The morning light slipped through the tall curtains of the Moretti villa, washing the room in soft gold. Jaeven sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, breathing slowly as the quiet of the house wrapped around him. There was no confusion today. No shock. No disbelief.
Only determination.
For the first time in years—perhaps in both of his lives—he woke up with purpose.
His legs felt warm, alive, not the dead weight he once carried through hospital hallways. His heart beat with a steady confidence. His mind was sharp, clear, almost hungry. The System hovered passively in the edge of his vision, silent unless called upon, like a loyal shadow.
Yesterday was Day 1, his first test in this new world. Running for the first time. Feeling the ball at his feet again. The rush of freedom. The promise of possibility.
Today began the real journey.
He washed up, dressed in a plain black training shirt and shorts, and headed downstairs quietly. The household was just beginning to wake. The scent of garlic and olive oil drifted faintly from the kitchen. His father's shoes were already by the door—Marco Moretti always left early for work, but not before checking on everyone.
Jaeven stepped into the dining room and saw his mother setting plates. She looked up with a beam of warmth that struck him harder than any sunlight.
"Good morning, sweetheart," she said. "You're up early."
He nodded. "Wanted to get a head start."
Lucia entered moments later, still half-asleep, hair sticking out in odd angles. She froze when she saw him fully dressed, shoes tied, looking… different.
"You're… awake. And ready. For something." She squinted at him. "Why? Who are you and what have you done with my actual brother?"
He smirked. "Funny."
But inside, the comment hit deeper. He was different. A fusion of two lives, two wills, two paths.
After breakfast—light, deliberately light, because system training required clean energy—he headed outside into the villa courtyard where yesterday's ball still rested near a small training post.
The sky was clear. Birds cut across the early light. The grass carried dew but the ground beneath it was firm.
It was the perfect place to build the foundation of his future.
He placed his foot on the ball, lightly, letting it roll beneath his sole. His heart rate steadied. His breaths deepened.
"System," he murmured. "Start training mode."
A soft chime answered.
> [Training Mode Activated.]
[Suggested Routine for Day 2: Control, Touch, Stability.]
[Warning: Overtraining not recommended.]
[Adjusting program to user physique…]
He grinned. "Let's begin."
The first drill was simple: maintaining close control while shifting balance. He tapped the ball lightly between both feet, slowly at first. He could feel the feedback almost instantly—tiny visual cues, like faint lines highlighting where the ball should connect, how his hips should angle, how his shoulders should stay relaxed.
It wasn't supernatural. It didn't auto-correct him. But it nudged him, just enough to shave milliseconds off hesitation, just enough to guide muscle memory into forming correctly.
Within twenty minutes, he felt smoother, more intentional, more in tune with the movements his body was capable of. Sweat formed on his forehead. His breaths deepened. His touches sharpened.
That's when the System chimed again.
> [Touch Consistency Increased.]
[Minor Improvement: Dribbling +1]
[Minor Improvement: Coordination +1]
Nothing explosive. Nothing magical.
But real.
Earned.
He continued, shifting into directional taps, ball manipulation with the outside of his foot, then inside rolls, then changing tempo—slow, fast, slow, sudden bursts, immediate stops.
His calves burned. His thighs tightened. His ankles warmed as if waking up after years of sleep.
He didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
Because in his previous life, all he could do was watch.
Now, he was living.
—
By midday, he was drenched in sweat. His shirt clung to his body. His breathing echoed through the courtyard, slow but controlled.
His mother stepped out with a bottle of water. "Jaeven, pace yourself," she called gently. "Don't forget you have a week until the trial."
"I'm pacing," he lied, accepting the water with a grateful smile.
She narrowed her eyes, sensing he was pushing harder than usual. Mothers always noticed.
He drank, wiped his forehead, and forced himself to rest.
Training wasn't about burning out. It was about growth.
After lunch, he reviewed professional matches—something Elias had done every day out of longing, but now he did out of ambition. Italian youth league matches, tactical breakdowns, winger positioning, transition play, pressing angles. He studied movement patterns, spacing, first-touch decisions.
He took notes mentally.
Then physically.
Then with the System.
> [Observation Skill Unlocked – Level 1]
[Effect: Slight improvement in reading in-game situations.]
[Minor Increase: Intelligence +1]
He smirked.
Good.
