Dawn on Earth does not look like the dawn on broadcasts.
On the screens, dawn always glows clean and cinematic. Light spreads like a blessing. Cities shine. Stadiums sparkle. Even the air looks expensive.
Here, dawn looks gray.
The scrapyard wakes up with the sound of metal clinking, engines coughing, and distant sirens that never fully stop. The sky carries dust, and the sun looks tired behind thin cloud.
Kai Arden stands at the edge of the yard with a small bag on his shoulder. He keeps the Orion card in his pocket like it burns. He does not tell anyone he leaves. Nobody asks. In the scrapyard district, people learn not to ask too many questions.
A transport van waits at the street corner. It looks ordinary, but it sits too still. Its paint stays too clean. A man leans against it with hands in his pockets, calm like he controls time.
Rhythm.
He watches Kai approach. He does not wave. He does not shout.
"You come," he says.
Kai stops in front of him. "I say I come."
Rhythm nods once. "Then you come."
Kai hates how simple Rhythm makes everything sound, like the world does not include Deletion and Red banners and missing planets. Kai also likes it, because simple feels like a weapon against panic.
Rhythm opens the van door. "Get in."
Kai climbs inside. The van smells like rubber and cold metal. The seats feel firm, not soft. Rhythm sits in the driver seat and starts the engine without drama.
They drive through narrow streets and broken lights. They pass walls covered with faded CSFG posters—shiny players with shining auras, smiling like the sport never bites. The posters always show the Core Ring like it is a prize. Kai sees it as a mouth.
Rhythm keeps his eyes forward.
Kai watches the road. "Where is Orion?"
Rhythm answers like he gives directions to a store. "Not here."
Kai frowns. "Then why do you recruit on Earth?"
Rhythm glances at him. "Because Earth produces players who learn balance without comfort."
Kai hears that sentence again. It annoys him.
They reach the spaceport before the city fully wakes. The port looks like a giant mechanical ribcage. Cargo cranes move slowly above huge containers. Workers in heavy suits guide shipments with light sticks. The air smells like fuel and salt and metal.
Rhythm parks, steps out, and walks with purpose. Kai follows, bag on his shoulder, eyes scanning everything. People move fast. Nobody looks at him twice. He likes that.
They pass security. Rhythm flashes his Orion ID. The guard barely checks it. Rhythm moves like he belongs in these places.
Kai steps onto a boarding ramp for a mid-size shuttle. It does not look like a luxury ship. It looks like a working beast: scratched panels, patched paint, engines that hum a little too loud.
Inside, the cabin holds rows of worn seats and a thin screen that loops CSFG highlights on low volume. The commentator's voice bursts through the cheap speakers, even here.
"LOOK AT THAT RING SHOT! THAT IS PURE SYNTHEC TIMING, FOLKS!"
Kai looks away. He does not want the voice in his head. The voice makes Red Matches sound like a party.
Rhythm sits across the aisle. He closes his eyes as if he sleeps. Kai does not believe he sleeps.
The shuttle lifts. Earth shrinks under cloud. The sky turns black. Stars appear like sharp points. Kai presses his forehead against the window for a moment and watches Earth become a sphere that looks too small to deserve deletion.
He swallows.
Rhythm speaks without opening his eyes. "You feel it."
Kai does not answer.
Rhythm continues. "Most people ignore it. They call it 'just the game.'"
Kai's jaw tightens. "It is not just the game."
Rhythm opens his eyes. "No."
The shuttle docks hours later. Kai steps out and feels the gravity shift slightly—lighter than Earth, but not enough to float. The station corridor smells like recycled air and disinfectant. Signs glow in multiple languages.
Rhythm leads him through customs with the same calm speed, then into another transport—this one smaller, louder, and definitely older. It rattles as it moves.
Kai watches out the window and sees a world that looks like industry becomes architecture. Pipes run along buildings like veins. Huge salvage yards stretch into the distance. Docking towers rise like spears.
A sign flashes above a gate:
ORION INDUSTRIAL RING — SECTOR 9
The transport turns into a fenced complex. The buildings inside look rough and functional. They do not look like the training camps on TV. They look like a place that fixes machines and eats cheap food and survives.
A faded banner hangs above the main entrance.
ORION JUNKYARD FC — TRAINING BAY
Kai stares at the words. They look real. They look embarrassing. They look honest.
Rhythm opens the door. "Welcome."
Kai steps into the bay.
The training hall smells like sweat, rubber, oil, and old metal. The floor does not look like grass. It looks like layered panels that can shift. Walls rise around the field area, and some sections carry scuff marks from hard impacts. Overhead, rails and lights hint at arena simulation modules.
