The Arcana Stadium roared.
A hundred thousand voices cried Kaien's name, drowning out the storm above. Lightning danced across the sky as if the gods themselves were watching. And they were—painted in stone across the massive coliseum walls, the Old Gods stared down with hollow eyes, eternally judging.
Kaien Vale stood at midfield. Rain dripped from his soaked black hair, but his vision was clear. One minute left. One goal needed.
His team—the Vireos—were down 2–3.
The ball glowed faintly at his feet, humming with mana. Around him, defenders from the Dralheim Empire were charging in, their armor-like enchantments crackling with elemental aura. Earth Style, Wind Style, Flame—they were the best of every school. The elite.
But Kaien wasn't afraid.
He took a breath.
Time slowed.
The Tactical Core inside him ignited. His eyes glowed gold, and lines traced across the field, visualizing paths, pressure points, and player stamina like threads in a tapestry only he could read.
> Now.
His foot flicked the ball forward—not hard, just enough. A feint. One defender lunged. Kaien sidestepped, dragging his heel over the ball, spinning into a wind-step that left afterimages behind him.
"Pass to me!" someone yelled on the wing.
No. That window would close in 0.8 seconds.
Kaien sprinted into open space—two defenders converged—but he lifted the ball mid-stride, bounced it off his chest, and volleyed it between them in one flowing motion.
The crowd screamed.
He cut past the last defender.
Only the keeper remained.
Massive. Enchanted. An elemental barrier glowing around him. This wasn't a normal keeper. This was Tiran Vahl, the man known as the Titan Gate, wielder of the Stonecore Wall. No shot had passed him in the entire Arcana Cup.
But Kaien didn't hesitate. He was already shifting his weight.
> Left shot? Blocked.
Right? Countered.
Center…
His eyes narrowed.
> Lift shot. Top bar. Delayed timing.
He kicked.
The world slowed again.
The ball soared, curving upward as rain parted in its wake like falling glass.
It soared toward the top-right corner—past the shield—over the reach of Tiran's desperate leap.
Then it stopped.
No.
The ball froze mid-air, surrounded by golden glyphs. A magic lock.
Kaien's breath caught.
He turned—slowly, painfully—to see his own captain standing behind him. Arm raised. Glowing seal in hand.
"What… are you doing?" Kaien whispered.
His captain—Rensal—lowered his gaze.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You weren't supposed to win."
The glyph shattered.
The ball dropped like stone.
And the whistle blew.
Final score: 2–3.
---
Kaien died that night. Not on the field. But in the locker room, behind locked doors, where whispers and betrayal sealed his fate.
He didn't scream when they bound him. He didn't beg when the blade slid between his ribs. He only stared as the Arcana Cup flashed on the screen behind them, showing a trophy that should have been his.
---
And then… silence.
---
When Kaien opened his eyes again, he wasn't in a stadium.
He was lying on a rusted metal bench, staring at a broken ceiling fan spinning lazily above.
Rain pattered through a cracked window.
He blinked. Sat up.
His body… it was small. Younger. No muscle tone. Skinny.
A cracked phone buzzed beside him. On the screen, an article headline read:
> "Arcana Cup Returns! 10 Years Since Kaien Vale's Mysterious Death"
Kaien stared at it. Then at his reflection in the window.
Sixteen. Again.
He looked down at his hands.
Thin. Weak.
No mana. Not even a flicker of power.
"...You gave me a second half," he whispered. "But took away my strength."
Footsteps outside.
A group of teenagers were yelling—laughing.
"Get him! That was foul!"
"You wanna cry about it? Learn to play, scrub!"
Kaien rose slowly. Pulled on a torn hoodie from a nearby hook. Opened the door.
Outside, a street football match was breaking out in the rain. On cracked pavement. Using a deflated ball. No enchantments. No glowing sigils. Just grit, sweat, and raw instinct.
Kaien stepped forward. A boy—maybe thirteen—ran past him, tears in his eyes, chased by two others.
The ball rolled toward Kaien's foot.
He stopped it with a soft touch.
One of the older kids barked, "Hey, old man—kick that back!"
Kaien looked up.
And smiled.
He flicked the ball lightly… up into the air… caught it on the back of his heel… and launched it like a cannon into the alley wall behind the boys.
The wall cracked.
Silence.
The ball dropped, smoking.
Kaien's voice was quiet—but it carried through the rain.
> "I don't need mana. Just give me a ball… and a reason."
The ball hissed with steam where it hit the cracked brick wall, and rain dripped off the edge like it was holding its breath.
No one moved.
The two punks stared at Kaien, eyes wide, jaws open.
"…Did you see that?" one whispered.
"Bro, he curved that like—like the pros do on highlight reels!"
Kaien didn't answer. He simply let his foot rest on the ball again. His eyes weren't on the punks. They were on the scrawny kid behind them—the one who'd been shoved down earlier. Wet socks, scraped elbows, mud on his cheek. Holding back tears.