By late afternoon, he returned outside for ball-mastery patterns. Toe taps. Foundations. V-drag backs. Pull-push sequences. Not flashy drills. Not sexy. Not for show.
These were the invisible hours—the hours that separated talent from mastery.
The sun dipped slowly, turning the sky tangerine.
He didn't care.
He wasn't finished yet.
When he finally stumbled into the shower at sunset, his legs trembled from fatigue. His lungs felt heavier. His arms hung weakly at his sides.
But his heart?
His heart was on fire.
He slept early. No distractions. No wasted time.
Day 2 was complete.
And he had survived it.
—
Day 3 began with soreness so deep he almost mistook it for his old body. But then he stood—and felt the strength beneath the ache.
He wasn't broken.
He was building.
He warmed up gently, easing the stiffness, letting the System run micro-assisted recovery.
> [Recovery Boost Activated – Low Grade]
[Fatigue Reduced 5%]
[Muscle Adaptation: Ongoing]
The grind resumed.
Today focused on agility. Rhythm ladders. Cone weaves. Sharp changes in direction. Balance under pressure. He set up makeshift drills using cones and markers he found in the storage shed.
He visualized a defender in front of him.
He visualized space.
He visualized movement.
One touch.
Shift left.
Cut right.
Accelerate.
Stop instantly.
At first, his body lagged behind his mind.
By noon, his body began catching up.
By evening, his body was syncing with the System's subtle cues.
> [Agility Increased +1]
[Pace Increased +1]
[Balance Increased +1]
[Dribbling Increased +1]
Not big jumps.
But consistent.
Stackable.
Real.
Lucia watched him from the doorway at one point, chewing an apple.
"…You're different," she said quietly. "It's like you suddenly care. A lot."
He didn't know what to say to that, so he only answered:
"I do."
She nodded slowly and went inside.
He kept training.
He didn't stop until his legs shook again.
—
Day 4 escalated.
The System updated his intensity level.
> [Training Threshold Raised.]
[User Adaptation Successful.]
[New Drills Unlocked: Speed-Endurance / Technical Bursts]
He started with short sprints.
Not long-distance jogging.
Not marathon stamina.
Football stamina—the hardest kind.
Explosive bursts.
Short rests.
More explosive bursts.
Stopping on a dime.
Recovering instantly.
Repeating the cycle.
He pushed until every exhale felt like fire.
Then he began technical bursts:
receiving the ball → turning sharply → sprinting 10 meters → stopping → cutting → passing against a wall → receiving rebound → turning → repeating.
This wasn't just hard.
It was elite-level training.
He was drenched in sweat by midday, shirt plastered against his torso.
His mother begged him to rest.
His father, coming home early, watched from the courtyard door with an unreadable expression. Pride? Worry? Something in between.
"You're serious about this," Marco finally said.
"Yes," he said simply.
Marco nodded once. "Then don't stop."
He didn't.
By evening, the System rewarded him.
> [Pace +2]
[Stamina +1]
[Ball Control +1]
[Technique +1]
[Training Efficiency Increased]
[User Synchronization 87%]
His legs throbbed violently when he showered that night, but the pain felt like fuel.
He slept with a smile.
—
Day 5 arrived like a sunrise that already knew the world was changing.
He woke up before his alarm. His body felt lighter, sharper, more coordinated. His mind felt focused. His heart felt steady.
The trial was in two days.
Today mattered.
He did light morning exercises to loosen the muscles, then went outside with the ball balanced on his finger. A trick he'd never been able to do in his old life. Now it came naturally. Not perfectly. Not magically.
But confidently.
He trained everything together today—agility into dribbling, dribbling into shooting, shooting into ball recovery, ball recovery into sprinting.
Every skill flowing into the next.
Every movement sharpening the last.
Every hour building a player—not a prodigy, not a genius, not a superhuman—but a boy with a second chance and the will to turn it into something extraordinary.
During a short water break, he called out:
"System. Show stats."
And the screen appeared.
Not overpowered.
Not broken.
Not unrealistic.
But different.
Improved.
Earned.
> Pace: 48
Dribbling: 45
Shooting: 38
Passing: 41
Physical: 46
Intelligence: 54
Mentality: 58
Not a star.
Not yet.
But no longer the boy he had woken up as on Day 1.
He ended Day 5 with exhaustion spreading through every limb—but with clarity burning in his chest.
He was ready for the trial.
Ready for Italy.
Ready for the world.
