Morning sunlight cut through the thin curtains of our small apartment in Benin City, landing right on my face. I groaned, rolling over on the narrow bed, my body aching from yesterday's match. Every muscle in my legs protested when I tried to move, a reminder that the neighborhood derby wasn't just another game—it was the beginning of something.
The echo of the crowd still lingered in my head. That final assist. The roar. The way time froze before the ball hit the back of the net. I could still hear Ayo yelling my name, and somewhere in that blur, I'd felt… alive.
> "Next Quest: Await Opportunity."
The words had whispered in my mind last night, faint as a breeze. The System's voice wasn't robotic—it was more like a thought I didn't fully own. I tried to ignore it, but it lingered even as I blinked awake.
"Joseph!" Mama's voice came from the kitchen. "You think because you scored goal yesterday, you won't wake up on time again, ehn?"
I smiled. "I'm coming, Mama," I said, voice half-dead with sleep.
When I stepped out, she already had beans and pap on the table. The smell filled the room like home always did—warm, familiar, and heavy with love. She looked at me, her face softened by pride. "That match, everyone is talking about it," she said, sliding the bowl toward me. "They said one man was watching from a car yesterday. Who knows, maybe it's your destiny looking at you."
I laughed. "Mama, abeg, no start with destiny talk this early."
But she wasn't joking. "Joseph," she said, more quietly, "when you were small, you always said you wanted to play for Arsenal. Don't stop saying it."
I swallowed, staring into the pap like it could answer something for me. Arsenal. The dream felt both close and impossible—like light seen from underwater. "I won't stop," I whispered. "Never."
---
That afternoon, I walked to the training ground. The street buzzed with weekend energy—okadas racing past, kids chasing balls made of plastic bags, the smell of roasted corn mixing with dust. Every few steps, someone shouted, "Star boy! That assist no be small thing oh!"
I smiled, trying to stay humble, but my heart swelled. For once, people knew my name.
At the field, Ayo was juggling a ball lazily with his knees. "Joseph! You don turn celebrity overnight, abi?" he teased.
"Abeg, leave that thing," I said, tying my boots. "You're the one that scored the winning goal. The crowd nearly carried you away."
He grinned. "I hear something though… they say one man from Lagos was at the game yesterday. A scout."
I froze. "Who told you that?"
"My uncle saw him," Ayo said, lowering his voice. "White shirt, dark shades. He parked his car just beside the kiosk near the pitch. He didn't talk to anyone. Just watched and left when we scored."
I laughed nervously. "Maybe he came for suya."
But deep inside, the System stirred again.
> "Observation detected."
A chill crawled up my spine.
"What did you say?" Ayo asked.
"Nothing," I said quickly, forcing a smile. "Let's train."
---
We practiced under the sun, the kind of heat that melted time. Every pass, every run—my body was learning things it didn't know it could do. When I closed my eyes, I could feel the rhythm of the pitch, the geometry of motion. The System didn't speak much, but sometimes I felt it guiding my instincts. I'd move before I thought. Anticipate before the ball arrived.
That was when I noticed the car.
It wasn't new—an old Toyota with Lagos plates—but it was clean, too clean for our street. The driver was there again, wearing the same white shirt. This time, he wasn't hiding. He leaned on the car door, watching.
My chest tightened. "Ayo," I said quietly. "That's him."
The man raised a hand slightly, not waving—acknowledging. Then he pushed off the car and started walking toward us.
---
He stopped at the edge of the pitch, dust clinging to his black shoes. His eyes were sharp, but calm. "You're Joseph Oyas," he said.
I nodded, wiping sweat from my face. "Yes, sir."
"My name is Coach Ibrahim," he said. "I scout for a youth program in Lagos. One of our people sent a video from yesterday's match. You have something… natural."
My heart raced. "Thank you, sir."
He studied me a moment longer. "But natural isn't enough. I came today to see if you can perform again—next Saturday. There'll be other scouts there, more experienced ones. If you do well, I'll take you to Lagos for a trial."
It felt like the world stopped moving. The sounds around me—balls bouncing, children shouting—faded into silence.
"Sir… me?"
He nodded. "You. But pressure changes people. We'll see how you handle it."
Then, as quickly as he came, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the middle of the pitch with my heartbeat roaring in my ears.
> "Quest Accepted: Prove Worth (1/3). Objective—perform under observation."
---
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay staring at the ceiling, replaying his words again and again.
Perform under observation.
It sounded simple, but I knew what it meant—if I failed next week, I'd vanish back into the noise of forgotten dreams.
I sat up, legs heavy with exhaustion but heart burning. I pulled on my old sneakers and crept outside. The night air was cool, the street empty except for distant generator hums and barking dogs. The moon hung above like a watchful eye.
I started to jog.
One block. Two. Three.
Every breath felt like a promise.
> "Endurance training initiated."
"Mental focus: 72%."
The System wasn't loud tonight. It felt… proud, almost. Like a silent coach jogging beside me.
