The next morning came slower than usual. The kind of morning where the sun moved slowly across the sky and the body still hadn't recovered from the match day adrenaline.
Camilo's alarm buzzed at eight, vibrating against his nightstand like it was angry at him. He groaned, rolled over, and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before sighing and swinging his legs off the bed.
Another day at the Toulouse FC Centre d'Performance. Cryotherapy, light recovery, all that post-match stuff. The body needed it, even if his mind just wanted to sleep all day.
By noon, he was already at the training complex, stepping through the glass doors that opened into the bright, white hallways lined with framed photos of Toulouse's past heroes. The faint hum of treadmills and the sharp smell of disinfectant filled the air.
As he walked toward the medical wing, he spotted Dr. Nancy talking with one of the performance coaches near the cryo room. Her hair was tied back like always, and her white coat looked clean and spotless.
Camilo smiled. "Hey, Doctor Nancy."
She turned around, smiling when she saw him. "If it isn't our young man of the match. How are you, Camilo?"
He shrugged, still walking toward her. "Alive. Sore. But alive."
"That's about the same answer I get from everyone on Mondays," she said, crossing her arms. "Still enjoying your little spotlight?"
He gave her a smirk. "Trying not to let it get to my head."
"Good. Because your muscles don't care about awards," she teased, nodding toward the cryotherapy chamber. "Go on, let's get you frozen before you start bragging again."
Camilo laughed. "You say that like I brag a lot."
She gave him a fake glare. "You don't?"
He laughed as he stepped into the cryo booth. Cold mist started swirling around him, biting into his skin almost right away.
Three minutes. That's all it ever was, but it always felt like forever.
When he came out with a towel draped over his shoulders, Mario and Amedee were waiting in the lounge. Both had the same tired but cheerful look, the kind of tiredness that followed a win.
"Oi, look who's here," Mario said, grinning. "Man of the match himself."
"Stop saying that," Camilo said, sitting down beside them. "You're making it sound like I won the Ballon d'Or."
Amedee laughed. "You play like that again, who knows?"
Camilo waved him off. "Nah, I just got lucky."
"Lucky doesn't dribble past three defenders," Mario said. "Lucky doesn't nutmeg Elias either."
Camilo smirked. "Okay, that one wasn't luck."
They all laughed. The air was easy and relaxed, completely different from the nerves of match day. Someone tossed them bottles of water, and they talked about everything except football for a while. Music, food, who'd said something stupid in training last week, the usual stuff.
But even as he laughed with Amedee and Mario, a part of Camilo's mind drifted somewhere else, to that glowing display only he could see.
The thing had been with him for almost a week now. It had helped him stay calm before the match and helped him focus when his nerves tried to choke him. Still, he didn't really understand it.
By evening, after the massages, ice baths, and a light team stretch, he finally went home. The apartment was quiet and clean, a little too big for someone who still wasn't used to living alone in a foreign city.
He made a simple dinner, rice and eggs, nothing fancy, and ate it while scrolling through messages from Brazil. His sister had sent another voice note teasing him for becoming Mr. Fancy Footballer. He smiled. He missed that.
After cleaning up, he stretched out on his bed with the TV playing something in French he barely understood, and said softly to himself, "Alright, let's figure you out."
He reached for his phone, but then remembered the System didn't live there. It lived somewhere else. Inside him? Around him? He didn't know.
So he sat up, let out a slow breath, and said the words.
"Goat System."
The air shimmered faintly, like heat waves, before a transparent screen blinked into view in front of his eyes.
SYSTEM ONLINE
USER: CAMILO MENDEZ
Camilo leaned forward slightly, his eyes reflecting the glow. "Okay, that's still weird."
Lines of data scrolled up, followed by several icons.
[First Match Completed]
New Features Unlocked:
Overall Rating (OVR)
Match Performance Score
Stat Distribution
XP / Skill Points
Training Focus
Development Objectives
Form Tracker
Match Replay Simulator
Camilo whistled softly. "Wow. It really is like FIFA."
