The night after the match hung over Lombardy like a quiet shadow.
Virtus Lombardia's 1–1 draw against Siena Calcio was supposed to feel like a victory — at least on paper. They had faced one of the stronger teams in the league, held their ground, and salvaged a point in front of thousands of away fans. But to Jaeven, it felt like unfinished business.
Even in the locker room, the air was strange — not defeat, not celebration, just that stale middle ground where pride and disappointment coexist.
The faint scent of sweat and grass clung to the walls as the players sat scattered, their jerseys half-pulled off, shin guards tossed aside. The sound of showers hissed in the background, mixing with the muffled hum of conversation.
Ricardo Santori sat quietly on the bench opposite Jaeven, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the tiled floor. No one blamed him for missing the penalty — at least, not aloud. But every player felt it in their gut. That could've been the winner.
Coach Leonardo Rossi stood in front of the whiteboard, arms folded, his expression unreadable. He wasn't angry, but his silence carried more weight than a scolding ever could.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even.
"Good fight," he began, scanning the room. "You played with discipline, kept your shape, and didn't lose your heads even after going down. That's progress."
A few players nodded, but their eyes stayed down.
"However," Rossi continued, "we're still playing like we hope to win, not like we expect to. There's a difference."
His gaze passed over them one by one, landing on Jaeven for a split second.
The young winger held his breath.
"I want everyone to remember that feeling — the one in your stomach right now. Because that's what wasted chances feel like. Next week, we make sure it's Siena feeling it instead of us."
He gave a small nod and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
For a few moments, no one said anything. Then, as if breaking through the fog, Ricardo stood up, ran a hand through his damp hair, and exhaled sharply.
"Next time," he muttered, voice barely audible. "Next time, I'll bury it."
Jaeven looked up at him and offered a small, tired smile. "We'll get that chance."
Ricardo gave a half-smile back, the tension easing just a little. That was Jaeven's thing — he didn't talk much, but when he did, it had weight. Maybe it was the calm in his tone, or maybe just the quiet confidence that lingered behind his eyes.
---
Later That Night
Jaeven sat by his window, still in his hoodie, a half-empty water bottle beside him. His room was dim except for the glow of the desk lamp. Outside, the streets of Lombardy were calm — the kind of calm that follows long days and long thoughts.
He replayed the match in his mind — Siena's opening goal, his equalizer, the missed penalty.
It had been a good game for him. A statement game, even. His goal had come in the 76th minute: a sudden burst down the left, a feint that sent the fullback sliding, then a right-footed curl that kissed the inside of the post. The kind of finish that made even the away crowd pause for half a second.
And yet, he couldn't shake the thought — what if I'd taken the penalty?
He remembered standing near the box when the whistle blew. Ricardo had grabbed the ball immediately, confident, composed. The captain had nodded, and no one questioned it. It was normal; Ricardo was the set-piece taker. But when the shot went wide — just an inch — Jaeven had felt something twist inside him.
Not anger. Not frustration. Just a quiet question that wouldn't go away.
"Would it have been different?"
He caught his reflection in the window — the faint sharpness in his eyes, the subtle change in his features since unlocking the Charm Stat a few days ago. There was something more defined about him now, not just physically but in presence. He didn't look like a boy anymore. He looked like someone who belonged here.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. The familiar hum of the System flickered faintly in his mind.
> [Body Synchronization: 83% → 85%]
Minor increase detected due to enhanced match control and composure.
A faint smirk curved his lips. "So even draws count, huh…"
He wasn't obsessed with stats anymore — not the way he'd been when he first discovered the system. But progress, however small, always carried a quiet satisfaction. Especially when it felt earned.
---
The Next Morning
The training ground was quiet when Jaeven arrived early the next day. The sky still had that faint morning gray, dew glistening on the grass. A few staff members were already setting up cones and nets.
He liked it this way — calm, simple, empty.
By the time the rest of the team showed up, the atmosphere was lighter than the night before. Even Ricardo cracked a few jokes with the midfielders during warm-up.
Coach Rossi arrived just as they began stretching.
"Morning, gentlemen," he called out. "No rest days — we've got another match in five days, and it's at home. Time to turn that draw into momentum."
He began dividing them into groups, focusing on recovery drills and tactical adjustments.
