Success didn't arrive loudly.
It crept in.
The day after the internal match, Noah felt it before he heard it.
Whispers.
They followed him as he walked through the academy gates, light at first, barely noticeable. A glance here. A pause there.
Conversations that stopped just a second too early.
He wasn't used to this.
In his past life, he had been invisible.
Now, he was becoming something else.
"Did you see his second goal?"
"I heard a scout wrote his name down."
"He's not flashy though."
"That's what makes it scary."
Noah kept his head down, hands in his jacket pockets. His expression stayed calm, but inside, something stirred.
This is how it starts, he thought.
Attention.
At ten years old, attention was dangerous.
On Pitch Three, training resumed like nothing had changed—but everything had.
The ball moved faster today.
Challenges came harder.
Players who once ignored Noah now pressed him aggressively, trying to prove something. Others hesitated, unsure whether to treat him as equal or threat.
Damien Blackwood didn't look at him at all.
That worried Noah more than open hostility.
Coach Harrison divided them into drills without explanation. No favoritism. No praise. Just work.
"Two v two," he barked. "Winner stays."
Noah paired with Marcus.
Their first opponents were bigger, stronger boys from the Combined Squad.
The whistle blew.
Pressure came instantly.
Noah took one touch, passed, moved. Marcus drove forward aggressively, drawing attention.
Noah slid into space.
Marcus returned the ball.
Shot.
Blocked.
The rebound bounced awkwardly.
Noah adjusted his body and struck again.
Goal.
Winner stays.
They stayed.
And stayed.
And stayed.
By the fifth round, Noah's legs burned, his breathing heavy. Sweat dripped down his back. His muscles begged for rest.
In my past life, he thought bitterly,
my knee would've screamed by now.
It didn't.
Not yet.
That realization sent a strange chill through him.
This body… hasn't failed me.
During water break, Ethan approached quietly.
"You're being watched," he said.
Noah blinked.
"By who?"
Ethan glanced toward the stands. "People who don't clap."
Noah followed his gaze.
Two men stood there, arms crossed, expressions unreadable. They wore plain coats. No badges.
Scouts.
Already? Noah thought.
A flicker of unease passed through him.
He wasn't ready.
Training resumed.
The next drill focused on individual duels—one attacker, one defender, limited space.
Noah faced Damien.
The air between them felt heavy.
No words were exchanged.
The whistle blew.
Damien attacked immediately, explosive and direct.
His dribble was sharper than before—more refined. He'd adjusted.
He learns fast, Noah realized.
Damien feinted left, cut right, accelerated.
Noah didn't chase the ball.
He watched Damien's hips.
His weight.
His rhythm.
At the last second, Noah stepped in—not forcefully, but precisely.
The ball popped loose.
Noah controlled it.
The drill ended.
Damien straightened slowly, breathing hard.
"…You're annoying," he muttered.
Noah shrugged lightly. "You're predictable."
Damien's eyes flashed.
"I won't be."
Good, Noah thought.
Neither will I.
That afternoon, Noah sat alone in the locker room longer than usual.
The system didn't speak.
That silence felt intentional.
Are you waiting for something? he wondered.
In his past life, pressure had crushed him.
Injuries. Expectations. Watching others succeed while he faded.
This time was different—but the fear remained.
What if I mess this up again?
His hands clenched.
No.
He wouldn't.
Not this time.
At home, Noah's mother hummed softly as she cooked dinner. The small kitchen smelled of spices and warmth. Normal. Comforting.
"How was training?" she asked.
"Hard," Noah replied honestly.
She smiled. "Good. Hard things make strong people."
He nodded, staring at his plate.
If only you knew, he thought.
That night, Noah lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Memories surfaced uninvited.
The hospital room.
The doctor shaking his head.
The sound of a crowd cheering on TV while he sat alone.
His chest tightened.
SYSTEM NOTICE:
Emotional Spike Detected
Stability Holding
Noah exhaled slowly.
"I won't end like that again," he whispered.
The next day brought a surprise.
Coach Harrison gathered the Core Group early.
"Today," he said, "you'll observe."
They exchanged confused looks.
"Not play?"
"You'll watch," Coach repeated. "Learn."
They were led to the indoor analysis room—screens lining the walls, footage queued up.
Professional matches.
Youth tournaments.
Moments frozen mid-action.
"This," Coach Harrison said, pointing at the screen, "is not just football. This is a world with rules you don't see yet."
Noah leaned forward instinctively.
So this is it…
Coach paused the footage—showing a player dominating the pitch, movements fluid, presence overwhelming.
"Some players impose themselves," Coach continued.
"Others understand the game so deeply that it bends around them."
He didn't explain further.
Not yet.
Noah felt anticipation coil in his chest.
, he realized without knowing why.
That's when it changes.
As they left the room, Damien walked beside Noah unexpectedly.
"You're not normal," Damien said quietly.
Noah glanced at him. "Neither are you."
Damien smirked. "Good."
That evening, the system finally spoke.
SYSTEM UPDATE:
Mental Fortitude Increased
Stat Growth:
Focus +1
Pressure Resistance +1
Hidden Progress:
Ego Seed — Dormant
Noah's eyes narrowed slightly.
Ego…
He remembered players like Cristiano Ronaldo. The confidence. The belief. The refusal to bow.
So that's coming too.
Noah stood by his window, looking out at the darkened street.
This world was bigger than football.
Bigger than talent.
It was a battlefield of wills.
And Noah Ravenscroft was no longer just trying to survive it.
He was preparing to conquer it.