The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the academy dining hall. Long wooden tables stretched across the room, already filled with the chatter of half-awake youths. Plates clinked, bread tore, and the faint aroma of porridge mixed with roasted meat lingered in the air.
Arthur sat at the far end, eating quietly. His spoon moved slowly, more out of habit than hunger. Training at dawn had left him drained, and his body demanded food. He shoveled down a mouthful of porridge, savoring its warmth.
Across from him sat Marcus, calm as ever, chewing methodically. The defender glanced at Arthur's sweaty hair, still damp from his morning drills.
"You've been up early again," Marcus said. It wasn't a question.
Arthur nodded. "Couldn't waste the hours."
Marcus smirked faintly. "Clovis was laughing about it earlier. Said you're desperate."
Arthur shrugged. "Let him laugh."
Marcus studied him for a moment before speaking again. "Desperate or not, you're putting in the work. That counts for something."
Arthur blinked. Compliments weren't common in this place, especially not from stoic Marcus. For a moment, warmth flickered in his chest. "Thanks," he said simply.
Before more could be said, Clovis swaggered over, a group of sycophants trailing behind him. The striker slapped his hand against the table, smirking.
"Enjoying your royal breakfast, young master?" Clovis sneered. "Careful not to choke on all that porridge. Wouldn't want the Hayes heir to collapse before the qualifiers."
The nearby boys chuckled.
Arthur didn't rise to the bait. He met Clovis gaze, then returned to eating.
The smirk faltered for a second before Clovis leaned closer, voice dropping. "Ravensworth's already sharpening their claws. Their captain said he'll make you beg on the pitch."
Arthur paused, spoon midair. Ravensworth. The name alone made his jaw tighten. The Ravensworth family had been one of the key players in manipulating the league, crushing the Hayes' standing.
Marcus spoke up, his tone sharp. "Get lost, Clovis. You're loud this early in the morning. Go bother someone else."
Clovis clicked his tongue, feigned a bow, and sauntered off. His followers laughed as they left.
Arthur's hand tightened around his spoon, but he forced himself to breathe. Getting angry here was pointless. The real answer would come on the field.
After breakfast, the academy students filed out for their classes and drills. Arthur trailed behind the crowd when a soft, melodic voice called his name.
"Arthur?"
He froze.
At the academy entrance stood a young woman dressed in a flowing navy dress embroidered with silver threads. Her long dark hair cascaded down her back, and her clear blue eyes seemed to shine even in the morning light.
Lady Selene Valebridge.
Arthur blinked, caught off guard. The last time he'd seen her was… in the inherited memories. The original Arthur had known her, though distantly. Their families had been allies once, long before the Hayes' fall.
Selene walked toward him with poise, her steps light but firm. Even in the academy courtyard, where sweaty boys and muddy boots ruled the scene, she carried herself like nobility incarnate.
"You look surprised," she said with a small smile. "Didn't expect to see me here?"
Arthur cleared his throat. "I… wasn't informed."
Selene tilted her head, studying him. "I came to deliver something on behalf of my family. My father insisted." She gestured, and a servant behind her stepped forward with a small wooden chest.
Arthur blinked. "What is it?"
"Training supplies. Nutritional tonics, salves for muscle strain. Nothing extravagant, but…" Her eyes softened slightly. "House Valebridge hasn't forgotten the Hayes. Even if others have."
Arthur hesitated, emotions churning. Gratitude, awkwardness, pride — all tangled. "Thank you," he said quietly.
Selene studied him a moment longer. "You've changed," she murmured.
Arthur stiffened. "Changed?"
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "You used to avoid eye contact. Now you look straight at me. It suits you."
Before Arthur could reply, Marcus appeared, carrying his training kit. He gave Selene a respectful nod.
"Lady Valebridge," he said evenly.
"Marcus," she acknowledged politely. Her gaze flicked back to Arthur, lingering a heartbeat too long before she turned away. "I'll see you later. Do train well, Arthur."
Arthur watched her leave, his thoughts unsettled. The system in his head tracked passes and stats — but it didn't know what to do with a presence like hers.
Later that afternoon, the academy gathered in the main hall for Coach Darius's announcement. His voice boomed through the chamber, silencing the restless boys.
"Our first opponent in the Qualifiers has been decided." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "We will face Ravensworth Academy."
A ripple of tension spread through the room. Whispers filled the air. Ravensworth — the academy sponsored by the very noble family that had crushed the Hayes' place in the league.
Arthur's heart thudded.
Darius's eyes narrowed. "They are strong. Their captain, Cedric Ravensworth, is already being scouted by second-division clubs. But strength or weakness doesn't matter. What matters is how we fight. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Coach!" the room echoed, though unease lingered beneath their voices.
After the meeting, as players dispersed, Arthur lingered by the doorway. That's when he heard it — a voice smooth and arrogant.
"Well, well. If it isn't the fallen heir himself."
Arthur turned. A tall boy in a Ravensworth uniform leaned casually against the doorway, flanked by two teammates. His blond hair gleamed under the lantern light, and his smirk was sharp as a blade.
Cedric Ravensworth.
"I almost didn't recognize you, Arthur," Cedric drawled. "You used to carry yourself so proudly. Now look at you — clinging to scraps in a forgotten academy."
Arthur's fists clenched. "We'll see who's clinging after the match."
Cedric's smirk widened. "Oh, I'm looking forward to it. When I send you crawling on the pitch, it'll be the perfect reminder of what happens when a Lion dares to bare its fangs at a Raven."
His laughter echoed as he left, his entourage in tow.
Arthur stood frozen, his jaw tight, but his resolve hardening.
That night, long after the academy lights dimmed and his peers slept, Arthur was back on the training ground.
The moon hung high, casting silver light over the empty field. Sweat dripped from his brow as he pushed himself through drill after drill. Short passes, dribbles, long shots — every movement deliberate, every breath strained.
His legs trembled, his lungs burned, but he refused to stop. Cedric's mocking words rang in his ears, fueling each strike.
Finally, he collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving.
Ding!
[System Alert]
Training Complete.
Passing XP +7
Dribbling XP +6
Shooting XP +4
Current Overall: 57 → (57.8)
Arthur exhaled, staring up at the stars. The numbers barely moved — less than a fraction. But each tiny increase was a step, a stone laid on the path forward.
He clenched his fists, whispering to the night.
"Cedric Ravensworth… when we face each other, I'll make you regret underestimating me."
The wind carried his vow across the silent pitch, where the ghost of a lion's roar seemed to linger in the dark.