Gelora Bung Karno Stadium.The Aftermath.
The silence didn't last forever. Eventually, the stadium erupted. Parents were screaming. Scouts were frantically typing on their phones. The referee was still staring at the torn net, checking his whistle as if it had malfunctioned.
But Rio didn't hear the applause. He heard a cold, mechanical voice echoing in his skull.
[TRANSACTION COMPLETE][Payment Deducted: 7 Days of Lifespan][Current Lifespan: 364 Days, 23 Hours, 58 Minutes]
A wave of nausea hit him violently. It wasn't just physical exhaustion. It felt like a piece of his soul had been excised with a scalpel. The tropical humidity of Jakarta suddenly felt freezing. A supernatural chill shivered down his spine. He looked at his hands. They were trembling uncontrollably.
So this is the price, Rio thought, clenching his fist to stop the shaking. I just sold a week of my future to buy a moment of glory.
He looked up at the scoreboard. Red Team 0 - 1 White Team.Full Time.
He had won. He had lived. But the clock inside his head was ticking louder than his heartbeat.
The Tunnel.
Rio walked off the pitch. He ignored his teammates who tried to high-five him. He felt detached, like a ghost walking among the living. The noise felt distant.
"Valdes! Rio Valdes!" The National Team Coach, Coach Indra, ran toward him. This was the same man who had crossed Rio's name off the list ten minutes ago. The same man who called him "too small" and "too sickly" to play at the top level.
Now, Coach Indra was smiling like a used car salesman. He put a sweaty arm around Rio's shoulder, squeezing tight. "Rio! My boy! What a kick! Where did you hide that power?" Coach Indra laughed nervously, glancing at the foreign scouts nearby. "Forget what happened earlier. Just a little test of character! You are in. I'm putting you on the starting list for the Asian Cup Qualifiers. We will make you a star in Jakarta!"
Rio stopped walking. He looked at Coach Indra's hand on his shoulder. It felt heavy. Suffocating. He remembered the neglect. He remembered the insults. If he stayed here, playing in this slow league where politics mattered more than skill... how many days would he earn?
Victory here is cheap, Rio realized. Winning a local match might give me +1 Day. A local trophy might give me +1 Month. It's not enough. I need Years.
Rio gently peeled the Coach's hand off his shoulder. "No, Coach," Rio said calmly.
Coach Indra blinked, his smile faltering. "No? What do you mean, no?"
"I'm not signing with the National Team," Rio said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I'm not staying in Indonesia."
"Are you crazy?" Coach Indra's face turned red, his whisper turning into a hiss. "You are a slum kid from Tanjung Priok! This is your only chance! Who else will take you? Real Madrid?" The Coach laughed mockingly.
"Maybe," Rio replied. He walked away, leaving the Coach stunned and open-mouthed in the middle of the tunnel.
The Parking Lot.
Rio exited the stadium, dragging his worn-out duffel bag. His heart—the Bionic Heart—was humming quietly now, artificially stabilizing his blood pressure. He needed to go home. He needed to figure out how this Lifespan Shop worked before he died in his sleep.
"Nice goal. But your biomechanics were terrible."
A voice stopped him. Rio turned. Sitting in the shadow of a concrete pillar, near the VIP exit, was a boy in a sleek, motorized wheelchair. The boy looked about Rio's age—seventeen or eighteen. He was pale, sickly pale, with messy dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes that looked like they had seen too much data and not enough sunlight. He wore a customized tablet on a mount, displaying complex heat maps.
"Who are you?" Rio asked, defensive.
"Adrian Vance," the boy said in English, with a clipped British accent. "I'm a scout. Well, technically I'm a 'Data Analyst', but since nobody listens to the cripple, I scout for myself."
Adrian rolled his wheelchair forward. He looked at Rio's left leg. "Roberto Carlos," Adrian said.
Rio froze. His heart skipped a beat. "What?"
"That kick," Adrian tapped his tablet screen. "Top spin: 3000 rpm. Velocity: 135 km/h. Trajectory: Linear non-parabolic. It defies basic physics for a player of your muscle mass. Your quadriceps should have torn from the bone." Adrian looked up, locking eyes with Rio. "It was a perfect replica of Roberto Carlos's goal against France in 1997. Impossible to replicate. Unless..."
Rio tensed. He knows? No, he can't know about the System. "I trained hard," Rio lied.
