The weeks that followed Elira's farewell match seemed to move faster than the wind itself. The league's rhythm grew sharper, tighter — every class fighting for the last few points that could define their season.
B-7 had changed.
Not suddenly, not miraculously — but in the quiet, deliberate way a storm gathers strength far from shore. Their passes carried more intent, their positioning more discipline. Bram, in particular, had grown stiller — but behind that stillness, something had sharpened.
Matchday 11 – B-7 vs D-13
The sky was gray that morning. Rain had soaked the turf, and every pass felt heavier than usual.
D-13 came prepared; they pressed high, bodies sliding through the slick grass to close every space. But B-7 no longer panicked under pressure.
At the 12th minute, Bram received a loose pass from Percy near the halfway line. A D-13 defender lunged forward — a heavy tackle incoming.
Bram didn't flinch. The faint shimmer behind his eyes sparked — Replay Vision flickering alive.
He saw it — not perfectly, just enough — the subtle bend of the defender's knee, the line of his movement. In the half-second before impact, Bram shifted his weight. The ball rolled through the defender's legs, and Bram slipped past, mud splashing in his wake.
"Percy, now!"
A quick give-and-go, and Daren burst free down the middle. The forward didn't waste time — one touch, low strike. Goal.
1–0. B-7 held the line till the whistle.
Matchday 12 – B-7 vs D-15
A more technical opponent — fluid, unpredictable. D-15 were known for sudden switches and diagonal passes, pulling defenses apart.
The first half ended goalless. Fenie voice thundered during halftime, urging focus and tempo.
When play resumed, B-7 adapted quickly. Bram adjusted his position, sitting deeper, dictating the flow with shorter passes. Percy pushed wider, dragging markers away, and Callen's interceptions became cleaner.
At the 24th minute, a sharp diagonal from Bram sliced through midfield. Felix rushed forward, crossing first time — and Daren met it with a diving header.
2–1, full-time. Another victory. The rhythm of growth was steady — unspoken.
Matchday 13– B-7 vs A-4
They had faced A-2 — and barely escaped. But this time, the story was different.
A-4 came out strong, their midfield compact, trying to suffocate B-7's buildup. Yet, Bram was calmer now. His eyes tracked more than players — he read momentum.
Midway through the second half, when the match sat balanced at 0–0, he began anticipating movements seconds before they happened.
A-4's winger cut inside — Bram was already there, intercepting cleanly. A quick transition. Percy to Daren. Daren to Bram. Bram slipped it back to Percy, who unleashed a curving shot from the edge of the box.
Goal. The whistle sealed it: 1–0. Not flashy, but solid — the kind of win that defined progress.
Between Matches
Training grew quieter, more focused. Feine no longer barked constantly — sometimes, he just watched.
The chemistry among the team had deepened. Felix and Jory argued less, Callen smiled more. Even Daren's impatience had turned into controlled aggression.
Bram still trained alone at night, though. The replay of Elira's match haunted him — the precision, the calm. He wanted that. To see without overusing his ability. To feel the rhythm, not just analyze it.
The System hummed quietly in his mind, silent but ever-present. Not commanding, not speaking — just watching.
His Synchronization crept upward, like a tide — 29%, 30%, 31%.
Each gain cost him headaches, but he endured them. He was beginning to bridge instinct and analysis, skill.
League Standings (After Matchday 14)
A-1 – 42 pts
A-2 – 32 pts
B-7 – 31 pts
A-3 – 27 pts
A-4 – 23 pts
D-14 – 18 pts
C-9 – 17 pts
B-8 – 14 pts
C-12 – 12 pts
D-16 – 10 pts
As they left the field that evening, the air was charged with a different kind of energy. B-7 were no longer the underdogs scrambling to survive — they were contenders.
The next fixture loomed, each step leading them closer to the inevitable confrontation. Lucian's A-1 — the academy's crown jewel.
And when that day came, it wouldn't be a test of family. It would be a clash of ideals.
The night after their third straight win, the academy was unusually calm. The training fields were empty, their floodlights still humming faintly from earlier practice sessions.
From the west dormitory balcony, Bram leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the sprawling lights of the campus below. The wind carried faint laughter from the dining hall, the clatter of cutlery, and the distant thump of a football against concrete.
But his mind was somewhere else — replaying images that weren't his own. His sister's final strike. His brother's sharp gaze on the field. Moments that felt like pieces of a path he was still walking toward.
A soft voice broke his focus.
"You're thinking too loud again."
Bram turned slightly — Percy stood there, two mugs of steaming cocoa in his hands. He handed one over without waiting for an answer.
"Thanks," Bram muttered, taking it. "Couldn't sleep either?"
Percy shrugged. "We've been climbing the table like maniacs. My body's tired, but my brain's racing. Feels like the calm before something big."
Bram gave a faint smile. "It is."
They stood in silence for a while. Below them, the academy looked peaceful — too peaceful for a place filled with so much competition. In the distance, the dorm lights of Class A flickered brighter. You could almost feel the weight of their presence — especially A-1.
"Lucian," Percy said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. "He's different, huh?"
Bram's expression hardened slightly.
Percy chuckled. "You're getting close, you know? Everyone sees it — your composure, your vision.
"That's a sign of danger," Bram muttered, earning a laugh.
But beneath the humor, there was tension — a shared understanding that time was running out. Only four matches remained. The path to the Trials was narrowing, and one slip could end it all.
The Next Morning
Rumors spread faster than the morning bell. Scouts were back on campus. Not just for Year Three, but for Year Ones and Twos this time — quiet observers walking through corridors, watching from the shadows.
Daren, half-awake, nearly choked on his breakfast when Percy told him.
"You mean they're watching us too?"
Percy nodded. "Coach Marrow confirmed it. No names, no teams — but they're everywhere."
Bram listened quietly, hands around his cup. He could already feel the invisible eyes on them, following each touch, each pass, each decision.
He wasn't sure if it motivated him or weighed him down.
Daren leaned back, smirking. "Then let them watch. I'll make sure they don't blink."
Percy rolled his eyes. "You said that last time, and you nearly kicked the ball into orbit."
Laughter broke the morning tension — loud enough to turn heads in the cafeteria. For a moment, they weren't competitors, or prospects, or future stars — just kids chasing the same dream.
Afternoon – Academy Plaza
Classes ended early. The main plaza buzzed with energy — small groups training, some talking, others simply watching the academy's fountain shimmer under the sunlight.
Bram sat on a low step, tying his laces, when a shadow passed by. He looked up — and froze.
Evening – Training Ground
As dusk fell, B-7 gathered for a short, informal session. Callen practiced clearances, Felix worked on headers, and Percy chased loose balls like a machine. Daren, of course, tried bicycle kicks until he nearly broke his spine.
Bram stood apart, juggling the ball lazily — one touch, two, three — his mind half elsewhere.
He thought of his sister's farewell, his brother's name on everyone's lips, the scouts' silent gazes.
He closed his eyes and whispered, "I'll make sure I'm not just their shadow."
The wind carried the words away — unseen, unheard —but the System stirred faintly in response, a small, approving pulse beneath his thoughts.