As Jaeven jogged in a line beside Matteo Bianchi, his close friend and defensive midfielder, Matteo nudged him with his elbow.
"You look like you didn't sleep much," Matteo teased, flashing a grin. "Don't tell me you were brooding over the penalty all night."
Jaeven gave a quiet chuckle. "Something like that."
"Man, relax. You were the best player on the pitch yesterday. Even Rossi knows it. You keep playing like that, and you'll have Serie C scouts sniffing around soon."
"Maybe," Jaeven replied, glancing toward the coach, who was observing closely from the sidelines. "But I don't want to get ahead of myself."
"That's exactly why you're scary," Matteo said with a grin. "You act like a monk, but play like you've been possessed by an angel."
Jaeven laughed under his breath. Matteo always had that strange mix of humor and sincerity that made people like him instantly.
They spent the rest of the morning running through passing drills, small-sided games, and controlled scrimmages. Every now and then, Coach Rossi would pause play to explain spacing or positioning, emphasizing the importance of composure and awareness.
"You don't win leagues by playing pretty football," Rossi said. "You win by playing smart football."
---
Afternoon Break
After lunch, Jaeven found himself sitting on the bleachers overlooking the pitch. His muscles ached pleasantly from the morning's work, and the air was filled with the sound of cleats tapping and the distant chatter of staff.
Matteo joined him, carrying two bottles of water. He tossed one to Jaeven and sat beside him.
"Still thinking about yesterday?" he asked.
"Just… how close we were," Jaeven said quietly. "It feels strange. We're fighting for survival, and one missed shot can decide everything."
"That's football, amico," Matteo said, shrugging. "Sometimes you score, sometimes you don't. The trick is to not let the misses stick in your head."
He paused, looking out at the field. "You know, you're too hard on yourself sometimes. Most players would kill for your consistency."
Jaeven tilted his head. "And you?"
Matteo smirked. "I'm not 'most players,' remember? I'm the future legend of Lombardy's midfield."
They both laughed.
For a moment, the world felt simple again — just two kids chasing a ball, talking about dreams that felt too big but somehow close enough to touch.
---
Later That Day
Training wound down in the late afternoon. The players trickled out of the locker room, chatting about tactics, food, and weekend plans.
Jaeven stayed behind a little longer, packing up slowly, lost in thought.
As he tied his boots, Coach Rossi's voice came from behind him.
"Good work today."
Jaeven turned, a little surprised. "Thank you, Coach."
Rossi studied him for a moment, arms crossed. "You've grown faster than I expected. Not just technically — mentally. You don't play like a sixteen-year-old."
"Maybe that's because I don't think like one," Jaeven said with a faint smile.
Rossi gave a short nod, a hint of pride in his expression. "Keep that mindset. But remember something — football isn't just about skill or mentality. It's about timing. You'll get chances that appear once in a season, maybe once in a career. When they come, you don't hesitate."
"I won't."
"I know," Rossi said simply, then turned to leave. "See you tomorrow."
---
Evening
Back home, Jaeven collapsed onto his bed after dinner. Lucia, his younger sister, had been teasing him nonstop about the "almost win," while their mother, Mirae, had cooked a celebratory dinner anyway.
"You still scored," she'd said with a warm smile. "That's something to be proud of."
His father, Marco, had been quieter — more analytical as usual — but when Jaeven looked up from his plate, he'd caught the faint glimmer of pride in his father's eyes.
Now, lying in his room, he felt a strange peace.
He didn't win, but he didn't lose either.
He'd contributed. He'd mattered.
He turned toward the window, where the moonlight traced soft lines across his desk. His body was tired, but his mind was calm — too calm for someone who wanted to conquer everything.
He thought again about Rossi's words: timing.
Maybe that's what this draw was — a lesson in timing.
Not every step forward had to be a leap.
The System pulsed faintly, as if echoing his thoughts.
> [Body Synchronization: 85% → 86%]
Minor progression recorded through composure and controlled self-analysis.
He smiled faintly.
Even the system seemed to approve of patience now.
---
End of Chapter 25
Virtus Lombardia: 14th Place (18 points)
Next Fixture: Virtus Lombardia vs. Crema FC — Home Match (7 days later)
Jaeven Moretti Han — LW/SS — Age 16
Current Focus: Tactical Growth, Mental Stability, Flow State Refinement.