The house was finally quiet. The pizza boxes had been cleared away, the laughter had faded, and the only sound in the Lance household was the rhythmic snoring of Rio's father coming from the master bedroom down the hall.
Rio lay in his childhood bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars he had stuck to the ceiling when he was eight years old.
The First Team training session had drained every ounce of energy he had. His calves were throbbing, and his ankles felt stiff.
But his mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour.
I signed a contract, he thought, replaying the memory. I trained with Stuani. I nutmegged a defender. Leo actually watched me.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, but stopped. He didn't need the physical device anymore. He just needed to focus.
System. Open.
The familiar blue interface shimmered into existence above his bed.
[User: Rio Lance]
[Level: 2]
Rio navigated through the menus with his mind.
He scrolled past his Inventory (empty, sadly), past the Roulette (on cooldown), and landed on the [Chat Room].
Usually, he just read the text messages. But tonight, he noticed a new icon pulsating in the top right corner. It looked like a pair of retro headphones.
[Voice Lounge: Active (2 Users)]
"Voice chat?" Rio whispered.
He had unlocked the ability to hear them during the match, but he had never actually entered the "Lounge" to hang out. It was one thing to text emojis to Pele; it was another to sit in a room and talk to him.
What are they talking about at 1:00 AM? Rio wondered.
Curiosity won. He mentally tapped the headphone icon.
[Connecting to Voice Lounge...]
[Entering Room: "The Tactics Board"]
The silence of his bedroom was instantly replaced by audio that sounded crisp and immersive, as if he were wearing high-end noise-canceling headphones.
"...I'm telling you, Johan, the problem is the shoes," a raspy, passionate voice was arguing. It sounded like gravel mixed with honey. It was unmistakably Diego Maradona.
"These modern boots, they are like socks! They offer no protection! In my day, if a defender kicked you, he broke his toe. Now? He gets a yellow card and you go to the hospital!"
"It is not the shoes, Diego," a second voice replied. This one was sharp, articulate, and carried a distinct Dutch accent. It was calm but authoritative. "It is the spacing. The players today are fit, yes, but they run too much. They run into each other's zones. They clutter the pitch. Football is about space. If you have the ball, you must make the pitch big. If you don't, you make it small. It is simple geometry."
Rio lay frozen in his bed.
"Geometry, geometry," Maradona scoffed. "You always want to measure the art with a ruler. Where is the soul? Where is the hunger?"
Rio cleared his throat nervously.
Hello? he projected the thought.
The conversation stopped instantly.
"Ah," Cruyff's voice softened. "The rookie enters the chamber. Good evening, Rio."
"Rio!" Maradona cheered. "The millionaire! The man with the contract! Did you buy your mother a castle yet with your €3,000?"
Rio couldn't help but laugh. The teasing felt warm, like an uncle poking fun at a nephew.
Not a castle, Diego, Rio thought back. Just pizza. A lot of pizza.
"Pizza is good," Maradona agreed solemnly. "Naples has the best, obviously. But tell us, kid. How does it feel? The ink on the paper. The professional kit. The fear in your stomach."
It feels... unreal, Rio admitted, staring at the plastic stars on his ceiling. I was terrified all day. Every time the ball came to me in training, I thought I was going to trip. But I survived.
"Survival is the first step," Cruyff said. "I watched your session through the System link. Your first touch has improved. The advice from Zidane about the 'soft ankle' helped, I see."
Yeah, Rio said. But I'm still the worst player there. I checked my rating. I'm a 59. The guy next to me, Yan Couto, is a 76.
There was a moment of silence in the lounge. The playful tone evaporated.
"We need to discuss this," Cruyff said, his voice turning serious. "Rio, listen to me closely. The System gives you numbers not to hurt your feelings, but to save your career."
Save my career? Rio frowned. But I just started!
"Exactly," Cruyff continued. "You have signed a contract. You are going to Seville. You might even play ten minutes if the team is desperate. But ask yourself: What happens next season?"
Rio hesitated. I... I stay in the First Team? I train hard? I level up?
"No," Maradona cut in, surprisingly gentle. "Kid, listen. You are a 59. La Liga defenders are rated 78 to 85. Real Madrid defenders are 88+. Right now, you are a Chihuahua trying to race with Greyhounds. You can run, yes. But when they bite, you break."
