The atmosphere on the pitch didn't just shift; it curdled.
Hiroto Nakamura stood in the center circle, the ball resting obediently at his feet. There was no physical transformation—his muscles didn't bulge, and he didn't grow taller—but the air around him grew heavy, dense with a suffocating pressure. It was a predatory stillness. The bored, lazy genius who had yawned through the warm-ups was gone.
In his place stood a hunter.
Hiroto began to move. He didn't sprint. He didn't execute a flashy step-over or a complex feint. He simply started jogging towards the goal, the ball rolling casually a few inches from his toes, tethered to him by an invisible string.
Tanaka, a sturdy defender from Team B, rushed to close him down. He was a good player, physically strong and disciplined.
"You're mine!" Tanaka shouted, lunging aggressively to cut off the angle.
Hiroto didn't speed up. He didn't even look at Tanaka. He just... drifted.
At the exact moment Tanaka extended his foot for the tackle, Hiroto shifted his weight imperceptibly to the left. To the naked eye, it looked like a glitch in the matrix—a sudden drop in frame rate. One second, Hiroto was there; the next, he had phased through solid matter.
Tanaka's tackle sliced through empty air. He stumbled, confused, clutching at a shadow that was no longer there.
Suddenly, a jagged red warning box exploded in Rio's vision, obscuring the grey Tokyo sky.
[SYSTEM WARNING]
[ENEMY SKILL DETECTED: PHANTOM DRIBBLE (Rank A)]
Effect: Disrupts defender's depth perception and rhythm using micro-pauses in heart rate and movement.
Success Rate vs F-Rank Defense: 100%
Lethality: High.
"Don't watch the ball!" Specter screamed in Rio's ear, his spectral voice vibrating with urgency. "Watch his hips! He's using 'La Pausa'—he slows down his own rhythm to make you freeze, then explodes the micro-second you relax!"
Rio's heart pounded against his ribs like a trapped bird. Disrupts perception? How the hell do I stop a ghost with an F-Rank body?
Hiroto was now charging at the defensive line. Two more Team B defenders tried to sandwich him, closing the gate.
Hiroto tapped the ball softly, paused for a split second—a hesitation so unnatural it caused both defenders to misjudge their timing—and slipped through the gap. The two defenders collided with a sickening crunch of shin guards, collapsing into a heap of groans and bruised limbs.
He was unstoppable. He was dancing through the defense as if they were nothing more than traffic cones.
[QUEST TIMER: 00:04:30 REMAINING][OBJECTIVE: Stop the Goal.][PENALTY FOR FAILURE: -5 Days Lifespan.]
Rio was the only one left.
He had tracked back desperately, abandoning his forward position. He stood just outside the penalty box, the last line of defense between the prodigy and the net. The goalkeeper behind him was already shaking, terrified by the monster approaching them.
Hiroto stopped five meters away. He finally looked up. His face was expressionless, his breathing even, his jersey pristine.
"So it's you," Hiroto said, his voice calm amidst the chaos of the ruined defense. "The Foreigner."
Rio stood his ground, knees bent, arms out for balance. He could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth from biting his cheek. He could see the stats hovering over his own head in his mind's eye, mocking him.
[RIO VALDES]
Strength: F
Speed: E
Technique: D
If he tried to tackle, Hiroto would humiliate him. If he waited, Hiroto would curl the ball into the top corner. It was a checkmate before the move was even made.
"Specter!" Rio yelled internally, panic rising in his throat like bile. "What do I do? I can't see the ball! It's blurring!"
Specter floated closer, his translucent face inches from Rio's ear. The ghost's eyes narrowed, glowing with a cold, analytical blue light as he read the twitch of Hiroto's muscles.
"He's going to cut left," Specter analyzed rapidly. "He always drops his left shoulder exactly three degrees before the Phantom shift. But you're too slow, kid. Your legs are F-Rank. You can't react to his speed."
"Then what?!"
"Don't look at him," Specter commanded. "Look at the space where he wants to go. And stand there. Be a wall, Rio. A fragile, fleshy wall."
Rio swallowed hard. Ignore the player. Trust the ghost.
Hiroto moved.
He dropped his left shoulder. His body blurred, shifting violently to the right to bypass Rio. It was the same move that had destroyed the other defenders—a feint so convincing it broke ankles. It was beautiful. It was perfect.
Rio's brain screamed at him to follow the movement. He's going right! Block the right!
No.
Rio grit his teeth, forcing his body to disobey his eyes. He threw his entire body weight to the left, throwing himself into the empty grass where nobody stood.
He closed his eyes and braced for impact.
BAM!
The collision was brutal.
Hiroto, expecting Rio to fall for the feint and open the path to the right, had cut back to the left—straight into the path where Rio had blindly thrown himself.
Hiroto slammed straight into Rio's stationary shoulder.
It wasn't a graceful football tackle. It was a car crash. F-Rank bone met A-Rank momentum.
Rio felt the wind get knocked out of him instantly. A sharp, white-hot pain exploded in his shoulder, radiating down his arm. He was sent flying, tumbling across the grass painfully, dust and dirt filling his nose.
But the wall held.
Hiroto lost his balance. The impact shattered his rhythm. He stumbled over Rio's legs, his "Phantom" state broken by the sheer, dumb physics of the collision. The ball rolled loose, spinning harmlessly away from his control.
The Team B goalkeeper, realizing the miracle, dived on the loose ball instantly, smothering it against his chest.
"SAFE!" the keeper screamed, his voice cracking.
Rio lay on the ground, groaning. He stared up at the grey Tokyo sky, which seemed to be spinning. His shoulder throbbed with a fiery pulse, and his lungs burned. He felt like he had been hit by a truck.
