The late-morning sun spilled across the manicured training grounds on the left side of Aristides Maillol Avenue, just outside the heart of Barcelona. The air was crisp, filled with the shouts of coaches, the thump of boots striking footballs, and the distant hum of city life beyond the walls.
This was La Masia, FC Barcelona's legendary youth academy — a place that had molded some of the greatest players in the history of the sport. For many here, today wasn't just another training session. It was judgement day.
A mass assessment was underway, a trial that would decide who stayed in Barcelona's system and who would be shown the door. Careers could begin or end here.
Jake Ashbourne sat quietly on a bench by the touchline, his hands loosely clasped between his knees. His hunter-green eyes were fixed on the players darting across the pitch, but his thoughts were far away.
He was a time traveler.
In his previous life, he'd been nothing more than a benchwarmer in the lower leagues of the United States — a late-game substitute at best. He'd spent his short career running out the final ten minutes of matches, chasing shadows, waiting for a chance that never came. He'd wasted half his life in mediocrity.
But now… now he was sixteen again.
Six months earlier, Jake had joined a youth exchange program between UEFA and an American development academy. The program allowed promising U.S. talents to train with European clubs, with the potential to earn a permanent spot — if they impressed.
And today, he was here, at La Masia, for the make-or-break assessment.
There was one other American in the group, a forward named Dale Winters. Dale treated the program like a semester abroad — more interested in exploring Barcelona nightlife with his local friends than sweating on the training pitch.
Jake's path couldn't be more different. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and he had no intention of letting it slip.
Around them stood other trialists from across the world. Some eyed Jake and Dale with polite curiosity; others with thinly veiled disdain. American footballers, in their eyes, weren't worth much. No one said it out loud, but the message was clear in their expressions: you don't belong here.
Jake ignored it.
He knew American football wasn't taken seriously by the global elite. The U.S. was still viewed as a third-tier football nation. But today, he wasn't here to argue. He was here to prove them wrong.
Suddenly, a metallic ding echoed — not through the air, but inside his mind.
"All-Around Football System activated."
"Personal attributes panel unlocked."
"Novice gift received — God-Level Attribute Card ×1."
Jake froze.
Did I just… hear that?
A panel of glowing data appeared in his mind's eye:
[Attributes]
Body: 60
Stamina: 65
Shooting: 30
Dribbling: 50
Interceptions: 30
Passing: 50
(Additional attributes locked)
[Items]
God-Level Attribute Card ×1
A note beneath explained: Full score for any attribute is 100. Scores of 80+ match starting players in Europe's top five leagues. 50 is average amateur level. 30 is typical non-competitive level.
Jake's pulse quickened. The God-Level Attribute Card could instantly boost any one skill to a perfect 100. That wasn't just professional standard — it was world-class.
For a midfielder, there was no decision to make.
"Passing," he whispered to himself.
The card dissolved into the panel, and his passing stat blinked from 50 to 100.
A wave of confidence surged through him. In his last life, he'd been a central midfielder — a passer, a playmaker. Shooting required service. Dribbling needed space and power. But passing… passing was the heartbeat of the game. The right ball at the right time could dismantle an entire defense.
The game on the main pitch ended, and Jake's group was called forward.
Players were split into two teams. Jake and Dale landed in Team B, a lineup noticeably weaker than their opponents. It was an old trick — coaches often loaded one side to test the underdogs' character.
"Ready?" Dale muttered, glancing at Jake.
Jake leaned closer, voice low and sharp. "Run forward whenever you see me with the ball. Don't worry about anything else. And stay onside."
Dale blinked, caught off guard. He'd planned to jog through the motions, go home with a few photos from Barcelona, and milk the "La Masia experience" for all it was worth back in the States. But something in Jake's tone made him pause.
On the far side, a cluster of American journalists lifted their cameras, aiming at Jake and Dale. Back home, media interest in this program was modest at best, but today's shots would still be splashed across the U.S. Soccer Academy site as proof of "international development."
Among the crowd, Jake spotted several men with notepads — scouts. Not for Barcelona, but for smaller Spanish and Portuguese clubs. Even the players La Masia cut could be gold to someone else.
The whistle blew. The ball rolled. Jake stepped forward, his heart steady, his mind razor-sharp.
It was time to see what a perfect 100 in passing could really do.