Date: February 12th, 2025
Location: AXA Training Centre, Kirkby
The sun hadn't yet risen over Merseyside when Diogo Jota opened his eyes. For a brief moment, everything was silent—his room lit only by the soft glow of the streetlamps outside. But before he could even swing his legs out of bed, the familiar chime echoed in his ears.
[SYSTEM UPDATE COMPLETE]
New Mode Unlocked: Simulation Training Chamber (STC)
Skill Progression: Enabled
Cooldown Reduction Systems: Partial
Talent Tree Access: Limited Branches Available
He blinked, staring into the virtual interface that now hovered in the air like a translucent, blue-tinged hologram. A new icon pulsed at the center of the system's UI: [Enter Simulation Chamber].
Would you like to begin Training Mode?
Without hesitation, he whispered, "Yes."
Everything shifted.
[SIMULATION MODE ENGAGED]
Environment Loaded: Digital Pitch | Time Dilation: 10x | Injury Risk: 0%
Jota stood alone in the center of a vast, artificial pitch.
The stadium was unreal—gray walls of light surrounded him, with stands that were empty but somehow buzzing with an eerie ambient energy. Lines glowed softly on the pitch. The air smelled like ozone and grass.
A mechanical voice spoke:
Welcome, Diogo.
Initializing core drills. Calculating biomechanical stress thresholds.
You may begin skill simulation. Choose from the following:
Spatial Awareness Expansion
One-Touch Finishing Module
Tempo Control – Experimental (Beta Access)
His eyes locked onto option three.
Selection Confirmed: Tempo Control – Experimental
A wall of light split open, and three AI-generated defenders shimmered into view. Fast. Pressing. Coordinated.
A ball rolled to his feet.
"Let's see what this does," Jota muttered, tapping the ball forward.
TRAINING: TEMPO CONTROL – BETA
The moment he moved, something changed. His perception slowed. The digital defenders rushed toward him, but he saw every twitch of their ankles, the way their shoulders leaned, the microsecond shifts in their center of gravity.
Passive Trait Triggered: Micro-Timing
Reaction Window Expanded by 0.2s
Dribble Stability +5% (Training Mode Only)
He cut inside, then out again, then darted through a gap that shouldn't have existed. The simulation responded—more defenders shimmered into being. Faster. Sharper.
But Jota was flowing.
Every touch was precise. His breathing synced to his movement. The rhythm of the game bent subtly to him.
For the first time, he didn't feel like he was reacting.
He was controlling.
[Mid-Drill Reflection Opportunity]
Would you like to view current progression tree?
"Yes," he whispered again.
[TALENT TREE: SHADOW FORWARD – BRANCH 1]
A digital skill tree opened in front of him. Lines of glowing energy branched out from the center. Only a few nodes were active:
Spatial Phantom (Lv.1) – Gain +5% off-ball movement precision in congested areas.
Visionary Link-Up (Lv.1) – Slightly improves pass quality during instinctive combinations.
Tempo Shift (LOCKED) – Temporarily slows perceived game time (5s effect / 1x per match). Unlock requirement: Master Tempo Control Training.
He hovered over the locked skill. His hand trembled.
"This… would change everything."
A new prompt flickered:
Progress: 24%
Est. Completion: 3 sessions
Jota clenched his fists.
"Then I'll earn it."
For the next simulated hour—equivalent to nearly a full day in-game—he trained relentlessly.
His legs burned, muscles ached, lungs gasped—but never failed. The simulation didn't care for comfort. It only calculated improvement.
He beat every wave of defenders. Practiced blind layoffs. Repeated off-ball movement drills with invisible tracking lines showing the optimal vectors.
Time after time, he adjusted. Improved. Felt the patterns settle deeper into his instincts.
When he finally emerged from the Simulation Chamber, sweat-drenched and breathless even in the real world, the system quietly whispered:
[Simulation Complete]
Progress: 42%
+2 Ball Control (TEMPORARY BOOST – next match)
+1 Awareness
Trait Progress: Tempo Shift (42%)
He sat on the edge of his bed, hands trembling slightly from exertion, mind sharpened like never before.
Then, as if summoned by fate, his phone buzzed.
Isabela 🖤
"You weren't in bed when I woke up. Don't forget to rest too, amor."
Jota stared at the screen.
Then typed back:
"I'll rest when I can stop time."
Later that Morning – AXA Training Centre
The wind was sharp at Kirkby, the air biting cold, but it didn't matter. Jota had arrived early. Very early. The others would be in shortly, but he needed to test how the Simulation benefits translated in real-world conditions.
Coach Arne Slot noticed him as he stepped onto the field.
"Couldn't sleep?" Slot asked, amused.
Jota smiled faintly. "Something like that."
The Dutchman clapped his shoulder. "We'll run tight rotations today. Burnley's low block needs smart movement, not just pace. Let's get your instincts sharper."
As drills began, Jota noticed the subtle difference immediately. He reacted quicker. His turns were tighter. He wasn't just faster—he was better.
During a 7v7 rondo, he intercepted three passes in a row. His teammates raised eyebrows. Even Slot glanced down at his notes and nodded to his assistants.
SYSTEM ALERT: Coach Trust +1
Then came finishing drills. Trent whipped in cross after cross. Jota's positioning put him in the perfect pockets—ghosting in unseen. He volleyed one past Kelleher. Then another. Then faked a shot and slid a reverse pass to Harvey Elliott, who buried it.
"Bloody hell, Jots," Harvey grinned. "You possessed today?"
Jota laughed, only half joking. "Something like that."
By the end of the session, Slot gathered everyone.
"Good tempo. Burnley's next. We rotate, but stay sharp. Diogo—you're starting."
A few players clapped him on the back.
But he wasn't satisfied. He still had one more simulation session in him.
And he would master Tempo Shift before Saturday.
Later that night, long after the final tactical review and cooldown stretches, Diogo Jota returned home to a quiet house. Isabela was already asleep on the couch, a blanket curled around her legs and the TV playing some muted cooking show.
He stepped silently through the living room, planted a soft kiss on her forehead, then disappeared into the bathroom.
The hot shower felt like salvation. Steam filled the small space as the water pounded over sore muscles, rinsing away the sweat and fatigue of two worlds—one real, one simulated. For a few minutes, there was no System, no fate threads, no looming death probability. Just heat and silence.
Toweled off and wearing his favorite hoodie, he made his way to the gaming setup in the den. FC25 was already in Rest Mode.
He booted it up.
The familiar menu music played as his custom player avatar—a younger version of himself, complete with a high aggression rating and maxed-out finishing—dribbled lazily on the loading screen.
He entered Career Mode.
Jota played for hours.
Not just out of love for the game—but with purpose.
He analyzed how the AI positioned defenders. How midfielders exploited half-spaces. He watched replays, even taking digital notes on the pauses in defensive shape.
It was obsessive. But it wasn't mindless.
[System Notification]
Cognitive Training Recognized – Tactical Pattern Recognition +1 (Temporary)
A small smirk tugged at his lips.
He paused the game, looked at the ceiling.
"I'm going to beat fate," he whispered.
And then, because he was still a gamer at heart, he loaded one more match—Real Madrid vs. Liverpool at the Santiago Bernabéu.
Final score? 6–2. All six from Jota.
He shut off the console at 3:12 a.m., crawled into bed beside Isabela, and finally let sleep claim him.
The dream that followed wasn't a nightmare this time.
He was on the pitch. Not running from death—but toward glory.