He rubbed his chin. "Let's see, uhm... XP and Skill Points."
The display changed to a smaller screen filled with bars, numbers, and tiny labels.
He saw XP Gained: 12.
"Out of what?" he said, frowning. "A thousand?"
Next to it was a Skill Points counter showing 2 Available.
He tapped on the tab, or rather thought about tapping it, and a small tree expanded showing Dribbling, Finishing, Vision, Balance, Composure, Acceleration, Stamina...
"Man," he sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Where do I even put two points?"
After a few seconds, he shrugged. "Let's go with acceleration and stamina."
The numbers changed slightly. He felt nothing, of course. No power surge, no glowing aura. Just numbers changing.
"Boring," he said.
Then his eyes fell on another icon, Match Replay Simulator.
Now that sounded cool.
He opened it, and suddenly a holographic projection appeared in front of him, showing the Lens vs Toulose match from his perspective.
The screen zoomed, shifted, and slowed down in perfect slow motion. Every run, every pass, every dribble.
"Whoa," he whispered, leaning forward. "Okay, this is cool."
He tapped the next setting, Show Mistakes.
The replay instantly highlighted red zones showing missed passes, bad positioning, and late reactions.
The screen lit up like a Christmas tree.
"Wait, what?" he said out loud. "That's all wrong. I got an 8.9, man! I won man of the match!"
He watched as the system replayed him losing the ball once, missing a run, and hesitating on a through pass.
"Oh, come on! I passed that!"
He threw his hands up and groaned. "This thing hates me. I swear."
He fast forwarded to another clip, talking the whole time like a teenager arguing with a video game. When it ended, the display blinked again, showing his OVR: 6.8
He blinked. "Six point eight?"
Camilo squinted at the number, leaned closer, and frowned. "Wait, that can't be right."
He grabbed his phone, opened the FIFA app, and checked his player card again. Overall: 7.6
He stared at both screens, then dropped the phone on his lap. "So even in a video game, I'm rated higher than this thing gives me?"
A long pause. Then he fell back on the bed with a groan.
"Wow. Okay. It's official. I hate this system."
The screen closed as he tossed his arm over his eyes. For a while, the apartment was quiet again, just the faint hum of the fridge and the city outside.
He drifted to sleep like that, saying quietly, "Stupid system."
He didn't know when he started dreaming or when the world began to blur, but the next time he opened his eyes, the glow was back.
Only this time, it wasn't calm. It was pulsing.
[OBJECTIVE: Maintain Form Before Next Match]
[Generating Task...]
Camilo blinked, still half asleep. "Huh?"
The letters shifted again.
[TASK: Early Morning Jog, 6km]
[Time Limit: 90 minutes]
The screen flashed bright once before going dim again.
He groaned and turned over on the bed. "Nope. Nope. It's 5:44 in the morning. I'm not doing that."
He pulled the blanket over his head. "You can keep your six kilometers."
Darkness, silence, the soft hum of the fridge in the corner. Then, out of nowhere.
[Warning: Stat regression in progress...]
His eyes were still closed. He knew they were closed. But the words were there, floating behind his eyelids, clear as day.
Camilo frowned. "Wait, how am I seeing this with my eyes closed?"
Another line appeared underneath.
[Reason: Irregular recovery pattern detected.]
He opened his eyes. The text didn't disappear. It hovered faintly above the ceiling now, steady and harsh, like a teacher marking a failed assignment.
Camilo sat up and groaned. "You're kidding me. I just rested. That's what recovery is!"
No reply. The display pulsed once, like it was showing disapproval somehow, then vanished as suddenly as it came.
He stared into the dark for a while, his jaw tight.
So this was what it meant. The System didn't stop tracking when the game ended. It watched everything.
Even when his eyes were closed.
_____
To be continued...