"Jackpot," the ghost whispered. "Eagle Eye. That's the signature skill of the legendary Italian playmaker, Andrea Pirlo. Or at least, a system variation of it."
Rio read the description, his hands trembling. "I can see the field from above? Like... like a drone?"
For a split second, Rio's vision flickered. The locker room floor vanished, replaced by a grid-like view of the room from the ceiling. He saw Specter, he saw himself, he saw Kevin drying his hair three benches away. Then, snap—vision returned to normal.
"Better," Specter grinned, his teeth sharp. "You can see the future. Well, almost. With this, you don't need to run fast. You don't need to be strong. You just need to pass the ball to where the enemy isn't."
Specter floated closer, tapping Rio's forehead.
"This is the perfect weapon for a physically weak player like you, Rio. Speed kills, but vision? Vision makes you a god. While they are playing checkers on the grass, you will be playing chess from the sky."
Rio clenched his fist.
A playmaker skill. With [Flash Step] to escape lethal pressure and [Eagle Eye] to deliver killer passes, he wasn't just a lucky kid anymore. He was starting to build a real arsenal.
"Rio!"
A booming voice cut through his thoughts. The locker room chatter died instantly.
Rio pulled the towel off his head. Coach Bima was standing in the center of the room. He looked serious—more serious than usual. He held a single piece of paper in his hand.
The Coach marched straight over to Rio.
Rio froze. His heart skipped a beat. Did the medical team rat me out? Did they see my heart rate spike during the Flash Step? Is the waiver void?
"Coach?" Rio asked, his voice small.
Coach Bima didn't smile. He slammed the paper onto the bench next to Rio.
"You caused a stir, Valdes."
The silence in the room was deafening. Kevin stopped drying his hair to listen.
"Am I... being cut?" Rio asked, a cold knot forming in his stomach.
Coach Bima shook his head slowly.
"There was a scout in the stands tonight. From Japan. Specifically, from the Tokyo Verdy Youth Academy."
Bima pointed at the document. It bore a green crest with a bird logo.
"They saw your acceleration. They think the radar gun malfunctioned. They want to see it again."
Rio picked up the paper. It wasn't a contract. It was a formal invitation letter.
[INVITATION FOR TRIAL ASSESSMENT]
"They aren't signing you," Bima clarified, keeping expectations realistic. "They are inviting you for a two-week trial in Tokyo. All expenses paid. You'll be training with their U-18 squad."
The locker room gasped collectively.
Japan.
The J-League. The best youth development system in Asia. The land where legends like Nakata and Honda were forged. It was a pipe dream for most Indonesian players.
"A trial?" Rio stammered.
"It's a meat grinder," Bima warned. "They invite fifty kids from all over Asia every year. Maybe one gets signed. The Japanese game is faster, more technical, and brutal. They will try to break you."
Bima looked Rio in the eye.
"Personally, I think you're too fragile for it. I think they'll chew you up and spit you out in three days. But... you earned the chance."
Specter floated over Rio's shoulder, reading the fine print with glowing eyes. The ghost smirked, smoke swirling around his head like a halo of dark omens.
"Tokyo," Specter mused. "The land of discipline, technique... and monsters. If you think the Koreans were tough, wait until you meet the Samurai Blue's golden generation."
Specter looked at Rio.
"Pack your bags, kid. We're going to Tokyo. It's time to conquer Asia."
Rio looked at the contract, then at his trembling hands.
[Current Lifespan: 86 Days, 14 Hours]
He had nearly three months of life, a ghost in his ear, and a ticket to the biggest stage in Asia. He wasn't going there to learn. He was going there to survive.
"I'll go," Rio said, clutching the paper. "I'll make the team."