The rain had stopped, leaving behind a glistening sheen that coated the narrow alleyway outside Ares's apartment. Dawn crawled slowly across the skyline of Solaris City, painting the concrete towers with a dull orange glow. Ares had barely slept. His mind was a storm he could not escape.
The system's message still echoed in the back of his consciousness like a whisper he couldn't block out:
[Main Quest Activated: Path of a Prodigy]
[Deadline: 72 Hours]
[Objective: Join a recognized football club's trial and pass the first evaluation.]
[Failure Penalty: System lockout for 90 days. All current bonuses suspended.]
Ninety days without the system.
Ninety days without the one thing that had finally made him feel he wasn't cursed by fate.
He couldn't let that happen.
Ares stepped into the living room, tying his shoelaces with trembling fingers. He checked the time: 6:14 AM. His trial with Falcon Youth Academy U19 was in just two hours—the club considered one of the harshest places for walk-ins, famous for rejecting players with a single glance.
He had nothing but potential and a system speaking inside his mind.
Or maybe that was finally enough.
Ares's Decision
The door creaked as he opened it. The early morning air slapped him awake with its cold bite. As he walked toward the bus station, he replayed the previous night's training. How the system had forced him past exhaustion, reshaping his body, sharpening his instincts.
He remembered how Skill: Vision Pulse (Lv. 1) had shown him the entire field as if he stood above it—like the world slowed, revealing passing lanes normal humans couldn't see.
He remembered the burning in his muscles, the taste of iron in his mouth, the system whispering:
[Greatness demands sacrifice.]
For the first time in his life, something believed in him.
Yet there was fear, too.
Because he didn't want greatness.
He wanted a purpose.
The bus arrived with a squeal of ancient brakes. Ares boarded, sitting by the window. His reflection stared back—calm eyes, but beneath them lived storms.
"What if I fail again…?" Ares whispered to himself.
A soft chime echoed in his head.
[Emotional spike detected. Activating auxiliary support.]
Then a voice—firm, almost human.
[You do not fail. You learn. The only failure is surrender.]
Ares closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
"Then let's learn."
At the Falcon Youth Academy
The academy was massive—steel fences, perfectly trimmed fields, and a logo of a soaring falcon plastered across the front building. Even from outside, he could hear shouting, whistles, and the thudding beat of players training.
Ares swallowed.
Dozens of walk-in players crowded around the registration booth. Most were older, stronger, or at least wearing professional training kits. Compared to them, his worn-out boots and simple sportswear looked almost laughable.
Someone bumped his shoulder.
"Move aside, rookie." The guy smirked. Tall. Muscular. Confident. "Trials aren't for kids."
Ares didn't reply. He stepped forward, shoulders tight. Hatred wasn't useful. The system had taught him that. But he felt the sting. He remembered every insult he'd swallowed growing up.
[Will of the System resonates. Emotional charge detected. Strength parameters slightly increased.]
He steadied himself.
At the registration desk, the coach glanced up with a bored expression. He read Ares's name, paused, then frowned.
"Ares?"
"Yes, sir."
"Never heard of you. Any club experience?"
"…No."
"Any academy?"
"No."
"National youth team?"
"No."
The coach sighed loudly.
"So you're a nobody."
Ares inhaled sharply—but before he could speak, the system's cold whisper filled him.
[Do not respond emotionally. You are here to prove, not argue.]
Ares nodded politely. "I'm here to try."
"For your sake, kid," the coach muttered, stamping the form, "I hope you survive five minutes."
The Evaluation Begins
The walk-in players were divided into three groups. Ares was placed in Group C, the overflow group—usually the lowest priority.
The assistant coach shouted across the field, "Simple drills first! Ball control, pace, stamina. If you fail any one of them, you go home. No complaints!"
The players groaned.
Ares stood in line. His heart hammered, but the system's hum inside his head remained steady.
[Skill: Micro-Calibrate (Passive) Activated]
[Your steps, touches, and movements adjust by 1–3% for optimal efficiency.]
The first drill: dribbling through cones.
Two players before him stumbled. One kicked the cone entirely. The coaches didn't even look up.
"Ares, go!"
He sprinted forward, the ball glued to his foot. The world shifted—Vision Pulse flickered to life. The cones weren't obstacles; they were part of a pattern, a rhythm only he could see. His steps became smoother than he expected, balance perfect, pace consistent.
He finished the drill in 6.8 seconds.
The assistant coach's head snapped up. "What was the time?"
A staff member checked the stopwatch. "…Uh… second fastest this morning."
The tall muscular guy who mocked him earlier glared, jaw clenched.
Ares didn't celebrate. The system's voice urged him:
[Do not grow complacent. This is only the beginning.]
Next was a 200-meter sprint, then short passing drills, then first-touch evaluation. Each time, Ares pushed his body harder—but the system synchronized with him, supporting his form, enhancing his control, sharpening his awareness.
By midday, half the walk-ins were gone.
Ares remained.
Sweat drenched his shirt. His legs trembled. But he felt alive.
More alive than he had ever felt.
The Final Test: The Scrimmage
"Last trial!" the head coach barked. "A full-field scrimmage. Performance only. We aren't looking for goals—we're looking for intelligence."
Ares's heart thudded.
This was where Vision Pulse truly mattered.
Group C was split into two teams: yellow and red. Ares was placed as a midfielder for the yellow team.
The whistle blew.
Chaos erupted immediately—players lunging, shouting, sprinting. But to Ares, everything slowed. Vision Pulse activated instinctively, outlining players with faint trajectories only he could see.
A teammate ran into a crowded space—bad decision. Ares didn't pass.
Instead, he turned his body, twisting between two defenders. His movement shocked even him. The ball stayed at his feet like he had trained with it for years.
"Who the hell is that kid?" a coach muttered on the sidelines.
Ares saw an opening—a striker making a diagonal run, but a defender closing fast. Only a perfectly weighted pass could break through.
[Skill Upgrade Detected: Vision Pulse → Level 2]
[New Feature: Trajectory Prediction (+15% Accuracy)]
Ares struck the ball.
It curved. Not in a straight arc, but in a calculated line that bypassed the defender's foot by a hair before landing perfectly in front of the striker.
"WHAT A PASS!"
The field murmured.
Within seconds, whispers spread.
"Who is that kid?"
"He doesn't move like an amateur…"
"No academy experience? You joking?"
Ares didn't hear them.
He was focused.
Play after play, he dominated—not with brute strength, but with intelligence the system amplified.
He intercepted passes before they were made.
He positioned himself at impossible angles.
He orchestrated the midfield like an invisible conductor.
The trial ended with his team winning 3–0.
Not because he scored.
But because he controlled the game.
After the Whistle
Silence followed.
The head coach approached slowly, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Ares."
"Yes, sir."
"You… are something."
Ares stayed quiet.
"We'll post the results online in 24 hours. No promises. But…" The coach's eyes narrowed. "You're not a nobody. That much I'll admit."
Ares nodded, bowing slightly before leaving the field.
His entire body throbbed with pain.
But his heart?
It felt like a star had been lit inside it.
System Notification
As he stepped outside the academy gates, the system chimed:
[Main Quest Progress: 100%]
[Quest Complete]
[Reward: Skill Unlock – Will Resonance Mode (Temporary)]
[Duration: 10 minutes (usable once)]
[Note: This is a power tied to your emotional state. Use it only at decisive moments.]
Ares exhaled softly.
He didn't know what was coming next.
But for the first time… he felt ready.