Rio felt a cold knot form in his stomach. So what are you saying? I'm not good enough?
"Not yet," Cruyff corrected. "Development takes time. Experience points come from playing matches, not sitting on the bench watching Stuani score. If you stay at Girona next season in the First Division, you will play maybe 50 minutes all year. Your growth will stall. You will be a 61 by next Christmas. And then? They will release you."
The harsh reality of the words hit Rio hard. He had been so high on the adrenaline of the contract that he hadn't thought about the long game.
So what do I do? Rio asked, feeling small.
"You go where the mud is," Maradona said. "You go to the trenches. After this season, you must ask for a loan."
A loan?
"Yes," Cruyff said. "Go to the Segunda Division. Or even the Primera RFEF—the third tier. Go to a team where the pitch is bumpy, the defenders are butchers, and the fans scream at you from two meters away."
"In the lower leagues," Maradona added, getting excited, "you will play 90 minutes every week. You will get kicked. You will learn how to dodge. You will learn how to carry a team on your back when it is raining and you are losing 1-0. That is where you go from a 59 to a 70."
Rio turned on his side, clutching his pillow. But... I just got here. I just made my family proud. If I go to the third division, won't they be disappointed?
"Disappointed?" Cruyff laughed dryly. "Disappointment is sitting on the bench for three years and retiring at 21. Pride is playing. Rio, look at the media."
The media?
"The newspapers," Cruyff explained. "Tomorrow, they will write about you. 'The Academy Savior.' 'The New Winger.' They will build you up because they love a story. But the moment you have a bad game, they will destroy you. Do not listen to them. Do not listen to the fans. Listen to the game."
"And listen to us," Maradona said. "We are the only ones who know the truth. You have the Speed of (92). But your feet are still mortal. You need to balance the equation."
Rio lay there in the dark, processing it. It was a bitter pill to swallow. He wanted the glamour. He wanted the La Liga lights. But deep down, he knew they were right. He had barely survived a rondo.
How could he survive a full season against Barcelona or Atletico Madrid?
Okay, Rio thought, his determination hardening. I understand. I'll focus on these last five games. I'll do everything I can to help save Girona from relegation. And then... I'll ask for a loan.
"Good lad," Maradona said softly. "Smart lad."
"But for now," Cruyff's tone lightened, becoming brisk and professional again. "You are going to Seville. The Benito Villamarín is a cauldron. 60,000 fans. Green and White everywhere. It is a beautiful place to play football."
"The atmosphere is electric," Maradona agreed. "Rio, when you step off that bus, breathe it in. Let the fear turn into fuel. And if you get on the pitch..."
Yeah?
"Just run," Maradona chuckled.
"Run until your legs fall off. Chaos is your friend right now."
"And Rio," Cruyff added one last thing. "About your brother.."
Rio perked up. Leo? What about him?
"I have been analyzing his stats from your brief scan," Cruyff said. "A 90 Vision at age fifteen is... anomalous. It suggests he perceives the game faster than time flows. He is bored because everyone else is moving in slow motion for him."
That makes sense, Rio realized. He always said it was too easy.
"Keep him close," Cruyff advised. "He might be the key to unlocking your own potential. A winger needs a playmaker. A runner needs a thinker. Perhaps, in the future... the Lance Brothers could be a formidable duo."
A smile spread across Rio's face.
The idea of playing with Leo—actually playing, not just in the backyard—was a dream he hadn't dared to have in years.
I'll keep trying, Rio promised.
"Good," Maradona yawned loudly. "Now go to sleep. You have a plane to catch in five hours. And if you sleep through the alarm, I will personally haunt your dreams and sing terrible karaoke."
Goodnight, legends, Rio thought.
[Voice Lounge: Disconnected.]
The silence returned to the room, but it felt less lonely now. Rio pulled the covers up to his chin.
He wasn't just a lucky kid anymore. He was a student. He had a plan.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't dream of falling. He dreamed of running. Running fast, with the ball at his feet, and his brother passing him the ball through the eye of a needle.
Tomorrow, they fly.
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[Current User Stats Reminder]
Name: Rio Lance
Rating: 59
Next Match: Real Betis (Away) - La Liga
Inventory: Stamina Potion (Small), La Gambeta (Expired), Clockwork Eye (Used).
A/N: leave a comment bro!