The next morning arrived too quickly.
Ares woke before dawn, his muscles still aching from yesterday's drills. Every inch of his body protested as he pushed himself out of bed, but his mind was sharp—sharper than it had ever been.
Thirty days.
No—twenty-nine now.
And each day mattered.
He splashed cold water onto his face, grabbed his worn-out boots, and headed straight for the stadium. The air was crisp, almost painfully fresh, and the neighborhood was still half-asleep. A lone dog barked somewhere in the distance as Ares jogged across the cracked pavement.
When he reached the gate, he expected the same silence as always.
Instead—
Rowan Vale was already there.
Standing like a statue, holding his clipboard, eyes watching Ares with unreadable intensity.
"You're early," Ares said between breaths.
"So are you," Rowan replied. "Good. That means you're starting to understand what real training looks like."
Ares swallowed and nodded.
Rowan pointed toward the cones on the field.
"Warm-up. Ten minutes. Then we begin."
Ares jogged onto the grass, starting with light touches and gentle dribbling. His legs were stiff, but each movement began smoothing out as he continued. The rising sun painted the sky shades of pink and gold, casting long shadows across the field.
It felt quiet. Too quiet.
Until—
DING.
Ares nearly tripped.
A panel flickered softly at the corner of his vision.
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: ANTICIPATION
Your efforts are drawing attention.
Skill Boost: Unyielding Spark effectiveness +10%.
⸻
Ares' lips pulled into a subtle smile.
Someone out there… someone he would never meet… was expecting something from him.
And that alone made his heartbeat stronger.
Rowan blew a whistle.
"Locke! To me!"
Ares sprinted toward him, stopping just shy of Rowan's polished shoes.
"We're working on close control today," Rowan said. "If you can't handle the ball under pressure, you won't survive the trials."
Ares nodded.
"We'll start with a simple drill. Dribble through these six cones without losing the ball or breaking rhythm. Three rounds. I'll time you."
Rowan stepped back.
"Go."
Ares pushed forward, feet tapping the ball with quick, controlled touches. First cone—clean. Second—smooth. Third—
His foot angle shifted slightly, brushing the ball too far to the left.
He recovered, but Rowan's voice cut in sharply.
"Too much force. Reset. Again."
Ares inhaled, returned to the starting line, and tried again.
First cone—clean.
Second—clean.
Third—clean.
Fourth—
His foot slipped on a damp patch of grass.
"Reset."
Ares gritted his teeth, jogging back.
Rowan's tone didn't soften, not even a little.
"This drill isn't about speed. It's about discipline. Technique. Rhythm. If you don't build those now, no system—no miracle—will save you."
The words struck a strange chord.
No system will save you.
Ares blinked.
Did Rowan… feel something was off?
No. Impossible.
The system was invisible. Unexplainable. Not something Rowan could detect.
And yet—
Ares shook the thought away.
Focus.
Again.
He dribbled through the cones, fighting to stay balanced, to control the ball, to breathe properly. Sweat began dripping from his temples. His legs burned. His lungs tightened.
But his touches grew better.
Cleaner.
Sharper.
More deliberate.
Rowan's eyes narrowed.
"…Good. Again."
The sun climbed higher.
Time blurred.
Ares repeated the drill until his entire body trembled.
Yet every repetition built something inside him—something he couldn't quite name, but felt growing steadily.
Determination?
Control?
Or something deeper, ignited by the invisible readers watching him?
He wasn't sure.
But the system noticed.
DING.
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: RESPECT (Minor)
Temporary Buff: +2% Ball Control
⸻
Ares nearly laughed.
Even 2% felt huge right now.
Rowan raised a hand.
"That's enough dribbling. Time for passing."
He placed a target frame near the goalpost—just a small rectangle, barely big enough for a ball to fit.
"You'll hit this from fifteen meters," Rowan said. "With accuracy. Not power."
Ares nodded.
He positioned the ball, stepped back, and made a simple pass.
The ball skimmed wide—barely missing.
Rowan shook his head. "Again."
Ares repositioned.
Tap.
Wide.
"Again."
Tap.
High.
"Again."
Tap.
Short.
Ares clenched his jaw.
Rowan's voice was calm, but strict.
"Passing isn't luck. It's repetition. Commit to the movement."
Ares reset.
Tap.
This one hit the frame—and bounced off.
Rowan lifted a brow.
"Better. But not consistent. Again."
Ares took a breath.
His foot connected—
THUCK.
Perfect hit, centered.
Rowan nodded once.
"Again."
For the next forty minutes, the world narrowed to the ball, his foot, and the rectangular target. The repetition carved new instincts into him. Not perfect—but no longer chaotic.
Rowan finally exhaled.
"That's enough for today."
Ares nearly collapsed from relief.
But then—
DING.
⸻
Quest Progress: Impress Rowan Vale
Status: 71% completed
⸻
Ares blinked in surprise.
He didn't expect progress this quickly.
Rowan walked over, arms crossed.
"You're improving."
A pause.
"Faster than expected."
Ares wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Thank you."
"It's not praise," Rowan said bluntly. "It's pressure. You'll need much more if you want to survive the trial."
Ares nodded.
"I'll take whatever you give me."
Rowan's expression softened—barely.
"…I can see that."
He closed his folder.
"Locke. Come tomorrow at six. Earlier, if you can manage it."
Ares nodded again, biting back a tired smile.
"I'll be here."
Rowan turned and walked toward the exit.
Ares let his body collapse onto the grass.
Twenty-nine days left.
Rowan pushing him to the brink.
Readers quietly watching him evolve.
A system hungry for more.
And a future that felt closer today than it ever had.
Ares lifted an arm toward the sky.
"I'll make all of you proud," he whispered.
The clouds drifted slowly overhead.
Somewhere distant—
—someone watched him.
Unseen.
Unheard.
But influencing everything.
The system chimed softly, like a whisper of encouragement.
DING.
⸻
Reader Engagement Rising…
Willpower Capacity Increased.
⸻
Ares smiled.
Tomorrow would be even harder.
But that only meant he was on the right path.