By the time I reached the pitch, sweat poured down my back. I kicked an empty bottle, imagining it was the ball. My muscles screamed, but I didn't stop.
If this is my chance, I'll take it with both feet.
The bottle rolled to the goalpost and stopped dead center. I smiled.
> "Motivation Level Increased."
"Trait Unlocked: Relentless Spirit."
I didn't know what it meant yet, but it felt right.
---
The days that followed blurred into one long rhythm of school, chores, and training. Every evening, I came to the field with Ayo. We practiced everything—short passes, long crosses, fake shots, vision drills. My body ached, but my confidence grew sharper.
Sometimes, I'd close my eyes and picture myself at the Emirates Stadium, under the floodlights, wearing the red and white of Arsenal. The crowd chanting my name. "Joseph Oyas… from Benin to the world."
And in those moments, I swear, I could feel the System hum like a heartbeat.
> "Trajectory recalibrated: London."
I'd laugh softly, whispering, "You believe in me too, huh?"
It never answered directly, but the silence felt like a yes.
---
Friday night came too quickly. The match was set for the next morning. My boots were clean but worn. My jersey had a small tear near the shoulder, stitched clumsily by Mama. She placed her hands on my face before I left for bed. "Remember," she said, "don't chase the ball with fear. Let it chase you."
I nodded. "I will, Mama."
When I lay down, I whispered into the dark, "System… am I ready?"
> "Readiness: 81%. Fear detected—normal range. Trust your rhythm."
For the first time, I didn't feel like it was a machine. I felt like it understood me.
---
Morning arrived. The field was more crowded than I'd ever seen. Boys from other streets, spectators, even a few people with cameras. My stomach churned with nerves.
Coach Ibrahim stood near the sidelines, arms crossed. When our eyes met, he gave a small nod. No smile, no reassurance—just expectation.
The whistle blew. The match began.
---
The first half was chaos. The other team played hard, pressing us back. I missed an easy pass early, and my teammates groaned. Sweat dripped into my eyes. Every mistake echoed louder under pressure.
For a second, I felt like I was drowning in noise.
Then, the thought came.
> "Breathe. Observe. Slow the game."
It wasn't a command—it was guidance.
I took a breath, exhaled, and everything shifted. The noise dulled. The game slowed. I saw spaces I hadn't seen before—tiny gaps, moving patterns. Vision wasn't just seeing; it was feeling the rhythm.
The ball came to me again. One touch, turn, and a pass split through the defense like it knew where it wanted to go. Ayo ran onto it, one-on-one with the keeper.
Goal.
The crowd exploded. My lungs burned, but I was smiling before I knew it.
Coach Ibrahim clapped once, just once, eyes unreadable.
> "Performance registered. Composure +3."
The rest of the match was a blur of sweat and focus. I didn't score, but every pass, every touch felt intentional. I wasn't chasing the ball anymore. It was chasing me.
When the whistle blew, we'd won. 2–1. The crowd rushed in again, cheering. Ayo grabbed me, yelling, "You see that pass?! Bro, that was magic!"
I laughed, breathless. "We did it."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ibrahim talking to someone on the phone, nodding slowly. Then he looked at me. "Pack your things, Joseph. Lagos is waiting."
My world tilted.
Mama. Arsenal. Lagos. The future—all flashing through me at once.
> "Quest Progress: 1/3 Complete. Path to greatness initiated."
---
That night, I couldn't sleep again, but this time it wasn't anxiety—it was awe. I sat outside, under the same stars that had watched me train days ago. My boots rested beside me, still caked in dust.
"System," I whispered, "what's next?"
> "Next Quest: Enter the Arena. Lagos Youth Academy Trial – Pending."
The voice faded, leaving only silence and the hum of distant crickets.
I looked up at the stars, a small smile playing on my lips.
"Arsenal," I said softly, "I'm coming."
________________________________________
📊 PLAYER SYSTEM UPDATE
Name: Joseph Oyas
Age: 15
Nationality: Nigerian 🇳🇬
Position: Attacking Midfielder
Club: None (Local Team, Benin City)
Dream Club: Arsenal FC 🇬🇧
---
⚽ Core Attributes
Attributes
Overall 55 (+5)
Dribbling 49 (+1)
Passing 52 (+3)
Shooting 41 (+1)
Stamina 56 (+3)
Vision 54 (+4)
Confidence 75 (+5)
---
🧠 Skills & Traits
Active Skills:
Dribbling Lv.1
Vision Lv.1
Unlocked Trait: Relentless Spirit (Increases focus and recovery speed under fatigue)
Hidden Trait: Instinctive Playmaker (Developing)
---
🎯 Quest Progress
Main Quest: Path to Greatness
[✔] Prove Worth (1/3)
[ ] Enter the Arena (2/3)
[ ] Earn the Badge (3/3)
---
💬 System Note:
> "Talent opens the door. Discipline walks through it. Lagos awaits."