And ready to prove that this second life wasn't luck.
It was destiny he was willing to fight for.
Jaeven stretched out on the grass one last time, letting the sun soak into his back as he stared at the wide, empty sky above the villa. Birds trailed in arcs, and the gentle hum of the city beyond the hills seemed distant, almost peaceful. He felt the heat of his exertion in every muscle, a delicious reminder that he was alive, fully alive, and not the sickly boy who had spent years tethered to machines and medicine.
His legs were stiff, his lungs still carrying the burn of repeated sprints, but the thrill of achievement coursed through him in a way he had never known. Every drop of sweat, every strained muscle, every groan of effort was proof that he had grown—not just in body, but in confidence. He knew, somewhere deep in the marrow of his bones, that this was only the beginning.
Rising slowly, he picked up the ball and spun it lightly between his hands. The rhythm felt natural now, as though the ball itself recognized him. His mind flickered to the trial, and the image of the Virtus Lombardia Academy pitch solidified in his head: crisp lines, lush green, a place where ambition met reality. There would be competition, rivals who had grown up training, honing their skills, understanding the game in ways only immersion could teach. But he felt ready. Not invincible, not perfect, but ready.
He let the ball drop and pushed it forward with his foot, watching it roll smoothly along the grass. His own footwork mirrored the motion: small, deliberate touches, each guiding him further into rhythm. He could feel his coordination sharpening with every passing second, a subtle feedback from the System that reassured him, nudged him, but never forced him.
A gust of wind lifted the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint tang of olive trees from the garden beyond. He breathed deeply, steadying himself. There was no time to hesitate, no room for doubt. He ran, a short sprint across the courtyard, shifting left, then right, planting his foot for balance, pivoting, and stopping. The motion was natural, fluid, almost instinctive. The System acknowledged each successful movement, updating silently: minor improvements stacking toward something greater, something he couldn't yet quantify, but felt in every fiber of his being.
By mid-afternoon, Jaeven had moved beyond the structured drills into freeform improvisation. He set up imaginary defenders, weaving between cones, stopping, accelerating, adjusting his stride, calculating angles, making the tiniest micro-adjustments his old body never could have managed. Each decision, each movement, built not just strength, but judgment, awareness, and confidence. This was the real work—precision forged in repetition, patience, and understanding.
After a brief pause, he approached the small wall at the edge of the courtyard. Passing the ball against it required timing, accuracy, and focus. He began with single touches: receiving, controlling, passing. Each rebound tested his reflexes and his perception. He gradually increased the complexity: one touch, pivot, step, pass; then two touches, control, move; then three, weaving motion with imaginary defenders. By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, his legs were like iron, his calves and thighs quivering with fatigue, but his mind was sharp, clearer than ever.
> [Day 5 – End of Training Session]
[Stamina +2 | Agility +2 | Dribbling +2 | Coordination +1 | Mental Focus +1]
[Synchronization: 95%]
He allowed himself a long, slow exhale, feeling the warmth of the setting sun on his back. The villa was quiet; the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, he would incorporate the tactical study he had done, overlaying strategy atop his physical training. But tonight, he simply lay on the grass, absorbing the sense of completion, of progress.
Lucia appeared then, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. "You've really changed," she said quietly. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this… serious, but not scared."
He glanced at her, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. "It's a second chance," he said simply. "I can't waste it."
She smiled faintly, nodding, but didn't press further. She understood in her own way. And that understanding, though unspoken, carried weight. He wasn't alone in this life—he had family, support, and now the power of his own body aligned with intention.
Evening settled fully, painting the sky deep purple and gold. He showered, ate lightly with his family, and retired early. Exhaustion gripped him immediately, but sleep was not merely escape—it was recovery, consolidation, the quiet reinforcement of muscle memory and neural pathways.
---
The following morning, Day 6, began differently. Jaeven woke before dawn, as was becoming habit. He moved quietly, not wanting to disturb the villa. The air was cool, crisp, carrying the scent of the garden and faintly of the morning mist. He jogged lightly, stretching, warming up, feeling every sinew, every muscle fiber. The System remained silent, a passive observer, letting him proceed without prompts. He wanted this session to be self-directed, a test of internal discipline.
