The academy grounds were alive with the buzz of morning training. Sunlight glinted off the freshly trimmed grass, birds chirped overhead, and the distant hum of the city reminded Noah that life outside the academy carried on, indifferent to the battles on this small pitch.
Noah tightened his boots and adjusted his jersey. Yesterday's match had left him both exhausted and exhilarated, a strange combination that made him feel more alive than he had in years.
Liam, ever energetic, bounced a ball between his feet. "You ready for today, slowpoke?" he called.
Noah smirked. "I'll be ready when you actually beat me in a sprint, Rocket."
Liam laughed but didn't respond, kicking the ball lightly toward Noah, who controlled it with ease.
He could already feel the subtle improvements the system had granted him—small boosts in ball control, spatial awareness, and stamina—but Noah knew he couldn't rely on it alone. He still had to train, sweat, and earn every centimeter on the field.
"Settle down, boys!" the coach's voice boomed.
"Today's exercise isn't just about passing or dribbling. It's about reading the game—anticipation, positioning, and mental agility. I want full focus!"
Noah nodded. He glanced around at his teammates, each one focused and determined.
But then, from the opposite end of the pitch, a familiar figure appeared.
Damien Blackwood.
Even from a distance, Noah recognized him.
The boy had been a thorn in his side years ago—talented, arrogant, and relentless.
Damien was everything Noah wasn't in his first life: naturally gifted, effortlessly precise, and always confident that he was destined for greatness.
And now he was back.
Damien's eyes scanned the academy field and landed on Noah. A sly smirk curved his lips.
"Ravenscroft," he called out, his voice carrying across the grass. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Noah felt a flash of irritation, quickly tempered by a surge of determination. Not this time. He squared his shoulders. "Surprised? I've got unfinished business, Blackwood."
Liam elbowed him playfully. "Ohhh, it's getting spicy already!"
Damien's smirk widened.
"Don't get cocky, kid.
You're still just a shadow compared to what I can do."
Noah's jaw tightened. A shadow, huh? We'll see about that.
The coach blew his whistle. "Pairs for today! Noah, Damien—scrimmage drill. Everyone else, support positions. Begin!"
Noah jogged to the center of the field, Damien already pacing with ease, a ball at his feet.
As soon as the whistle blew again, Damien lunged forward, his movements almost instinctively precise.
He intercepted the ball before Noah could even reach it, turning with a flourish and sprinting down the pitch.
Noah ran after him, heart pounding, muscles straining. Focus. Timing. Predict the move.
SYSTEM ALERT: Opponent behavior detected. Predicted trajectory: diagonal left dribble with spin move. Success probability: 65%.
Noah felt the glow of the system guiding his awareness. He adjusted his stance, anticipating the feint.
Damien spun, but Noah pivoted perfectly, stepping in front just as the ball rolled past.
"Oi! That was lucky!" Damien shouted, spinning back to face him.
Noah smirked, shaking his head. "Not luck. Just… memory."
Damien laughed, a sharp, confident sound. "Memory? You think a few drills make up for raw talent? Let's see if you can keep up."
The scrimmage intensified.
Damien's speed and skill were formidable, but Noah found himself reacting faster, reading patterns he had memorized from his adult memories, guided subtly by the system.
Every dribble, pass, and sprint was measured, calculated, and executed with purpose.
Liam and Marcus watched from the sidelines, cheering.
Ethan scribbled notes furiously, muttering numbers and probabilities under his breath.
Noah's first breakthrough moment came mid-drill.
Damien attempted a dazzling spin move—a technique that had always thrown Noah off in the past.
But this time, Noah anticipated it. He stepped to the side, intercepted the ball, and sent it gliding to Liam with perfect precision.
Liam sprinted down the wing, launching the ball back toward Noah.
He received it mid-run, his foot brushing the grass just so, before taking a clean shot at the goal. The ball hit the post—but even the near-miss felt like a victory.
Noah felt a thrill course through him. The system flashed softly:
STAT UPDATE: Anticipation +1, Dribbling +1, Confidence +3.
So it really works, he thought, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Not too much, just enough to give me an edge… but I still have to earn it.
Damien approached after the drill, sweat glistening on his forehead but a grin still plastered across his face.
"I see… you've improved. I'll give you that."
Noah wiped his brow. "You'd better. I'm not a kid anymore."
Damien laughed, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Good.
Because if you're going to stand in my way, I hope you're ready to bleed for it."
Noah's mind sharpened. This is exactly what I needed. A rival to push me, to test me, to make me better.
Training ended with the boys collapsing onto the grass, panting, laughing, and teasing each other mercilessly.
Even Damien joined reluctantly, offering a small, begrudging nod of respect toward Noah.
As Noah lay back, staring at the clouds drifting lazily above, he felt a spark—a little more fire, a little more hunger.
He knew the path ahead would be grueling.
Damien Blackwood was only the first of many challenges, and each step would demand more than his body, more than his memory, more than his system.
And yet, for the first time, Noah Ravenscroft felt ready to face it all.
Tomorrow, the drills would be tougher. The scrimmages more intense.
The rivals more cunning.
But today… today he had taken the first steps toward reclaiming his destiny.
And somewhere deep inside, the spark of competition burned brighter than ever.