The film room was quiet — too quiet.
Only the soft hum of the projector filled the space, illuminating the blank expressions of twenty young men seated in front of the big screen.
Coach Leonardo Rossi stood in front of them with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.
He hit play.
The screen showed flashes from the previous scrimmage — a blur of red and yellow vests, sweat, heavy breathing, the sound of studs scraping turf.
Then the moment froze.
Jaeven's image appeared mid-air, twisting his body as the ball curled past the keeper into the far corner.
"Pause." Rossi's voice cut through the room.
The frame froze, and everyone's eyes went to the projected image — Jaeven Moretti Han, number 11, landing after scoring the second equalizer that saved the scrimmage.
"Now," Rossi said, pointing at the screen, "this… this is what I call composure."
The players shifted slightly. Jaeven sat in the middle row, head bowed but eyes focused.
"Watch his movement. He doesn't rush. Doesn't flinch. He lets the ball drop into his rhythm." Rossi's tone softened, almost approving. "That's how a forward breathes before killing the game."
Then, with a click, the coach unpaused the video.
The scene continued — Jaeven's celebration, the team's roar, the sound of claps echoing through the training ground.
"Good goal," Rossi said finally. "But…"
He paused the frame again, now at a different moment — one where Jaeven hesitated slightly before passing earlier in the match.
"…you think too much when you shouldn't." Rossi turned to face him. "You have awareness, but sometimes it becomes a cage. Flow, Moretti. You don't think when you're in the flow — you just know. Remember that."
Jaeven nodded silently. He didn't trust his voice to sound steady.
---
Later, on the training ground, those words echoed in his head.
Flow… you just know.
Every time he replayed that moment — when everything around him had slowed down, the pitch expanding in his mind like an endless grid — it didn't feel like luck. It felt like something clicked.
His Spectral Awareness had activated instinctively.
He could "see" the field — every movement, every player, every open space — even without looking directly.
But now, as he tried to replicate that feeling consciously, it slipped through his fingers like smoke.
He ran through cones, practicing one-touch dribbles, switching feet in rapid succession. The ball obeyed him, yet the world didn't slow down again.
"Too rigid," he muttered, stopping to catch his breath.
Then, a familiar sound echoed in his head.
---
[System Notice]
Skill Recognition: Spectral Awareness Subroutine Detected.
New Sub-skill Unlocked: Peripheral Mapping (Lv. 1)
Description: Enhances perception of players and movement within a 5-meter radius, even without direct vision.
---
Jaeven blinked. "So… it grows even when I'm not using cards?"
The system responded with a soft chime.
[System Tip]
Passive traits evolve through experience and mental understanding. You are walking the path correctly.
He smirked faintly. "Good to know."
---
Training continued. Hours blurred into repetitions — turns, sprints, control drills.
A few days later, another message appeared.
---
[System Notice]
Ball Control Trait – Sub-skill Acquired: Micro Balance (Lv. 1)
Description: Enhances fine body adjustments during rapid movements, spins, or direction changes.
---
It wasn't a big leap. But it was real. Tangible.
Small steps that built toward something greater.
And when Coach Rossi finally gathered everyone together again, Jaeven felt that familiar anticipation rising in his chest.
---
"Alright, listen up," Rossi said, his voice cutting through the evening breeze.
The players stood in two rows, sweat still glistening from the final session of the week.
"The break is over. The second half of the season starts soon, and we're not here to survive. We're here to climb." His gaze swept across them, sharp as a blade.
"The next seven days are Starter Selection Week. I'll be watching everything — who listens, who adapts, who bleeds for this badge."
He pointed toward the Virtus Lombardia crest stitched on his jacket.
"Talent won't save you. Effort will. If you're coasting, pack your bags now."
The silence was thick enough to choke on.
Then Rossi turned, his voice dropping low but firm.
"The pitch will decide who starts. Dismissed."
---
Competition immediately exploded within the team.
Every player suddenly had something to prove.
Passes came quicker, tackles harder, shouts louder. Even in warmups, nobody went half-speed anymore.
Jaeven could feel it — the hunger, the tension.
But more than that, he could feel the rhythm of the training itself.
Short-field pressing games turned into battles of instinct and endurance.
The one-touch rondos became mental puzzles — where a second's delay meant losing possession.
And in the five-second transition drills, where they had to defend and attack in the blink of an eye, his awareness began to bloom again.
He was starting to "see" things before they happened.
At first, it was flashes — a teammate about to press, an opening appearing near the wing.
But soon, his Peripheral Mapping began to synchronize with Spectral Awareness, creating a kind of intuitive radar.
When the ball came to his feet, he didn't need to scan — he already knew.
---
"Good, Jaeven!" shouted one of the assistant coaches during a drill.
"Keep that tempo — don't stop moving!"
He nodded, exhaling sharply, slipping between two defenders and laying off a quick pass to the overlapping fullback.
No hesitation. No panic. Just rhythm.
It wasn't the same as full flow, but it was close — a steady hum beneath his skin.
---
Hours later, training wrapped up.
Most players dragged themselves off the pitch, exhausted, heading toward the showers.
But Jaeven stayed behind.
He set down a few cones, placed the ball at the halfway line, and started again.
Pass. Turn. Dribble. Spin.
Left foot, right foot. Balance, recover, pivot.
Every movement had to be sharp, every touch clean.
He wanted to reach that feeling again — that perfect, effortless silence inside the storm.
The floodlights glowed overhead as the sun dipped behind the stands.
He replayed Rossi's words again.
> "You don't think when you're in the flow. You just know."
Jaeven inhaled, exhaled, and started again.
This time, he didn't force it.
He just moved.
The ball stuck to his feet as if tethered by invisible strings.
The field seemed to breathe with him — the echoes of footsteps, the weight of the ball, the rhythm of motion.
And for a brief moment, the world slowed again.
Not completely. But enough.
Enough for him to realize it wasn't luck.
It was control — mental, physical, and spiritual alignment.
The flow wasn't something he entered by accident.
It was something he could train.
---
He stopped, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his chin.
He looked up at the empty stands.
The same ones that had once held thousands of screaming fans when his viral clip shook the youth league.
He smiled faintly. "I'll make them cheer again soon."
The System Interface flickered softly before him.
---
[System Notice]
Player has entered partial flow alignment.
Trait synergy: Spectral Awareness + Ball Control detected.
Compatibility: 32% — improving.
---
"Thirty-two percent, huh?" He chuckled.
"Guess I still have a long way to go."
He picked up the ball, placed it under his arm, and walked toward the tunnel.
Behind him, the lights began to dim, shadows stretching across the empty field.
He didn't need to see what was coming — he could feel it.
Something big was approaching — a change, a shift in tempo, the prelude to something greater.
And this time, he wasn't afraid of it.
Because for the first time since joining Virtus Lombardia FC,
he knew exactly who he was becoming.
---