He spent hours repeating the drills, combining speed and technical control. Short sprints, ball manipulation, micro-adjustments in balance, pivots, stops, and accelerations. Every movement was deliberate, measured, and efficient. For the first time, he wasn't learning purely through feedback—the body itself remembered. Muscle memory from his old life had been overwritten, yes, but the foundation of movement, discipline, and awareness remained. The System enhanced subtly, nudging him, giving micro-indicators of efficiency: a faint glow tracing his movement trajectory, a gentle alert when a pivot was slightly off.
By midday, he began layering tactical elements atop technical skills. Imaginary defenders appeared as vectors in his mind, spatial positioning dictated his movements. Each pass, each touch, each step had purpose. Not flashy, not showy, not instinct-driven in the old sense, but precise, practical, grounded.
> [Day 6 – Tactical Integration]
[Spatial Awareness +1 | Decision Making +2 | Agility +1]
[Synchronization: 97%]
Jaeven paused mid-drill, ball at his feet, sweat running into his eyes, and allowed himself a moment of reflection. He had come so far in just a few days. In his old life, this would have taken years, if it had been possible at all. He felt gratitude, determination, and a burning drive to continue.
Hours passed, blending into each other. He barely noticed lunch, consumed a small portion of protein and vegetables, and returned immediately to the courtyard. Here, he allowed for experimentation—combining dribbles, pivots, sprints, and shooting at a small makeshift goal. Each shot was studied. Each rebound analyzed mentally, incorporating the lessons of the previous passes, the timing of imaginary defenders, the angles, the trajectory, the rhythm.
By evening, the intensity had increased. The System now prompted gently:
> [Minor Alert: User nearing optimal daily exertion threshold.]
[Recommended cool-down to prevent injury.]
Jaeven ignored the prompt for a few minutes longer, completing one last sprint-pivot sequence, then finally slowing to a controlled jog and stretching.
He recorded the day mentally: pace had increased noticeably, dribbling control was smoother, shooting alignment improved slightly, stamina endurance extended. He could feel the incremental gains stacking in a way that felt tangible, organic, real.
Sleep came quickly, heavy, deep, and restorative. The consolidation of the past six days—the fusion of Elias' knowledge, Jaeven's body, and the System's subtle enhancements—made every fiber of his body ache and hum with potential.
---
Day 7—the final day before the Virtus Lombardia trial—began under a sky so clear it seemed almost surreal. The morning air carried faint traces of rosemary and olive. Jaeven rose, stretching deliberately. His body was primed, fully aware of its capabilities. Every muscle, every joint, every nerve was tuned to precision.
He began with warm-ups that flowed seamlessly into agility drills, ball control sequences, and shooting exercises. The pace increased steadily, each motion building upon the previous. His mind remained focused, analyzing angles, anticipating movement, simulating game scenarios mentally.
By late morning, he was performing complex sequences that combined every skill he had worked on: receiving a pass, turning, sprinting, executing a feint, shooting, recovering, and pivoting to defend a ball rebound. Each movement was exact, fluid, and efficient. He was no longer practicing in isolation. He was simulating a match environment, responding to pressure, and adjusting with speed and accuracy.
> [Day 7 – Pre-Trial Assessment]
[Pace: 51 | Dribbling: 49 | Shooting: 41 | Passing: 43 | Physical: 49 | Intelligence: 56 | Mentality: 60]
[Synchronization: 99%]
[Training Complete – Maximum Pre-Trial Efficiency Achieved]
As the sun reached its zenith, Jaeven paused, taking in the courtyard, the villa, the horizon. He had transformed from a frail, sickly man who had only watched life pass into a boy on the cusp of his greatest challenge.
Tomorrow, he would face the trial. Tomorrow, he would step onto a pitch where every youth had trained their entire lives to earn this moment. Tomorrow, he would begin to carve his name into reality, and the world would finally see the boy who refused to be defined by weakness.
He picked up the ball one last time, balancing it on his foot, spinning it lightly. His reflection in the window showed a young man standing tall, confident, and ready. A boy who had known fear, sickness, and limitation—and had chosen to rise anyway.
> [Countdown to Trial: 24 Hours]
He smiled, a calm, steady smile that carried the weight of preparation, growth, and unyielding determination.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, "I run not just for me… but for the second chance I've been given."
The wind whispered through the olive trees as he dribbled lightly across the courtyard one final time, every movement precise, every step a reminder of the effort, discipline, and heart that had brought him here.
And in the quiet brilliance of the setting sun, Jaeven Moretti Han was ready.