The Han River Stadium thrummed with life, its stands a sea of waving banners and shouting parents, the air thick with the scent of kimbap, grilled mackerel, and sweet sikhye from vendors weaving through the crowd. July 2021 was a sweltering beast, Seoul's humidity clinging to Kim Min-jae's skin as he stood on the sidelines, his 14-year-old frame taut with anticipation. The National Youth Football Tournament had reached its semifinals, Seoul United's U-15 squad now facing Incheon Tide, a team known for its relentless pressing and ironclad defense. Min-jae's pulse hammered, his 2042 memories sharp: in his first life, this tournament had been his breakout, a fleeting moment of glory before a brutal tackle possibly Yamada Haruto's in 2024 shattered his leg and dreams. Now, with the neutral-AI Football System and a 35-year-old mind, he was rewriting that fate, one pass, one goal, one duel at a time.
The system's HUD flickered in his vision, its text cold and mechanical: "Quest: Lead Seoul United to the tournament final with at least one goal and one assist in the semifinals. Reward: +15 Vision, +10 Mentality, Skill Unlock (Maestro's Eye). Penalty: -20 Confidence." Min-jae's lips twitched. Maestro's Eye a skill to read plays with surgical precision, like Park Ji-sung in his prime could be his ticket to La Masia. His stats glowed: "Stamina: 65/100. Physicality: 48/100. Vision: 85/100. Shooting: 50/100. Agility: 52/100." A year of grueling training since the 2020 academy tryout had honed his teenage body, but it still lagged behind his mind, tempered by decades of regret and barstool analysis of the game's greats. In the stands, a scout in a Barcelona jacket scribbled notes, the red-and-blue badge glinting under the stadium lights. La Masia was watching, and the 2024 injury loomed like a storm cloud, but Min-jae's dream a World Cup for South Korea in 2026 or 2030 burned brighter.
The stadium buzzed, K-pop beats pulsing from a nearby speaker, vendors calling out offers for iced barley tea. Coach Han gathered the team, his gravelly voice cutting through the noise. "This is your moment, boys. Incheon's tough, but you're tougher. Kim, Tae-woo, make it happen!" His eyes lingered on Choi Tae-woo, the towering striker who'd begrudged Min-jae's assist in the tournament's opening round. At 14, Tae-woo's frame was a wall of muscle, his smirk sharper than a blade. "Don't screw this up, Kim," he muttered, kicking a ball into the grass. "I need goals, not your fancy passes stealing my spotlight." Min-jae's jaw tightened, 2042's bitterness surging watching Tae-woo's Bayern Munich highlights on bar TVs while his own dreams died in a haze of soju. "Keep up, Tae-woo," he shot back, voice steady despite his racing pulse. "I'm not your water carrier."
A familiar voice sliced through the tension. "Still fighting like kids?" Park Soo-jin, 15, stood at the sideline, her Canon camera dangling from her neck, her short bob swaying in the humid breeze. Her teasing grin was sharper now, her confidence growing with her dream of becoming a sports journalist. In his first life, Min-jae had barely noticed her at this tournament, too consumed by ambition. Now, her presence was a spark, her camera a mirror reflecting his reborn fire. "Don't choke, maestro," she called, snapping a shot, her voice rising above the crowd's roar. "I need a front-page moment, not 'Local Kid Trips Over Ego.'" Her laugh was light, but her eyes held a piercing curiosity, as if she sensed the weight of 2042 in his gaze.
Min-jae's cheeks flushed, his 35-year-old wit stumbling in his teenage body. "Got your headline ready, Soo-jin," he managed, forcing confidence. " 'Seoul Prodigy Conquers La Masia.' " Her eyebrow arched, a flicker of admiration mixed with suspicion. "Big talk, maestro," she replied, her lens clicking. "Prove it, or I'm selling 'Min-jae Misses' to the tabloids." Her intuition was a blade, cutting too close to his truth his death in 2042, his regrets, the system. His heart thudded, a tangle of teenage nerves and adult longing. In 2042, he'd been alone, a broken man; now, Soo-jin's spark was a tether he couldn't ignore, grounding his ambition even as it stirred something deeper.
