Noah stood at the edge of the academy pitch, the crisp morning air biting at his cheeks. The sun was only just peeking over the horizon, casting long shadows across the grass, and everything felt both familiar and surreal.
"Alright," he whispered to himself, fists clenched. "This time… no mistakes."
He flexed his legs experimentally. At ten years old, his body still felt small, fragile—nothing like the towering 1.94 meters he would one day become—but the memories of his adult self stirred a confidence deep within him.
That confidence was tempered, though, by the knowledge that talent wasn't just about courage. He had to grind, train, and survive the academy all over again.
"Oi, Noah!" a familiar voice called.
Liam Carter was sprinting toward him, a ball tucked under one arm, a grin splitting his face.
"You've been MIA, mate. Thought you'd run off and leave me scoring all the goals by myself!"
Noah smirked despite himself. "Not this time, Liam. You better watch your back."
"Ha! Big words for someone who looks like he's about to topple over from morning exercises," Liam teased, jogging to the center of the pitch.
Noah shook his head, laughing. Old habits die hard, he thought. He hadn't realized how much he had missed these moments—the teasing, the competitiveness, the camaraderie that had made football more than just a game.
From across the pitch, Ethan Hayes waved, notebook in hand. "Morning, gentlemen.
And Noah," he added pointedly, "if you intend to survive today, I suggest you pay attention. Formations are important, you know."
"Formations? I just want to kick a ball," Noah muttered under his breath, earning a snort from Liam.
Marcus Rodriguez lumbered over, dragging a ridiculously heavy kit bag that squeaked ominously with every step.
"Morning, Noah! Ready to lose your first sprint?" Marcus said cheerfully, giving a mock flex that made Noah chuckle.
It was strange—being back as a child, surrounded by kids who would one day shape his world.
The same friends, the same academy, but now he had a system, stats, and memories from the future. It was almost unfair. Almost.
A soft hum resonated in Noah's mind, drawing his attention.
SYSTEM ALERT: Physical stats detected. Potential growth: HIGH. Training recommendations available.
Noah swallowed. The system was awake.
But he knew he had to start small.
He couldn't overwhelm his ten-year-old body or attract unnecessary attention.
"Let's start with warm-ups," he said, stepping onto the pitch.
The coach, a tall, stern man with a whistle around his neck, clapped his hands.
"Alright, boys! First drill—sprints and passing accuracy. Pair up.
Noah, with… Liam!"
Noah shot a glance at Liam, who winked and tossed him the ball. "Try not to embarrass yourself, yeah?"
Noah rolled his eyes but felt a thrill of excitement. Here we go. First step back to greatness.
The drill began. Noah ran, passed, dodged, and sprinted.
His legs felt light, almost unpracticed, but the memories of his adult self guided every movement. The ball felt familiar under his foot, as if it remembered him too.
"Oi! That was slow!" Liam shouted after a particularly sloppy pass.
"Come on, Noah! You've got two feet, not one left behind!"
Noah laughed, a rare, unburdened sound.
"Watch and learn, Rocket," he said, kicking the ball with slightly more power than intended.
It rolled smoothly to Liam's feet, who barely had time to react.
From the sidelines, Ethan squinted at the notebook in his hands.
"Impressive, but your trajectory angle was off by 2.3 degrees," he muttered.
Marcus groaned, "He's going to give Noah a complex if he keeps talking like that."
Noah smirked at the mental sparring.
Exactly the way it should be.
After the drills, the boys collapsed onto the grass, laughing and gasping for air.
Noah leaned back, looking at the clouds drifting lazily above.
For the first time in years, he felt… alive.
The pain of his past failure was still there, a faint echo, but it no longer paralyzed him.
He flexed his fingers, feeling a familiar tingling in his mind.
SYSTEM ALERT: Stats updated. Ball Control +2. Stamina +3. Progress within expected range.
Noah blinked at the small glowing numbers hovering briefly in his vision. So it really works…
"Hey, Noah," Liam said suddenly, nudging him with an elbow.
"You've been weirdly quiet today. What's going on?"
Noah smiled, shaking his head. "Nothing.
Just… thinking about tomorrow. And the years after."
Liam rolled his eyes. "Spoken like a true future legend already."
Noah laughed. "Maybe. But let's just focus on not getting kicked in the shins today."
As the morning turned to afternoon, training intensified.
Noah moved with purpose, guided by the system, remembering plays from his adult life but also learning to respect the process, the grind of youth football.
He could sense his friends improving too—their energy, their mistakes, their triumphs.
They were his anchors, his rivals, and his teammates all at once.
By the end of the day, Noah's body ached pleasantly, the kind of soreness that came from real effort.
Liam and Marcus were sprawled on the grass, joking about imaginary trophies, while Ethan muttered tactical notes that no one would remember by tomorrow.
Noah pulled his knees to his chest, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. This is just the beginning, he thought. The first step back to rewriting my story.
A faint shimmer caught his eye—the soft glow of the system interface, appearing briefly before fading again.
TRAINING RECOMMENDATION: Dribbling and Passing. Estimated Improvement: HIGH.
He clenched his fists again. "Tomorrow, I'll do better. I'll get stronger. I'll—"
A mischievous laugh interrupted him. Liam had kicked a stray ball directly at his chest. "Race you to the goalposts!"
Noah groaned, but a grin spread across his face.
Friends, training, matches, a system… and a second chance.
It wasn't going to be easy. But for the first time, Noah Ravenscroft didn't feel like a failure. He felt like a boy with a purpose.
And as he sprinted after Liam across the academy field, a spark of determination ignited in him—a fire that would never die
.
The path to greatness had begun.