The ceiling was ugly.
That was my first real thought.
Not the burning in my head. Not the stiffness in my neck. Not even the quiet hum of medical bots floating around.
Just that this hospital ceiling — a dull grey slab with micro-cracks and blinking blue sensors — was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen.
I blinked then blinked again.
It was still there, not the ceiling.
The screen.
> [GOAT SYSTEM ONLINE]
Still floating. Still glowing, transparent, futuristic. Impossible.
I raised my hand slowly. The muscles in my shoulder screamed. My knuckles brushed the edge of the screen — or tried to. It flickered, moved slightly away, like it knew I was reaching.
"What... the hell…"
I said it out loud this time, and my voice came out hoarse. Like gravel.
The door hissed open.
"Ah, he speaks."
It was Coach Navarro. Mid-fifties, cybernetic leg, grizzled stare like he'd seen a dozen wars — half of them probably football-related.
Behind him, the academy's medic, Dr. Velasquez, walked in with a datapad and a look that said stop scaring the patients, Navarro.
Coach raised an eyebrow. "You took a nasty knock. Martian went through you like you were made of foam. You're lucky you still have your skull."
Dr. Velasquez rolled her eyes. "What he means is — you had a mild concussion. No skull fracture. Just bruising. You're lucky."
I tried to sit up. "The game—"
"You lost," Coach said flatly. "Not just you. The team. 3-1."
I nodded slowly. "I passed it before the hit, though. Musa scored?"
He snorted. "Of course you're asking about the assist."
The screen pulsed gently in the corner of my vision. No one else acknowledged it. No questions. No stares. Which meant one thing:
They couldn't see it.
My heart started beating faster.
"…How long was I out?"
"Four hours," Dr. Velasquez said, scanning my vitals. "You'll stay overnight, but you're stable. We've healed most of the internal trauma with nano-stims. You'll feel sore, maybe dizzy. But you'll recover."
She tapped the side of her glasses and pulled up a holo-chart.
"You've got a solid cognitive response. Which is good, considering your EEG looked like fireworks earlier."
Navarro folded his arms. "Tell me straight, Vega. You remember anything?"
I hesitated.
Do I tell them I saw Ronaldinho juggling in the clouds?
That Zidane talked about legacy?
That Messi and Ronaldo gave me a mission?
That I have a freaking glowing interface following me around like it's straight out of a space-RPG?
"…No," I lied. "Just… lights. Crowd noise. Then black."
Coach stared at me. For a second, I thought he didn't believe me.
Then he nodded. "Good. No dreams. Dreams mean brain damage."
I forced a laugh.
Not a dream, I thought. Not even close.
---
I was cleared to walk the next morning.
My legs felt weird. Not weak. Not exactly strong either. Just… new.
Like someone had replaced the firmware overnight.
Every step echoed with memory. Like I'd trained muscles I didn't know I had.
The screen still hovered in my periphery. Always just above or beside me, never in the way. Like a ghost with perfect positioning.
> [GOAT SYSTEM STATUS: STABLE]
Skill: Vision (Xavi) — Locked (requires activation through training)
Trait: Elastic Control (Ronaldinho) — Dormant
> New Notification:
🎯 System Sync Required — "Test Your Touch"
I blinked. The message faded, replaced by a glowing arrow pointing… left?
Toward the academy's rehab wing.
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
---
I snuck in an hour later. Quiet. No staff. Just me, the smell of disinfectant, and rows of solo skill pods for injured players.
I entered Pod 7. The door sealed behind me.
Standard pod. Artificial turf. Ball dispenser. Wall targets.
Then — the screen glowed again.
> [SYSTEM SYNC INITIATING…]
Touch Drill: Five-Minute Juggle + Control Targets
Time: 00:00
GO.
A ball dropped from the ceiling.
I reacted on instinct. Foot out. Soft touch.
It floated up, easy. Another tap. And again.
Left foot. Right foot. Thigh. Shoulder.
I kept it up. Simple juggling. The kind I did on rooftops as a kid. The kind you do to impress scouts. The kind that says, I've got it.
But this time?
It felt… perfect.
Like the ball didn't want to fall. Like it wanted to dance with me.
A second ball shot out. Then a third. I should've panicked, should've fumbled but I didn't.
Somewhere in the back of my brain — or maybe inside this strange system — something clicked.
I moved. Adjusted. Controlled.
Every contact felt clean. Weighted. Elastic.
I hit all five targets. Then all ten. Then twenty.
Then the balls vanished mid-air, sucked into ceiling tubes.
I dropped to one knee, panting.
The screen lit up:
> 🎉 Sync Complete
Trait: Elastic Control (Ronaldinho) — Active
> Your touch now adapts to irregular spin, bounce, and pressure with 3x response efficiency.
Welcome to the next level.
I stared at it.
I didn't feel different but somehow, I knew…
Something had changed.
---
Back in the hallway, I ran into Musa.
He raised a brow. "Yo! You're alive."
"Barely," I said, trying to sound normal.
He looked me up and down. "You look… faster."
"Must be the hospital food."
He laughed and punched my arm.
But in his eyes — for just a split second — I saw it.
Doubt.
Like he'd noticed something too.
Like maybe I did look different.