A group of players already stands on the field. They stretch. They jog. They argue. They look half-awake and fully annoyed.
One tall defender with a thick build swings his arms like he warms up for a fight. He wears knee braces and a smirk. He looks like he enjoys collisions.
A smaller player with sharp eyes holds a tablet and flicks through data. She speaks quickly to someone off-screen, and her hands move like she maps invisible lines in the air.
A goalkeeper sits on the floor near the goal frame, calm and still. A hood covers part of their head, and a small device rests near their ear. They look more like a machine than a person.
A winger balances a ball on his foot and pretends he does not try too hard.
They all pause when Rhythm and Kai enter.
The tall defender squints. "Coach, why is there a kid in here?"
Rhythm steps forward. "This is Kai."
The winger tilts his head. "Kai who?"
Rhythm says, "Kai Arden."
The data girl's eyes sharpen. "Earth?"
Kai feels heat rise in his chest. "Yes."
The defender laughs once. "Earth sends rooftop dribblers now? What is next, street dancers?"
Kai's fingers flex. He does not like being laughed at.
Rhythm raises a hand. The room quiets. "He tries out."
The winger shrugs. "We try out every week and still lose."
The defender snorts. "We lose because we cannot afford decent gear."
The data girl says, "We lose because we do not read lane drift fast enough."
The keeper says nothing. The keeper only watches Kai, head slightly tilted.
Rhythm points toward the field. "Warm up. Then test."
The defender cracks his neck and steps closer to Kai. He looks down like he measures height.
"I am Bram Ironknee," he says. "I play defense. I break strikers."
Kai holds his gaze. "I run through defenses."
Bram grins wider. "Good. I like confidence. It tastes better when it breaks."
The winger snorts. "Bram, stop flirting with violence."
Bram points a finger at him. "Shut up, Jett."
Jett rolls his eyes. "I am Jett. I score sometimes. Mostly I complain."
The data girl steps closer and offers her hand. "Sana Quill. Midfield. Strategy. Brain."
Kai shakes her hand. Her grip is firm. Her eyes study him like a puzzle.
Sana speaks quickly. "You play street football. You play tight spaces. You likely rely on improvisation. That helps in LUNA. That kills you in UMBRA."
Kai blinks. "You already judge me."
Sana shrugs. "That is my job."
Kai looks toward the keeper. The keeper still watches him, silent.
Jett leans in and whispers, "That is M0SS. Our keeper. Do not ask why the name. Just accept it."
Kai nods slowly.
Rhythm claps once. "Warm up."
They begin.
Kai stretches with them. He keeps his face neutral. He pretends he does not feel nervous. His stomach tightens anyway.
The floor under the field hums softly. It does not stay perfectly still. It feels like the panels adjust micro-level traction, like the ground tests them even during warm-up.
Bram jogs heavy and stable. He moves like gravity is his friend.
Sana runs light, scanning everything, eyes always moving.
Jett bounces on his toes like he stores energy.
M0SS moves minimally, mostly practicing small foot shifts and quick drops, like a predator that saves energy.
Rhythm watches from the side. His eyes track how feet land. His eyes track how people breathe. He looks like he hears rhythm in bones.
After warm-up, Rhythm steps onto the field.
"Tryout test," he says. "Simple."
Bram laughs. "Nothing is simple here."
Rhythm points toward the center line. "First drill: lane response."
A panel lights up on the floor. Three glowing stripes appear: SOL, LUNA, UMBRA. Kai feels excitement and dread mix inside him.
Rhythm speaks in the same calm tone. "Ball stays live. Walls stay live. Floor shifts."
Sana raises a finger. "Coach, which directive?"
Rhythm answers, "No directive. Only drift."
Bram groans. "Pure lane drift. Great."
Rhythm whistles.
A ball shoots out from a dispenser and rolls fast toward Kai.
Kai traps it cleanly. He smiles slightly. A ball always makes sense.
Then the floor shifts.
Not dramatically. Not like TV. Just enough.
The SOL lane slides a fraction to the right. Kai's next step lands at an angle he does not expect. His ankle wobbles. He keeps the ball anyway, but he feels the threat immediately: the ground does not promise stability.
Bram charges in as a defender. He does not tackle yet. He pressures, body close, forcing Kai toward the seam between lanes.
Kai feints left. Bram follows.
Kai cuts right—and the traction changes as his foot crosses into LUNA.
The lighter feel surprises him. His step travels farther than he expects. He almost over-rotates. He adjusts mid-motion and keeps the ball with a toe tap.