The whistle blew, and the semifinal against Incheon Tide erupted into chaos. The crowd roared, banners fluttering, scouts scribbling in the stands. Min-jae anchored the midfield, his 2042 mind dissecting the pitch like a chessboard: Incheon's defense was a fortress, their midfield pressed like wolves, but their right-back lagged a gap he could exploit with a well-timed run. Tae-woo charged forward, demanding the ball, but Min-jae ignored him, spotting Jae-ho's diagonal sprint on the left. His pass was crisp, slicing through two defenders, but Jae-ho's shot was smothered by Incheon's keeper. The system pinged: "Passing: 67 → 68. Precision +1. Seek goal opportunity." Min-jae gritted his teeth. Every move had to count Barcelona's scout was watching.
Incheon countered, their number 10 weaving through Seoul's lines. Yamada Haruto, the Japanese prodigy from the first round, had joined Incheon's squad, his presence a jolt. At 14, Haruto moved with a fluid intensity, his black hair tied back, his dribbles sharp and unpredictable. Min-jae's 2042 memories burned: Haruto's European stardom had haunted him, a playmaker whose flair outshone Min-jae's broken dreams. Was he the one behind the 2024 tackle? The thought gnawed, but Min-jae pushed it down. Haruto danced past Jae-ho, his pass sparking a shot that forced a diving save from Seoul's keeper. The crowd gasped, Soo-jin's camera clicking furiously from the sideline. Haruto's eyes met Min-jae's, a smirk flickering. "Ready for a real challenge, Seoul?" he called, his accented Korean cutting through the noise.
The system flashed: "Optional Quest: Outplay Haruto in a 1v1 duel. Reward: +5 Agility. Penalty: -10 Confidence." Min-jae's blood surged. Haruto was a test, a shadow of future rivals awaiting in La Masia and beyond. He intercepted Haruto's next pass, sliding through the grass, dirt smearing his shins. The crowd roared, Soo-jin shouting, "That's it, maestro!" Her voice fueled him, her lens capturing his fire. Min-jae surged forward, feinting past an Incheon midfielder, his body syncing with his 2042 instincts. Haruto lunged, but Min-jae spun left, breaking free. The system chimed: "Agility: 52 → 54. Quest complete."
At halftime, the score was 0-0, the tension palpable. Coach Han's voice boomed in the huddle. "Kim, you're running the show, but score something! Tae-woo can't do it alone!" Tae-woo smirked, his bulk looming. "Yeah, Kim, stop hogging the ball," he growled, his eyes flashing with resentment. Min-jae ignored him, his mind on the Barcelona scout. The system updated: "Quest Log Updated: La Masia Arc. Objective: Secure scout invitation by tournament's end. Sub-Quests: 1) Win the tournament final, 2) Maintain Vision 100+, 3) Outshine Tae-woo and Haruto. Rewards: +20 Vision, +15 Mentality, Skill Unlock (Tactical Shift). Penalties: -30 Confidence, delayed La Masia path." Tactical Shift a skill to alter formations mid-game felt like a key to thriving in Barcelona's elite academy.
The second half exploded, Incheon pressing harder. Haruto weaved through Seoul's midfield, his pass setting up a shot that grazed the post. Min-jae countered, his mind channeling Park Ji-sung's relentless work rate. He stole the ball, spotting Tae-woo's run greedy but perfectly positioned. Min-jae loathed feeding his rival, but the quest demanded an assist. His pass curled through the air, landing at Tae-woo's feet. The striker smashed it home, the net rippling as the crowd erupted. Tae-woo pumped his fist, soaking in the cheers, but his glare at Min-jae was venomous, as if the assist stole his glory. Soo-jin's camera clicked, her nod from the sideline sparking Min-jae's heart, her eyes gleaming with approval.
