Chapter 4 When you don't know, go with the flow
Wait. Did the coach just say he's cutting my daily wages?
Assarun's memories began flooding into my mind like water through a broken dam. Recently, this area had been plagued by outlaws and bandits striking with increasing frequency. Zefur, my kindhearted father and the local sheriff, had been dipping into his own salary to compensate the victims. He'd also been buying weapons and supplies to protect the town.
His generosity had become our family's burden.
Our household food budget depended entirely on my daily wages alone. And even as the team's number one striker, those wages barely fed our family of five. If they cut my pay further, would we end up gnawing on the walls to stave off hunger?
Absolutely not! I had to reclaim my position as the team's top striker. Here! Now!
Even if my stats were practically zero. Even if my football skills were utterly pathetic. I still had something valuable.
Spark Arrow LV 1. Spark Dribble LV 1.
Two special skills I'd inherited from those twin kids. Two brothers who, despite being mere game characters—illusions, figments of imagination—somehow felt like real family to me. I couldn't bear to see them suffer or face hardship.
Wait for me, Mom and Dad. Wait for me, little ones. Your big brother will come home with a feast. We'll eat and eat and eat until our bellies are round, making up for all those days of going without.
I didn't know exactly what Spark Arrow and Spark Dribble could do or how to use them properly. But judging by their names, it wasn't hard to guess.
"As punishment for your pathetic performance, Sparkman... run ten laps around the field before going home today. Now then, since our number one striker has been demoted, let's find someone new. Number two striker Kleber, number three striker—"
One lap and I'd be dead already. Who the hell was going to run ten?
I drew a deep breath into my lungs and shouted:
"SPARK DRIBBLE!!"
Activating skill [Spark Dribble]
20 MP consumed
Remaining MP: 80/100
The moment I finished calling out my special move, black smoke erupted from my body like a geyser. Lightning energy crackled along my frame, wild and electric.
Everyone stared at me again, but their expressions had completely transformed. Before, they'd looked at me with amusement and schadenfreude—like watching a lion stumble over a rock. Now they gaped in shock, as if that same stumbling lion was charging straight at them with deadly intent.
"Everything up until now was just a test," I said smoothly. "I wanted to see who would still treat me well when I was weak and powerless, when I could no longer play football. Unbelievable that there wasn't a single person. Everyone looked at me with pity, whispering cruel gossip behind my back. Even coach didn't think to give me any chances. You should have known I was sick in bed all day and night yesterday. I needed time to get my fitness back."
My quick thinking was really paying off. I was getting good at making excuses on the spot.
Of course, none of this had been a test. My football skills and physical condition really were that terrible.
Coach Yeager coughed awkwardly and tried to justify himself. "Coach was just doing his job. No matter how long you've been the team's number one striker, if your form is bad, you get dropped. Nobody gets to stay just because they're special. Nobody's bigger than the team. But what's all this smoke? You figured out a special move? What can it do?"
I laughed coldly.
"That's right, nobody's bigger than the team. But I'm just an ordinary person with thoughts and feelings. When recovering from illness or injury, what I need is time to heal, understanding, sympathy, and good encouragement. But it seems like nobody on this team was willing to give me any of that... So sad, so very sad."
Coach Yeager ground his teeth. My teammates all avoided eye contact, especially Kleber, who was now pretending to fidget with the ball, refusing to look up.
"Alright, alright, enough with the dramatics," the coach said. "I'll give you five hundred dailiez from my own pocket as compensation and medical expenses. How's that? Now what does that special move of yours actually do?"
"Coach, have you ever seen anyone dribble a ball with lightning speed?"
My voice carried absolute confidence as I burst into a full sprint.
Even though this was an unfamiliar technique, since it had 'dribble' in the name, it had to be a ball-handling move.
The naming convention in G.O.A.T TRICKS was simple and straightforward. Shooting Fire, the protagonist's signature move, meant firing the ball as a blazing projectile. Calculated Dribble, the special technique of a character named Belima, meant predicting the opponent's movements and weaving around them accordingly.
Therefore, Spark Dribble had to mean dribbling the ball at lightning speed!
As I began to move, my body and everything in my vision became painted with electricity.