Kaien tilted his head toward him. "You got a name, kid?"
"…Nico," he said after a second.
"Who taught you to take a hit like that?"
The kid blinked. "No one."
Kaien smiled faintly. "Good. That means you've got potential."
One of the punks stepped forward, fists clenched. "Who the hell are you supposed to be, anyway? This ain't your alley."
Kaien looked at him—calm, steady.
"I'm just someone who lost everything," he said quietly. "And now I've got time to kill."
The punk stepped back instinctively. Something about this guy didn't feel right. He was just a teenager… but there was a strange calm in his voice. Not cocky. Not angry. Just cold. Like someone who'd already died once.
"…Whatever. Freak." They turned and jogged off into the mist.
Kaien watched them go, then turned back to Nico. "You play with these guys often?"
"They're the only ones who let me join." Nico rubbed his arm. "I miss every shot, though. I'm… bad."
Kaien crouched beside the deflated ball and held it out to him. "Wanna learn?"
Nico looked confused. "From you?"
Kaien smiled, small and tired. "From someone who's been where you are. Only worse."
Nico took the ball.
---
They played until sunset.
Kaien didn't use any real magic—he had none. But his footwork? Immaculate. His touches were like whispers. His passes curved at impossible angles. And every time Nico tripped or fumbled or missed, Kaien simply pointed out why, without mockery or pity.
"Too heavy on your left."
"You're watching your feet, not the field."
"Stop apologizing. Every legend started with a miss."
By the time the streetlights flickered on, Nico was gasping for air, drenched in sweat, but his face was glowing.
Kaien stood with his arms crossed, nodding slowly. "Your posture's trash. Your kicks are weak. You've got no sense of pressure or timing."
"…Thanks?" Nico mumbled, hands on his knees.
"But you listen," Kaien added. "That's rare."
He paused.
Then tossed the ball back.
"Show up tomorrow. Same time."
Nico looked up, surprised. "Why?"
Kaien turned away, pulling his hoodie up.
"Because I need a team."
---
📍[Next Morning – Public Academy 47, South District]
Kaien stood in front of the rusting gates of the school he'd apparently been reborn into. The uniform he found in his closet barely fit. His hair was still damp from the rain, and he hadn't eaten.
But none of that mattered.
He walked through the halls like a ghost. His classmates barely glanced at him. The few who did whispered:
> "That's Kaien Vale. Yeah, the loser. Mana rate: 0.3."
> "Wasn't he in the dropout list?"
> "Still here? Must've bribed the system."
Kaien didn't flinch. Let them talk.
In his last life, he was the king of the Arcana League. This time, he'd start as nothing. That was fine. You can't hide fire in wet cloth forever.
---
📍[Lunchtime – Back Courtyard]
He found Nico again, sitting alone with a half-eaten energy bar. The kid looked up and nearly choked when Kaien sat beside him.
"You serious about what you said yesterday?" Nico asked. "A team?"
Kaien nodded. "I'm gonna build a team from zero. No stars. No rich schools. Just players with a reason to fight."
"...But why me?"
"Because you came back."
Nico blinked.
"Most kids would've been too embarrassed to show up again," Kaien said. "You're not talented yet, but you've got grit. That's rare."
Nico looked down, cheeks flushed.
"…There's someone else," he mumbled. "She used to be on the first team. Quit last semester. She's really good. Better than me."
Kaien leaned forward slightly. "Name?"
"Lyra. She… doesn't like people."
Kaien smiled faintly. "Even better."
---
📍[Later That Day – Rooftop Courts]
Nico led him up narrow metal stairs to a rooftop pitch—half rusted, half enchanted, the mana lines flickering under cracked glass. A girl stood alone at midfield, juggling a worn-out ball with perfect balance. Every tap was calculated. Efficient. Cold.
Short hair. Sharp eyes. No expression.
"She's been out here every day since she quit," Nico whispered.
Kaien watched her. Watched the way she moved.
> Midfield controller. High awareness. Keeps her hips low—she reads pressure like a pro.
Then, without a word, Kaien stepped onto the court.
Lyra noticed him immediately, frowning. "You're not supposed to be here."
Kaien stopped a few feet away.
"I want you on my team."
She blinked. "What team?"
Kaien smiled.
"The one that's going to beat this school's first team… and enter the Mana League."
She stared at him like he was insane.
"You don't even have five players."
Kaien nodded. "Not yet."
"Not even mana."
"Not yet."
"…You're serious?"
"I'm not here to play for fun," he said. "I'm here to take back what was stolen from me."
Lyra paused. Then fired the ball straight at him.
Kaien stepped in calmly—and trapped it dead with his heel.
Their eyes met.
"…Fine," she muttered. "But if you're lying—"
"I'm not."
She turned.
"Then let's see if you can still pass under pressure, captain."
Kaien smiled.