The score was 1-0, but Min-jae needed a goal to complete the quest. Incheon's defense tightened, Haruto orchestrating counters with surgical precision. With ten minutes left, Min-jae saw his chance: Incheon's keeper was off his line, their defense stretched. He took a breath, his 2042 mind channeling the Phantom Volley skill earned in the last match. The ball rocketed from his foot, curling over the defense, dipping into the top corner with a hiss. The stadium exploded, banners waving, parents screaming, Soo-jin's lens freezing the moment. The system chimed: "Quest Complete. Vision: 85 → 100. Mentality: 40 → 50. Skill Unlocked: Maestro's Eye. Confidence: +10." His vision sharpened, opponents' movements slowing as if the pitch were a chessboard, every angle clear.
Seoul United held the 2-0 lead, but Haruto wasn't done. He dribbled past two defenders, his shot forcing another save. Min-jae dropped deep, his Maestro's Eye skill kicking in, anticipating Haruto's next move. He intercepted a pass, launching a counter that nearly set up Jae-ho for a third goal, but the shot went wide. The whistle blew, Seoul United advancing to the final. The crowd roared, K-pop blaring as fans spilled onto the concourse. Coach Han clapped Min-jae's shoulder, his scowl softening. "You're catching eyes, Kim. That goal? La Masia material." Min-jae nodded, his gaze on the stands, where the Barcelona scout's pen flew, his expression unreadable but intense.
Soo-jin approached, her camera swinging, her grin wide but teasing. "That volley, maestro? Front-page gold," she said, flipping her screen to show the shot: Min-jae mid-strike, eyes blazing, the ball a blur. "Headline: 'Seoul Prodigy Stuns Scouts.' Don't let it inflate your head, okay?" Her laugh was light, but her eyes searched his, that piercing intuition cutting deep. "You play like you know what's coming, Min-jae. What's driving you?" Her question stung, his 2042 secrets his death in a 2042 car crash, his regrets, the system—teetering on exposure. He forced a grin, his teenage awkwardness clashing with adult caution. "Just chasing a dream, Soo-jin. You'll see it unfold."
She tilted her head, unconvinced but intrigued, her camera clicking his expression. "I'm watching, maestro," she said, the nickname sparking his resolve. Haruto strode by, his demeanor cool but charged. "Nice goal, Kim," he said, his accented voice sharp. "But the final's mine. Don't get cocky." His smile was a challenge, a hint of the 2024 tackle's shadow. Tae-woo loomed behind, his growl low. "You're not the star, Kim. I am. Next match, I bury you." The system pinged: "Optional Quest: Outscore Tae-woo in the final. Reward: +10 Shooting. Penalty: -10 Confidence."
Min-jae lingered by the Han River as the crowd thinned, the city's lights shimmering on the water. The system glowed: "Quest Log: La Masia Arc. Objective: Secure La Masia invitation. Sub-Quests: 1) Win the tournament final, 2) Maintain Vision 100+, 3) Outshine Tae-woo and Haruto, 4) Impress Barcelona scout in the final. Rewards: +20 Vision, +15 Mentality, Skill Unlock (Tactical Shift). Penalties: -30 Confidence, delayed La Masia path." A glitch flickered: "Timeline stability: 89%. Avoid excessive deviation." The warning sent a chill down his spine, the system's origins 2042 tech, cosmic fluke, or something else still a mystery.
Soo-jin's maestro echoed in his mind, her spark a tether through the chaos. Tae-woo's arrogance, Haruto's flair, and whispers of Mateo Alvarez a physical Spanish midfielder awaiting in La Masia loomed as challenges. The 2024 injury, possibly tied to Haruto, cast a shadow, but the final was Min-jae's chance to shine. His 2042 memories flickered briefly: the relentless drive of players he'd face in 2025, the retired legacy of a midfielder who'd shaped his vision. But today, the pitch was his battlefield. He clutched his football, its leather cool against his palms, the Han River's shimmer reflecting his fire. La Masia was within reach, the eternal maestro rising to rewrite football's destiny, one match at a time.