Casteldebole Training Centre.The Rondo Drill.
The sun was relentless, baking the red clay beneath the grass. Rio stood in the center of a 10-meter grid marked by orange cones. He wore the orange bib—the mark of the outsider, the prey. Around him, eight Bologna players formed a circle. They passed the ball rapidly, their touches crisp and violent. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Rio's job as the "Joker" was simple: chase the ball. If he intercepted it, the player who lost possession would enter the middle. But today, the unwritten rules were different. The players weren't trying to keep the ball away from him. They were trying to hit him with it.
Thwack! A pass from a midfielder wasn't aimed at his teammate. It was aimed directly at Rio's shins. A "hospital pass"—fired with maximum power, designed to make him control it awkwardly so he would be vulnerable.
Rio reacted on instinct, trapping the ball dead with his chest. But the moment the ball touched him, a shadow blotted out the sun. Lorenzo De Luca.
The Captain wasn't supposed to enter the circle. It was against the rules of the drill. But Lorenzo didn't care. He abandoned his position in the perimeter, charging like a bull seeing red. This wasn't pressing. This was hunting.
"Welcome to Italy!" Lorenzo shouted, launching himself into a slide tackle. Studs up. Aimed directly at Rio's right standing ankle.
Rio's brain screamed. He's not trying to get the ball. He's trying to snap my leg.
[SYSTEM ALERT][Immediate Danger Detected][Physical Difference: -17 Points][Collision Outcome: 98% Probability of Fracture]
Time seemed to liquify. The adrenaline from the Bionic Heart flooded his system, dilating Rio's perception of reality. He saw the blades of grass flying up from Lorenzo's boots. He saw the malicious glint in the Captain's eyes. He saw his career ending before it began.
Rio tried to move, but his muscles were heavy. His Agility stat was only 58. He needed help. He needed a cheat code.
[OPEN SHOP]
Rio mentally screamed at the interface. The shop menu flickered open in his vision, overlaying the incoming tackle like a HUD in a fighter jet.
[The Cannon] (Cost: 7 Days) - Useless. I don't need to shoot; I need to survive. [Ronaldinho's Elastic] (Cost: 15 Days) - Too expensive. [Zidane's Roulette] (Cost: 12 Days) - Too risky on this surface.
His eyes locked on a cheaper skill. A skill designed for survival against giants.
[Skill: The Matador (Passive)][Grade: B][Effect: Permanently increases Evasion by 50% when facing an opponent with higher Strength. Automates "La Croqueta" movement in high-stress situations.][Cost: 3 Days of Lifespan]
3 Days. Three days of life to save an ankle. Buy it!
[TRANSACTION COMPLETE][Remaining Lifespan: 363 Days, 14 Hours, 15 Minutes]
ZING. Electric current shot through Rio's hips and knees, rewriting his muscle memory in a nanosecond. His body moved before his brain gave the command.
Lorenzo arrived like a freight train. Rio didn't jump away. He stood his ground until the last millisecond. Then, his feet blurred. Right foot -> Left foot. The classic La Croqueta. The ball shifted laterally, disappearing from Lorenzo's path like a ghost. Rio's body glided sideways, as if greased.
[Skill Activation: The Matador]
Lorenzo slid past him. The Captain tackled nothing but empty air and dry grass. His momentum was so great that he couldn't stop. He slid three meters, crashing through the orange cones and tumbling into the dirt outside the grid.
Rio stood perfectly still, the ball glued to his left foot. He looked down at the fallen giant.
"Olé," Rio whispered.
The training ground went silent. The pop-pop-pop of the ball stopped. The other players stared, mouths slightly open. They had seen Lorenzo break wingers in half with that tackle. But the "Tourist" had just made the Captain look like a drunk man slipping on ice.
Lorenzo scrambled to his feet, dirt smeared on his cheek. His face was red—a mix of embarrassment and pure, unadulterated rage. He spat out a clump of grass. "Lucky," Lorenzo hissed, ignoring the fact that he had left the grid. "Do it again."
Lorenzo didn't wait for the ball to move. He charged again. This time, he didn't slide. He used his upper body, leading with his shoulder to check Rio into the ground. A legal charge in a match, but lethal in training.
Rio waited. The System hummed. [The Matador] was a passive skill; it was always on.
Rio waited for the impact. At the exact moment of contact, he spun. He used Lorenzo's own mass against him. Rio pivoted on one foot, letting Lorenzo barge into his back, and spun around him. The Turn.
Lorenzo stumbled forward, off-balance, his heavy frame unable to correct the momentum. He flailed and fell onto his hands and knees. Rio emerged on the other side with the ball, untouched. He passed it calmly to a stunned midfielder.
"Keep the ball moving," Rio said in English, loud enough for Coach Rossi to hear. "This is a passing drill, right? Not wrestling?"
Lorenzo slammed his fist into the turf. "FANCULO!"
FWEEET!
Coach Marco Rossi blew his whistle sharp and loud. He walked into the circle. He didn't look at Lorenzo. He looked at Rio. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He was searching for something—fear, arrogance, luck? He found only cold calculation.
"Water break," Rossi barked. "Valdes. Don't get comfortable. That was just a warm-up."
As the team dispersed, the atmosphere had shifted. The snickers were gone. The players glanced at Rio with a mix of suspicion and wariness. They didn't respect him yet. But they knew one thing: The Tourist bites back.
The Sidelines.
Rio walked over to the water cooler, his heart rate slowly normalizing. Adrian Vance wheeled himself over. The crippled genius was looking at his tablet, replaying a video clip. He had recorded the whole thing.
"Reaction time: 0.18 seconds," Adrian muttered. "That's fighter pilot level. Your medical file says you have a weak heart, but your nervous system is hyper-reactive."
Rio drank the water greedily. "I paid for it," he whispered, wiping his mouth.
Adrian paused. He looked up at Rio, lowering his tablet. "You paid? You mean... the trade?"
Rio nodded grimly. "Three days. Gone."
Adrian looked at the screen again. He watched Lorenzo fall on his face in slow motion. "Three days of life to humiliate the Captain of Bologna and assert dominance?" Adrian smiled. A genuine, terrifying smile. "That's a bargain, Rio. Best investment I've ever seen. We just bought ourselves breathing room."
Adrian pointed to the far side of the field. Coach Rossi was talking to his assistant, gesturing aggressively toward Rio. "Rossi is confused," Adrian analyzed. "He thinks you are a technical player because of that dribble. He will try to put you in the 'Hole'—the Trequartista role—to expose your lack of physicality in the next match." Adrian's eyes gleamed behind his spectacles. "He thinks he is setting you up to fail against the butchers in the Reserve Team. But he doesn't know you have an Item Shop."
Rio crushed the paper cup in his hand. "When is the next match?"
"Sunday," Adrian said. "A friendly against the Reserve Team. If you dominate that, you make the bench for Serie A." Adrian tapped his temple. "Save your 'currency', Rio. You will need a lot more than three days to survive Sunday."
Rio looked back at the pitch. Lorenzo was staring at him from the other side, his eyes promising murder.
[Mission Complete: Survive the First Session][Reward: +2 Days of Lifespan][Net Loss: 1 Day]
Rio sighed. He had survived. But he was still losing time. I need to score goals, Rio thought. Humiliating bullies is fun, but goals buy me years.
"Let's go," Rio said. "I need to train. Without the System."
Adrian nodded, turning his wheelchair. "Smart choice. Magic is expensive. Muscle is free."