The morning sun spilled through the training ground gates. The Hayes Academy pitch stretched wide, its grass uneven, worn from lack of care. Where once the academy fields were pristine, now even the turf showed their family's decline.
Arthur walked out in his training kit, boots laced tight. The air smelled of wet grass and sweat. Around him, boys his age — sixteen, seventeen — stretched and joked, their voices carrying.
"Look who finally showed up," one of them sneered. A lanky forward with messy blond hair smirked. Clovis, the academy's self-proclaimed ace striker. "Don't faint on us again, young master."
Snickers echoed. Arthur ignored them. His memories told him this much: Clovis had talent, but he resented Arthur deeply. To him, Arthur was a pampered noble holding the team back.
"Cut it out," another voice said. A sturdier boy with cropped black hair jogged over. Marcus, a defender, known for his loyalty. "We're all here for the same reason. Let's focus."
Arthur gave him a grateful nod. Marcus was one of the few who still treated him fairly.
The whistle blew.
From the sidelines, a man in a worn tracksuit barked, "Gather up!" His voice was sharp, commanding. Coach Darius, the academy head coach. Once a respected tactician, now reduced to training a declining academy.
He scanned the players with narrowed eyes. When his gaze landed on Arthur, his lips thinned.
"You all know what's at stake," Darius said. "The Youth Tournament invitations will be decided soon. This scrimmage will determine who makes the starting lineup. Play seriously. No excuses."
Arthur's stomach twisted. He knew what this meant. If he failed to impress today, the system's warning would come true — no Youth Tournament, no revival, only disgrace.
The teams were set: orange bibs versus green bibs. Arthur was slotted as central attacking midfielder for the orange team. His job: link play, create chances.
The whistle blew.
The match began at a frantic pace. Boots thudded against turf, shouts filled the air.
Arthur received the ball early, his heart pounding. Clovis waved his arm ahead, demanding a through pass.
Arthur took a touch — too heavy. The ball bobbled.
"Useless!" Clovis barked, snatching it away before Arthur could recover. The attack fizzled as the green team tackled easily.
Arthur gritted his teeth. His memories of Arthur's past failures were clear: poor control, shaky confidence. His dribbling 58 wasn't enough under pressure.
Minutes later, he pressed high, chasing a defender. His lungs burned quickly. Stamina only 54… He was already slowing down.
The green team countered. A winger surged past him with ease, leaving Arthur behind.
From the sidelines, Coach Darius shouted, "Arthur, track back! You're jogging like an old man!"
Sweat stung his eyes. His body just couldn't keep up.
But then it happened.
A loose ball rolled near the halfway line. Arthur pounced, sliding in. He won the ball cleanly — something his stats shouldn't have allowed.
Was that… instinct? Or me?
He stood quickly, scanning the field. Clovis was marked tightly. Marcus waved from the back, but the safer pass would kill momentum.
For a split second, Arthur remembered his old world. Watching Barcelona play, watching midfield maestros carve defenses with vision. An AMF doesn't just pass. He dictates.
He turned, threading a risky diagonal ball into space.
The ball curved beautifully — but his weak technique meant it bounced just ahead of the winger. Too strong. The chance was lost.
"Good idea, bad execution," Darius muttered from the sideline. But his eyes flickered — a glimmer of approval.
Arthur's chest heaved. His shirt clung with sweat. He was struggling, no doubt. Yet something stirred inside him. He wasn't Arthur the failure anymore. He was Leon, a football lover who had dreamed of this chance his whole life.
The scrimmage dragged on. Arthur misplaced passes, got shrugged off the ball, ran out of breath quickly. His teammates groaned, Clovis cursed him out.
But three times — just three — he made passes that split defenders, only ruined by poor finishing. Each one made Coach Darius's brows lift slightly higher.
The whistle finally blew. 2–1, green team. The orange team lost.
Arthur bent over, gasping for air, his legs trembling.
"Same old," Clovis scoffed, tossing his bib aside. "Dead weight."
Arthur didn't reply. His body was weak, but inside, his determination only hardened.
Coach Darius gathered them. His voice was firm. "I'll review today's performance before deciding lineups. Dismissed."
As the players drifted off, Arthur's vision blurred. A system panel popped up.
Ding!
[Side Quest Result: Mixed Performance]
Coach's Impression: Slightly Improved
Reward: Bronze Skill Card (Random)
Skill Card Acquired: Vision Lv.1 (Passing Accuracy +3, Key Pass Tendency)
Arthur's lips curled into a tired smile. Not much… but it's a start.
He straightened, gazing at the tattered Hayes crest fluttering from the academy wall.
The road ahead would be long, full of humiliation and hardship. But today, he had taken the first step.
And step by step, he would climb back to glory.