Text appeared in his vision again while he sat on the curb with cold air biting at his skin.
|WELCOME TO THE LEGACY SYSTEM|
|INITIALIZING PLAYER PROFILE...|
A loading bar filled from left to right before new text materialized in clean white letters.
|CURRENT PLAYER ASSESSMENT|
The interface expanded while numbers and categories appeared in organized rows, so his eyes tracked each line as it displayed his current abilities.
|OVERALL RATING: 53/99|
|ATTACKING: 52|
Offensive Awareness: 54
Finishing: 51
Kicking Power: 49
Header: 48
|DRIBBLING: 55|
Ball Control: 57
Dribbling: 53
Tight Possession: 54
Balance: 56
|PASSING: 54|
Low Pass: 56
Lofted Pass: 52
Set Piece Taking: 43
Curl: 48
|PHYSICALITY: 51|
Speed: 58
Acceleration: 60
Physical Contact: 44
Stamina: 63
Jump: 46
|DEFENDING: 40|
Defensive Awareness: 38
Ball Winning: 41
Aggression: 42
Defensive Engagement: 39
The numbers sat there in his vision while his chest tightened because seeing it quantified made it worse than just knowing he was bad.
Fifty-three overall.
He'd known he wasn't good back then—the youth coach had told him he needed improvement and his playing time had been limited—but seeing it displayed like this with every weakness categorized and measured felt different.
New text appeared below the stats.
|SYSTEM| "With those stats, I don't even know how you are still at the academy."
The words were cold and clinical without any attempt at softening the assessment, so his jaw clenched while anger flared briefly before dying because the system was right.
At 53 overall he should have been released already, yet somehow he'd managed to hang on through pure work ethic while more talented players around him had gotten promoted to the first team.
More text materialized.
|MISSION COMPLETE: ESCAPE FALSE ACCUSATION|
|CALCULATING REWARD...|
|REWARD: +7 TO ALL STATS|
The numbers on his profile began changing while each attribute ticked upward by seven points, so he watched as his overall rating climbed from 53 to 60 in the span of three seconds.
|NEW OVERALL RATING: 60/99|
|ATTACKING: 59| (52→59)
|DRIBBLING: 62| (55→62)
|PASSING: 61| (54→61)
|PHYSICALITY: 58| (51→58)
|DEFENDING: 47| (40→47)
His breathing quickened slightly because seven points across every stat felt significant—it was the difference between academy reject and academy player—but 60 overall was still terrible by professional standards.
He was still bad.
Just less bad than before.
|SYSTEM| "Don't get excited. You're still pathetic by professional standards. This just means you might survive the academy for another few months."
The words appeared without emotion while the interface continued displaying his updated profile, then new text scrolled into view.
|SYSTEM EXPLANATION|
|This system does not manipulate time.|
|This system does not control your body during matches.|
|What this system DOES:|
|- Tracks every action in real-time|
|- Analyzes technique and provides feedback|
|- Assigns quests based on your weaknesses|
|- Converts hard work into measurable stat points|
|- Shows you the path to greatness|
|You must walk that path yourself.|
More text appeared while the explanation continued.
|TRAINING PHILOSOPHY|
|You are a striker, but strikers need more than just shooting.|
|Required development areas:|
|- Finishing (obviously)|
|- Sprint speed and acceleration|
|- Strength for holding off defenders|
|- Ball control and dribbling|
|- Passing accuracy for link-up play|
|- Positioning and movement|
|- Aerial ability|
|- Stamina for 90 minutes|
|All-round training is mandatory. Specialists who can only do one thing don't reach the top.|
The interface held for five seconds before dissolving completely, so he was left sitting on the curb with his new stats and the understanding that this would take years of grinding rather than weeks of gaming the system.
He stood up slowly while his legs felt steadier now that adrenaline had faded, then he started walking toward his apartment because staying on the curb meant thinking and thinking meant processing and he needed to get home first.
The walk took fifteen minutes through empty streets while his mind replayed the party scene and the system's assessment, so by the time he reached his building his hands had stopped shaking completely.
His phone buzzed in his pocket as he climbed the stairs.
Lucas: Bro you good? That was fucked up. You just left
Lucas: Want me to come over?
Lucas: Seriously man text me back
Three messages sent over the past twenty minutes while he'd been sitting on that curb staring at glowing numbers, so he typed a response with thumbs that felt clumsy because his muscle memory was different in this younger body.
I'm fine. Just needed air. Talk tomorrow.
The response was short because saying more meant explaining and explaining meant lying, then he shoved the phone back in his pocket before unlocking his apartment door.
The room was exactly as he remembered it—small and cramped with furniture that had seen better days—but it was his space and that meant he could finally process what had happened.
He collapsed onto his bed while exhaustion hit properly for the first time since waking up in that room.
Tomorrow he'd have to act normal around people who didn't know he was mentally thirty-nine years old, yet tonight he could just lie here and accept that he'd actually changed his fate.