"Bullshit," Adrian scoffed. "You were dying in the 89th minute. Clinical death. Cardiac arrest. I saw you fall. I saw the seizure. Then, 15 seconds later, you stand up like Lazarus and fire a cannonball." Adrian leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What did you take, Rio? New experimental steroids? Adrenaline? Or something... else?"
Rio stared at this boy. This monster. "I traded something," Rio said vaguely. "Why do you care? Aren't you here for Bagas?"
Adrian laughed, a dry, cynical sound. "Bagas? My father sent me to watch Bagas because his dad wanted to buy a slot in our academy. But Bagas is garbage. You... you are an anomaly." Adrian spun his wheelchair around. "I work for a struggling club in Italy. Bologna FC. We are terrible. We need a miracle. Or an anomaly."
Adrian threw a sleek black business card at Rio. Rio caught it. It felt expensive. "My father is the Technical Director. He thinks I'm useless. I want to prove him wrong." Adrian looked at Rio one last time. "You have the raw power of a God, but the tactical brain of a chicken. You need a brain. I need a body."
Rio looked at the card. It had a flight number and a date. Tomorrow. 08:00 AM.
"Italy?" Rio asked. "I can't just go. I need a visa. I—"
"I already scanned your ID from the team sheet," Adrian interrupted. "My team is processing your Express Visa as we speak. Money lubricates bureaucracy." "Why should I trust you?"
"Because," Adrian pointed a bony finger at Rio's chest, "you look like a man who is running out of time. And in Europe... the rewards are bigger."
Rio clenched his fist. Rewards.[Victory = +1 Day][Trophy = +1 Year] Europe meant tougher games. But it meant bigger Trophies. If he wanted to live past 18, he couldn't stay in the mud. He had to go to the Colosseum.
"I have a mother," Rio said. "She has debts. The sharks come every Friday."
"I'll pay them," Adrian said instantly, tapping his tablet. "Done. Consider it a signing bonus. Check your phone."
Rio's old phone buzzed. A text message from the bank. The debt was cleared. Rio looked up, shocked.
"Be at the airport tomorrow, 8 AM. Don't be late. I hate waiting." Adrian zoomed away toward a waiting black van with tinted windows, leaving Rio standing alone in the orange sunset.
The Slums of Tanjung Priok.Night.
Rio sat on his thin, foam mattress. The sound of the port—ship horns and clanging cranes—filled the small, humid room. His mother was sleeping in the next room, exhausted from double shifts. He had already checked; the debt collectors wouldn't come tomorrow. Or ever again.
Rio opened the System Interface again.
[LIFESPAN SHOP - MENU]
[Gacha Spin (Random Skill)] - Cost: 30 Days [Direct Purchase (Specific Skill)] - Cost: Variable (Expensive) [Physical Recovery (Heal Injury)] - Cost: 5 Days [Stats Upgrade (+1 to any Stat)] - Cost: 10 Days
Rio gulped. Everything was expensive. He looked at his stats.
[Host: Rio Valdes][Age: 17][Role: Forward / CAM][Overall Rating: 62 (F-Grade)]
Shooting: 85 (S-Grade) [Boosted by The Cannon] Dribbling: 55 (F) Passing: 50 (F) Physical: 45 (F) [Warning: Frail Body] Stamina: 40 (F) [Warning: Bionic Heart Limiter]
"I'm trash," Rio whispered. "I only have one super weapon. If I use it, I lose life. If I don't use it, I'm useless."
He looked at the calendar on his peeling wall. 364 Days Left.
If he went to Italy, he would face defenders who were monsters. But if he stayed... he would die of boredom, or poverty, or heart failure.
Rio reached under his mattress and pulled out a plastic folder. Inside was his Passport—a relic from five years ago when he was selected for the Danone Nations Cup in France, a trip he never took because his father died that same week. It was still valid for six more months.
He packed his bag. One pair of worn boots. Two shirts. A framed photo of him and his mom.
He sat down to write a note. His hand shook. "Mom, I got a job abroad. The debts are paid. I left the card on the table. Use it. I will send more soon. I love you. - Rio."
He looked at the digital clock floating in his vision. The seconds were ticking down. Tick. Tick. Tick.
"Time is money," Rio muttered, closing the plywood door behind him for the last time. "For me, time is everything."