"Dribbling?" Adrian cracked his knuckles. "I'll figure it out on the pitch. If they get in my way, I'll just move them."
He swiped the blue screen away. He glanced at his phone. It was late, almost 11 PM. But he needed to hear a voice.
He dialed a number labeled "Papa."
It rang three times before connecting.
"Adrian?" A gruff, tired voice came through. "It's late, son. Is everything okay?"
Adrian sat back on the bed, the springs squeaking under his new weight.
"Yeah, Papa. Everything is fine. I just... I wanted to hear your voice."
There was a pause on the other end. His father, Luc, worked at the docks in Marseille. Heavy lifting, long hours, bad pay. He had spent his life savings getting Adrian into the Nice academy.
"Did the manager talk to you?" Luc asked, his voice laced with worry.
"About the contract extension?"
Adrian looked at his fists. He remembered Lucien's face in the stands. The look of disgust.
"Not yet, Papa," Adrian lied smoothly. "Tomorrow is the big match. The practice game. If I play well, they sign me."
"You will play well," Luc said, trying to sound confident, though Adrian could hear the doubt. "You have a strong kick, Adrian. Just shoot. Don't try to be Messi. Just be you."
Adrian smiled. "Yeah. I'm going to shoot, Papa. I'm going to shoot so hard the goal breaks."
"Good. We believe in you, son. Your mother is making a prayer candle for you. Sleep well. Don't let the pressure eat you."
"Goodnight, Papa."
Adrian hung up. He stared at the black screen of his phone.
His family was counting on him. If he failed tomorrow, he'd be back at the docks carrying crates for minimum wage.
"No," Adrian said to the empty room. "I'm not going back."
He lay down, the system interface hovering dimly in his peripheral vision.
"System, wake me up at 6:00 AM. Mode: Optimal Condition."
[Alarm Set.]
He closed his eyes. Usually, worry would keep him awake for hours. But the System seemed to calm his mind. Or maybe it was just the confidence of having stats that defied logic.
He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
[Ding!]
[Ding!]
[Ding!]
The sound hammered into his brain.
Adrian's eyes snapped open. Sunlight was streaming through the cracks in his blinds. He felt like a fully charged battery.
He sat up, the blanket falling off his massive chest.
[Good Morning, Host!]
[Time: 06:00 AM]
[Daily Sign-In is available!]
Adrian rubbed his face and grinned. This was the best part of the day.
The gacha addiction was already setting in.
"Sign in," he commanded clearly.
A digital wheel appeared in the air, spinning rapidly.
Click... click... click...
The wheel slowed down. It passed a White slice... passed a Green slice...
And stopped on a shimmering Blue slice.
[Ding!]
[Sign-In Successful!]
[Reward: Passive Skill - "Heavy Tank"]
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
"Skill?"
He tapped the icon.
[Skill: Heavy Tank (Rank: C)]
[Description: Your center of gravity is immovable. When in possession of the ball or shielding, physical contact from opponents with Strength lower than yours has a 0% chance of making you lose balance.]
[Current Strength: 180]
[Effect: You cannot be pushed. You cannot be nudged. You are a wall.]
Adrian laughed. A loud, booming laugh that probably woke his neighbors.
"Perfect," he said. "Who needs to dribble past defenders when they just bounce off me?"
He jumped out of bed. He felt lighter than yesterday, despite being heavier. The 42 Speed was still trash, but his movements felt purposeful.
He walked to the small bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He looked in the mirror.
"Inventory," he whispered.
[Inventory]
Empty.
He had used the potion.
He quickly dressed in his OGC Nice training kit. The shirt was tight around his chest and arms. He looked more like a rugby player than a striker. He grabbed his bag and an apple, taking a massive bite out of it.
"Mission check," he muttered with his mouth full.
[Mission: The First Slap]
[Objective: Score a hat-trick in the practice match.]
[Reward: 10 Attribute Points + Skill: Ball Magnet.]
[Time Remaining: 4 Hours.]
A hat-trick. Three goals. In a professional academy setting, scoring three goals in one game was incredibly hard. But Adrian had a plan.
Get ball.
Use Heavy Tank to shield ball.
Turn.
Use Shooting (188).
Goal.
"Simple," he said, opening his apartment door and stepping out into the fresh morning air.
The city of Nice was waking up.
Adrian walked to the bus stop. He saw a kid kicking a can along the sidewalk. The kid looked up, saw Adrian's club tracksuit, and waved.
Adrian nodded back.
He boarded the bus, heading towards the training complex. He sat in the back, plugging in his earphones. Heavy bass music flooded his ears, syncing with his heartbeat.
He closed his eyes and visualized the pitch.
He visualized the defenders who mocked him yesterday. Specifically, Jerome, the center-back who had called him a "traffic cone."
"Jerome has Strength: 75," Adrian recalled from his brief glance yesterday.
75 vs 180.
The bus jolted as it arrived at the complex. Adrian stood up.
He stepped off the bus and looked at the pristine green fields of the academy. The other players were already arriving, parking their expensive cars or walking in groups.
Adrian walked alone.
He saw the manager, Lucien, standing by the entrance with his clipboard, looking grumpy as usual.
Adrian walked right past him. He didn't look down. He didn't look away. He stared straight ahead.
Lucien frowned, noticing the change in the boy's aura.
'He looks... bigger today? And why is he walking like that?'
Adrian entered the locker room.
Jerome, the center-back, was lacing up his boots. He looked up and smirked.
"Look who it is," Jerome sneered. " The Lighthouse. Did you bring a chair to sit on in the penalty box today?"
Usually, Adrian would look down. He would mumble something and hide in his locker.
Not today. Adrian walked over to his spot. He dropped his bag.
He turned his head slowly, his eyes glowing faintly with a blue hue that only he could see.
Adrian stared directly into Jerome's eyes.
"Jerome," Adrian said. His voice was calm, deep, and steady.
"What?" Jerome blinked, unsettled by the intensity.
"Make sure you tie your laces tight," Adrian said, sitting down to change. "I don't want you to have any excuses when I run you over."
The locker room went dead silent.
"What did you say?" Jerome stood up, his face flushing red.
"I said," Adrian looked up, a cold smile playing on his lips, "today, you are just a cone."