The girl who'd destroyed his life in the original timeline was now the one who'd been caught on camera trying to assault him, so justice had been served before the crime even happened.
Sleep came slowly while his mind refused to shut off completely.
*******
Sunlight hit his face through curtains that didn't quite close properly.
His head was pounding from the hangover while his mouth tasted like something had died in it, so he groaned and rolled over before his eyes opened properly and focused on the ceiling.
The crack was gone.
His ceiling in the future had a crack running diagonally from corner to corner because the building was old and falling apart, but this ceiling was smooth and freshly painted because this was 2026 and he was nineteen again.
Reality settled over him like a weight.
He sat up slowly while his body protested the movement, then footsteps sounded in the hallway outside his room before a knock came at the door.
"Sweetheart? Are you awake?"
His mother's voice hit him harder than the truck had because he hadn't heard it in decades—not since she'd stopped visiting him in prison around year eight when the strain of having a convicted son had become too much.
"Yeah," he managed to say while his throat closed around the word. "I'm awake."
The door opened and she appeared with a tray that held coffee and toast, so her face showed concern while she set it on his nightstand.
"You came home so late," she said while her hand touched his forehead checking for fever. "Are you feeling okay? You don't look well."
He was looking at his mother who was alive and healthy and didn't hate him yet, so his chest tightened while emotion threatened to break through the careful control he'd maintained since regression.
"Just hungover," he said because that was the expected answer from a nineteen-year-old who'd been at a party. "I'll be fine."
She frowned while her hand moved to his cheek. "You have training in three hours. You need to eat something and drink water. I don't want you collapsing at practice."
The concern in her voice was genuine because she still believed in him and still wanted him to succeed, so he nodded while accepting the coffee she offered.
"Thanks, Maman."
She smiled before leaving the room, then he was alone with his thoughts and the coffee that was still too hot to drink.
Text appeared in his vision.
|SYSTEM| "Training session in 2 hours 47 minutes. Don't be late."
|Your teammates will be better than you. Your coach will doubt you. You will struggle.|
|Get used to it.|
The words disappeared while he drank the coffee and ate the toast his mother had brought, so by the time he'd showered and changed into training gear his hangover had reduced to a dull headache.
His phone showed 9:23 AM when he checked it.
Training started at 10:30 AM at the Pau FC academy facility which was a twenty-minute drive from his apartment, so he had time but not much.
He grabbed his bag and walked out while his mother called goodbye from the kitchen.
The drive was familiar because he'd made it hundreds of times in the original timeline before everything fell apart, yet now it felt different because he knew what waited at the end.
Teammates who would abandon him if things went wrong.
A coach who saw him as marginal talent at best.
A system that would track every mistake and every success in real-time.
The facility appeared ahead while he pulled into the parking lot, so he sat in his car for thirty seconds before getting out because delaying wouldn't change anything.
The locker room was half-full when he entered while players were changing into training kits, so he found his locker and started getting ready while keeping his head down.
Lucas appeared beside him. "You good, man? You just disappeared last night."
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied while pulling on his training shirt. "Just needed to get out of there."
Lucas nodded before lowering his voice. "That girl though... what the fuck was she thinking? Everyone's talking about it. She's fucked."
He didn't respond because there was nothing to say that wouldn't sound wrong, then he finished changing and headed out to the training pitch.
The morning air was cool while the grass was still wet from overnight rain, so players were already doing light warmups when he arrived.
Text appeared in his vision.
|QUEST 1: PERSONAL TRAINING||- Complete 50 accurate passes (80%+ accuracy)||- Complete 30 successful sprints||- Complete 20 shots on target||- Win 10 aerial duels in practice||Reward: +3 SP|
|QUEST 2: COMPLETE SQUAD TRAINING||- Participate in full training session (90 minutes)||- Don't be worst performer in any drill||Reward: +2 SP|
|NOTE: Activities completed during squad training that match Quest 1 requirements will count toward both quests. Double rewards possible.|
His eyes tracked the requirements while his brain calculated how to maximize efficiency, so if he completed passes during team drills they'd count toward both quests and earn him double rewards.
Work smart, not just hard.
The coach's whistle blew while players gathered in the center circle.
"Alright, listen up," Coach Dubois called out while holding his clipboard. "Standard session today. Warm-up together for fifteen minutes, then split into positional groups. Strikers and wingers with Coach Bernard for attacking drills. Midfielders stay with me for passing and transition work. Defenders with Coach Laurent for defensive shape. Goalkeepers with Coach Mathis. After positional work we regroup for tactical drills and finish with a scrimmage. Full effort from everyone."
The squad split immediately while players jogged toward their designated areas, so he followed the attacking group toward the penalty area where Coach Bernard was already setting up cones.
Perfect.
Positional training for strikers meant finishing drills, movement work, and aerial practice—everything Quest 1 required—while defenders and midfielders worked on their own skills elsewhere on the pitch.
He took his position while the session began.
Let the grind begin.