Sana calls from the side, quick and sharp. "LUNA steals your braking. Shorten steps."
Kai grits his teeth and shortens steps.
Bram closes. "He listens. Cute."
Kai flicks the ball toward the wall and chases it. He uses the wall like he uses a rooftop fence back home. The rebound comes back clean.
Jett whistles. "Okay, that rebound looks natural."
Kai keeps moving. He tries to sprint toward SOL for stability.
The floor shifts again.
UMBRA expands slightly, like a shadow spreads. Kai's stride lands in UMBRA by accident.
The heaviness hits him like someone grabs his legs. His speed drops. His lungs tighten. The ball feels heavier too, even though it stays the same.
Bram smiles like he waits for this. He bumps Kai's shoulder.
Kai stumbles. The ball rolls half a meter away.
Bram reaches for it.
Kai throws his body forward, stretches his foot, and taps the ball back to himself at the last moment.
He recovers it.
But he feels the cost: UMBRA does not forgive panic.
Rhythm's voice stays calm. "Again."
The drill repeats with variations. Lane drift increases. The seams pulse. The walls return balls at strange angles. Bram pressures harder. Jett tries to intercept. Sana watches like she counts mistakes.
Kai adapts slowly.
He learns to keep his knees softer.
He learns to shorten his stride in LUNA.
He learns not to fight UMBRA head-on. He learns to exit UMBRA quickly or use it for one strong push instead of a long run.
Sweat forms under his hair. His breathing grows loud. His legs shake slightly after a heavy-Umbra push.
Bram grins. "Still standing."
Kai does not answer. He focuses on the ball.
Rhythm calls a stop.
"Second drill," Rhythm says. "Shot choice."
Two targets light up at the far end: the Main Gate and the Core Ring. The Ring slides along its rail slowly, like it taunts.
Rhythm points at Kai. "You choose."
Kai's eyes lock on the Ring. The Ring feels like a challenge.
Sana speaks fast. "Do not fall in love with the Ring. It loves back only when it wants."
Kai ignores her warning and lines up a shot.
He takes two steps, strikes the ball, and aims for the Ring.
The Ring slides.
Kai misses by centimeters.
The ball hits the wall behind the goal area and rebounds hard, shooting back into the field like a counterattack.
Jett laughs. "That is why Ring greed kills teams."
Bram charges onto the rebound like a defender in a real match. He clears it with one kick and sends it rolling back to midfield.
Rhythm looks at Kai. "Again."
Kai tries again—this time he watches the Ring movement, breathes, times his strike.
He hits the Ring's edge.
The ball deflects away.
Sana shakes her head. "Close is not enough."
Kai feels frustration rise.
Rhythm speaks, calm. "Main Gate exists for a reason."
Kai swallows and aims for the Main Gate. He shoots.
Goal.
The Gate flashes.
Rhythm nods once. "Good."
Kai hears Bram's voice, teasing but not cruel. "So you can score like a normal person."
Kai wipes sweat from his brow. "I can score however I want."
Bram laughs. "Say that after a real defender breaks you."
Rhythm raises a hand again. "Third drill. Scrimmage."
The team's heads lift. Even Bram looks more serious.
Rhythm points. "Four on four. Short field. Drift active. Walls live. No directives."
Sana speaks quickly, "This is basically a match without warning."
Rhythm nods. "Yes."
Kai joins one side with Jett and Sana. Bram joins the other side with two reserve players. M0SS stands in goal for Kai's side, silent and watchful.
The scrimmage begins.
Kai feels it immediately: drills feel like puzzles, but scrimmage feels like survival.
Bram plays defense like a wall that moves. He uses his body to block lanes. He pressures without fouling. He forces Kai toward seams and tries to trap him in UMBRA where his legs slow.
Sana moves like she sees drift before it happens. She directs Jett with short calls: "Now. Switch. Back. Wall."
Jett complains even while he runs. "Why do I always run?"
Kai tries to dribble through. Bram hits him with a clean shoulder block. Kai slides half a step, keeps the ball, then uses the wall to bounce it behind Bram.
The rebound works.
Kai slips into LUNA and accelerates.
For a second he feels free.
Then the lane drifts.
His footing shifts, and he almost oversteps again.
M0SS's voice finally appears—low, calm, almost mechanical.
"Short."
Kai shortens his steps. He keeps control.
He looks up. The Main Gate opens. The Ring slides to the left.
Kai chooses the Gate. He shoots.
Goal.
Jett throws his arms up. "Finally! Someone scores!"
Bram clicks his tongue. "Lucky."
Sana points. "Not lucky. He chooses Gate. He learns."
