The locker room had fallen quiet long after the post-match adrenaline had faded. A few muffled laughs echoed from down the hall, but Leon remained behind — seated, silent, and sweating. His breathing had evened out, but his thoughts still surged like aftershocks.
They had won.
2–1, thanks to a piercing through ball Leon had threaded in the 72nd minute. It was his first official assist.
And yet, something didn't sit right. Not with him.
He tapped his temple gently, and with a soft flicker, PlaySight came to life.
Player: Leon Vale
Level: 2
EXP: 103 / 200
Skill Progress: Agile Step – 72%
Condition: Mild Fatigue (Recovery: 8 hours)
Stats:
Dribbling: 47
Passing: 56 (+1)
Shooting: 42
Vision: 14 (+1)
Mental: 42
Speed: 49 (+1)
Stamina: 47 (+1)
His numbers had ticked up. A single point in Passing. Another in Vision. Small. Measurable. Real.
Agile Step was nearing the threshold. If he played smartly in the next match or two, it would finally unlock.
But something else was bothering him.
There it was again — pulsing faintly at the bottom corner of the interface.
Legacy Echo Detected
File Tag: ZANE-003
Status: Dormant
Options: [DELETE] [PRESERVE]
He hovered over "DELETE" again, his finger twitching. But just like the night before, he hesitated.
And once again, he pressed PRESERVE.
The system pulsed softly. Nothing dramatic. But the echo… remained.
That Evening
The hallway leading to Coach Davor's office was dimly lit and silent. Leon took a steady breath before knocking.
"Come in," came the familiar voice.
Coach Davor was hunched over his monitor, reviewing match footage with sharp focus. He didn't turn right away.
"You're not here to complain about Kael's tackles again, are you?"
Leon gave a faint chuckle. "Not this time, Coach. Just… had a question."
Davor turned, arching an eyebrow.
Leon stood straighter. "You've been at this academy for years, right?"
"Long enough."
Leon nodded slowly. "Then maybe you'd know… someone named Zane Arlo?"
The coach's expression didn't shift much, but his eyes did.
"That name still floats around?"
Leon shrugged. "I saw a clip. An old match. Just a few seconds, but… the way he played. It was like he saw the whole field three steps ahead."
Davor stared at him for a moment, then motioned to the chair. "Sit."
Leon did.
Coach opened a drawer and pulled out a laminated photo. A younger player with sharp eyes and number 10 on his jersey.
"Zane Arlo," Davor said. "Five years ago. Attacking midfielder. Quiet. Obsessed. Everyone thought he was going pro early."
Leon studied the photo.
"What happened to him?"
Coach leaned back. "He started improving too fast. Saw things no one else did. Predicted plays before they unfolded. Then during a drill, he collapsed. No injuries. Just—" he snapped his fingers, "—like someone pulled the plug."
Leon stayed silent.
Coach continued, "Doctors called it cognitive burnout. He never played again. Family pulled him out of school. He's been in rehab ever since."
Leon felt a cold weight settle in his gut.
Davor's eyes narrowed. "If he was using anything… maybe it pushed him too far. Some players rely too much on outside tools instead of learning the game."
Leon met his gaze. "You think he's still around?"
"No. But echoes? Maybe. Some players leave behind more than highlights. They leave shadows."
Leon nodded. "Thanks for telling me."
Coach studied him. "Why are you asking, Leon?"
"I just saw something in a replay. His name came up."
Coach didn't press. "Watch yourself. You're a smart player. Don't lose yourself chasing someone else's path."
Leon stood and bowed slightly. "I won't."
The Next Morning
Training was light — low-pressure drills, quick passing sequences, and short burst scrimmages. Coach grouped Leon with Kael again.
Kael didn't say a word, but his movements were sharper than usual. As if testing Leon's reactions, not his skill.
Leon didn't force anything. He let the rhythm come to him.
During a three-player drill, Kael sent a bouncing pass meant to catch Leon off-balance. Leon controlled it cleanly, spun with a first-touch layoff, and created a triangle that Theo finished with a quick shot on net.
Kael blinked. Just once. But said nothing.
+10 EXP
+1% Agile Step Progress
Player: Leon Vale
Level: 2
EXP: 113 / 200
Skill Progress: Agile Step – 73%
That night, as the sky outside dimmed and the academy lights turned amber, Leon lay on his bed, gaze fixed on the ceiling. The echo still lingered in his mind.
He activated PlaySight again. The interface blinked to life.
He opened the Legacy Tab.
File: ZANE-003
Archive Depth: 3%
Visual Residue: Yes
Sync Echo: Dormant
Optional: Preview Mode? [Y/N]
He hesitated.
Then pressed Y.
For a heartbeat, a flicker of a pass lane appeared across his vision. Sharp. Impossible. Beautiful.
Then it vanished.
He sat still for a long time, breath shallow. His system gave him no fanfare, no confirmation. But he knew what he saw wasn't his doing.
Zane had left behind more than data.
He had always thought the flashes—the perfect passing angles, the sudden dodges—were something he'd earned. But now he realized… they weren't his. ZANE-003 was still with him, whispering instincts shaped by another's rise and fall. The real power—the real foresight—was still ahead of him.
EXP +2 (System Sync)
Agile Step +1% (Overlay Boost)
Final Stats
Level: 2
EXP: 115 / 200
Agile Step: 74%
Dribbling: 47
Passing: 56
Shooting: 42
Vision: 14
Mental: 42
Somewhere, buried inside the system, a piece of Zane still lived — not fully alive, but not gone either.
Leon didn't know where this would lead.
But he wasn't just chasing growth anymore.
He was chasing a story someone else never got to finish.