I think something broke, Rio thought dizzily.
But then, the sweet, digital chime of a notification rang in his ears, louder than the pain.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
[DEFENSE SUCCESSFUL][QUEST COMPLETED: SURVIVE THE ONSLAUGHT]
REWARD:+3 Days Lifespan.
Rio let out a ragged breath, turning it into a cough. He had traded a bruise for three days of life.
Profit.
A shadow fell over him, blocking the sun.
Hiroto stood up, dusting off his jersey. He looked down at Rio. For the first time, his expression wasn't one of boredom or arrogance. His eyebrows were knit together in confusion... and intense intrigue.
"You didn't look at the ball," Hiroto muttered, his voice low. "You moved to the space before I did. You predicted my path. My La Pausa... it didn't work on you."
Rio sat up, clutching his throbbing shoulder. He forced a smirk, masking the pain that was bringing tears to his eyes.
"I told you," Rio wheezed, spitting out a blade of grass. "Instinct."
Hiroto stared at him for a long, intense second. His dark eyes seemed to dissect Rio, searching for the trick, the cheat code. Then, a small, terrifying smile crept onto his face. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the smile of a scientist finding a new specimen.
"You're weird, Gaijin. I like it."
Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!
Coach Tanaka blew the final whistle. The trial game was over.
The Contract
Coach's Office. 11:30 AM.
The office was small, sterile, and smelled of stale green tea and antiseptic. The fluorescent lights buzzed with an annoying, high-pitched hum.
Rio sat on a hard wooden chair, holding an ice pack to his bruised shoulder. Specter was floating by the window, criticizing the cheap porcelain tea set on the Coach's desk.
"Mass-produced," Specter grumbled, poking a spectral finger through a teacup. "No soul. Just like this room. Just like this Coach."
Coach Tanaka sat opposite Rio, looking at a thick file folder. He didn't smile. He flipped through the pages of Rio's medical and physical data with clinical detachment.
"Rio Valdes," Tanaka began, his voice stern. "I have reviewed your data from the sensors."
He looked up, his glasses reflecting the harsh light.
"Your physical data is... appalling. You have the stamina of an old man. Your muscle density is below average. Your top speed without the ball is barely acceptable for a high schooler. If we look purely at the numbers, you shouldn't even be on a football pitch."
Rio looked down at his knees, his hands tightening around the ice pack. "I know, Sir."
"However," Tanaka flipped the page. "Your tactical vision is top-tier. That pass you made with the Eagle Eye... and that last block against Nakamura... showed guts. We have enough artists in this academy. We need players who are willing to bleed."
Tanaka reached into his drawer and pulled out a document. He slid it across the desk.
[TOKYO ESPERION YOUTH ACADEMY]Contract Type: Class C (Probationary)
"This is a Youth Academy Contract. Class C."
Tanaka leaned forward, his tone dropping to a warning.
"It is the lowest tier. Minimal salary—barely enough to buy food and pay for the dorm fees. You will live in the dorms. You will train harder than you ever have. You are not a 'prospect', Valdes. You are fodder. You are the meat we throw into the grinder to sharpen the real talents."
He tapped the paper.
"If you fail the monthly physical exam, you are cut immediately. No second chances. No appeals."
Rio looked at the paper. The letters seemed to blur.
It wasn't a pro contract. It was a slave contract. It was an invitation to suffer daily humiliation.
But it was a ticket.
A ticket to stay in Japan. A ticket to play against monsters like Hiroto. A ticket to earn Lifespan.
"Specter," Rio whispered internally. "What do you think?"
"It's a cage," Specter grinned, smoke swirling around his fedora as he leaned over Rio's shoulder. "But cages are where beasts are made. Sign it, kid. We can't buy life with pride."
Rio picked up the pen. His shoulder screamed in protest as he moved his arm, but his hand wasn't shaking.
"I'll sign."
He scrawled his name: Rio Valdes.
Tanaka took the paper back and stamped it.
Thump.
The sound echoed like a judge's gavel.
"Welcome to Tokyo Esperion, Valdes. Report to Dormitory Block C immediately. Room 304."
Rio stood up, wincing slightly. He walked to the door, feeling the weight of the contract in his pocket.
"One more thing," Tanaka called out.
Rio turned, his hand on the doorknob.
"Hiroto Nakamura came to see me before you arrived," Tanaka said, a hint of pity—or perhaps curiosity—in his eyes. "He requested that you be assigned as his personal training partner."
Rio froze. "Me?"
"Yes. He specifically asked for the 'Gaijin with the weird eyes'." Tanaka leaned back. "Don't let him break you, Valdes. Hiroto eats players like you for breakfast."
Rio walked out into the hallway. The long corridor stretched out before him, lined with glass cabinets filled with trophies and photos of legends who had graduated from this academy.
"Training partner, huh?" Rio muttered, the dread settling in his stomach.
Specter floated beside him, looking down the endless hall.
"He wants to study you," the ghost warned, his voice low. "He wants to figure out why his 'Phantom Dribble' failed. He wants to take you apart piece by piece until he understands the trick."
Specter's eyes glowed with a predatory blue light.
"But that's good. The closer you are to the monster..."
Specter pointed a translucent finger at the photo of a legendary striker on the wall.
"...the easier it will be to steal his secrets."
Rio pulled up his status screen one last time.
[CURRENT LIFESPAN: 86 Days, 18 Hours, 10 Minutes]
He took a deep breath of the sterile air. He had survived the trial. Now, he had to survive the genius.
"Welcome to Tokyo, kid," Specter whispered, vanishing into the shadows. "Now the real hell begins."