The scrimmage continues with fast turns. Kai takes hits. Kai takes rebounds. Kai learns the floor does not forgive stiff ankles. Kai learns walls create opportunities and traps at the same time.
At one moment, Bram forces him into UMBRA. Kai feels weight clamp onto him. He loses speed. Bram reaches in and tries to steal.
Kai does not panic. He plants both feet, uses the heaviness to stabilize, and pivots like he turns a rooftop corner. He shields the ball, then taps it backward to Sana.
Sana's eyes flash with approval. She shoots immediately toward the Ring—not to score, but to force a rebound angle that returns to Jett.
Jett finishes in the Main Gate.
Goal.
Kai hears Rhythm's quiet voice from the sideline. "Better."
The scrimmage ends with both sides breathing hard.
Rhythm steps forward.
Bram wipes sweat and points at Kai. "He is not trash."
Jett nods reluctantly. "He is annoying, but not trash."
Sana stares at Kai like she updates a mental file. "He adapts. He listens. He does not freeze."
M0SS says nothing. M0SS only nods once.
Rhythm looks at Kai. "You finish tryout."
Kai's chest tightens. "That means what?"
Rhythm answers simply. "That means you join."
Kai exhales, long. Relief mixes with fear.
Bram claps Kai's shoulder hard enough to sting. "Welcome to losing with us."
Kai snaps, "We do not lose."
Bram laughs. "Good. Keep saying that."
Rhythm gestures toward the locker area. "Gear."
Kai follows. Inside, lockers look dented and used. Jerseys hang on hooks. Some have patches. Some have repaired seams. A few boots sit with fresh tape.
This is not a glamorous team.
This is a team that survives.
Sana walks beside Kai. "You come at a bad time," she says.
Kai looks at her. "Why?"
She shrugs. "Because the Circuit tightens. Because sponsors pressure teams. Because arena schedules get mean."
Kai hears the warning in her tone, but she does not say anything secret. She only states what any serious fan knows: the higher you climb, the sharper the game bites.
Jett flops onto a bench. "We need money. We need wins. We need a miracle striker."
Kai turns toward him. "Do not call me miracle."
Jett smirks. "Then score like one."
Bram leans back against a locker. "Coach, when do we play next?"
Rhythm answers, "Soon."
Kai's stomach tightens again. "Soon" in CSFG always means danger.
Rhythm looks at Kai like he reads the thought. "You watch a Red Match and you decide you hate the system," he says. "Good."
Kai meets his eyes. "I do."
Rhythm nods. "Then you learn the game. You learn the lanes. You learn how to win when the floor lies."
Kai grips his new jersey. It feels rough and real in his hands.
Sana speaks, softer now. "Orion is not a hero team," she says. "We do not get fair treatment. We do not get easy schedules. We do not get pretty stadiums."
Kai answers without hesitation. "Then we take ugly wins."
Bram laughs again. "I like that."
M0SS finally speaks again, one sentence, quiet and direct.
"Win."
Kai turns toward the keeper.
M0SS's eyes stay steady. "Win," M0SS repeats, like it is the only prayer worth speaking in CSFG.
Kai nods once.
Outside, the training bay lights hum. The floor panels cool. The walls stand silent, waiting for the next impact.
Kai changes into Orion gear. He looks at himself in a cracked mirror panel.
He does not look like a champion.
He looks like a kid from Earth wearing a patched jersey in a rough training bay on an industrial ring.
But his eyes look different now. They look like they refuse to accept the scoreboard as destiny.
Rhythm's voice carries from the field. "Team meeting. Now."
Kai steps out and joins the circle.
Rhythm stands in the center, calm as ever.
"This is Orion Junkyard FC," Rhythm says. "We stay alive by learning faster than the arena shifts."
He looks at each player, then at Kai.
"You join today," he says. "You train today. You bleed today."
Kai swallows.
Rhythm continues. "And when the stadium lights turn red for someone else…"
He pauses, letting the sentence hang.
"…you remember why you play."
Kai feels the memory of the missing orbit return like a cold wave.
He nods. "I remember."
Bram cracks his knuckles. "Then let's work."
Sana lifts her tablet. "Then let's map drift."
Jett groans. "Then let's suffer."
M0SS stands, silent, ready.
Kai steps forward with them, and the training bay feels less like a building and more like a door.
A door that opens toward the Solar Circuit.
A door that leads to arenas that shift and scream and judge.
A door that leads to the game that can erase worlds—
and to the only place where Kai believes he can fight back.
Because if CSFG decides who stays written into the Solar System, then Kai chooses to write Orion's name in permanent ink.
And he begins right now.