Chapter 9 – Scars and Shadows
The academy pitch breathed in the pale morning light as if it were a living thing awakening from its own dreams. Dew clung to every blade of grass, turning the field into a sheet of tiny mirrors that caught the rising sun. When Jaeven stepped onto it, the cold dampness kissed the soles of his boots and sent a small shiver up his legs — a reminder that a new day always demanded something of you.
His muscles were sore from yesterday. Not the pain of overexertion, but the heavy, lingering residue of Luca Bianchi's past — the kind of story that doesn't leave your head easily. He stretched against the goalpost, letting his breath settle, feeling the slow burn of tension ease from his calves.
Quarto Oggiaro…
He could imagine it clearly now. Not because he had been there, but because Luca's voice had painted it like a rough mural: cracked pavement, flickering streetlights, the metallic scent of rust and exhaust, a place where childhoods grew fast, and softness didn't survive.
His restart almost felt like privilege in comparison.
The System flickered alive in the corner of his vision, gentle and unobtrusive:
[Warm-Up: Active | Physical +1 | Mentality +1 – Bond Development Detected]
He didn't dwell on it. Progress was expected — but bonds? That was new.
A ball bounced in the distance. Then again. Thud. Thud. Jaeven looked up.
Luca was already there.
Half of his face was in shadow, the sun carving a line across his cheek. He was juggling with a sort of mindless rhythm, the ball rising and falling like his thoughts were somewhere far away. No scowl today. No angry energy vibrating off him like static.
Just a small upward nod when he saw Jaeven.
Jaeven stepped forward, caught the ball clean off Luca's knee, and rolled it back with a relaxed touch.
"Morning," he said.
Luca trapped it with ease.
"Han."
A beat passed, then Luca squinted slightly.
"You look like shit. Bergamo mud still haunting your dreams?"
Jaeven snorted. "Nah. Your story kept me up."
Luca gave a short, dismissive scoff and kicked the ball back harder — not aggressive, just testing.
"Tch. Don't start acting like my therapist. I just… needed to say it out loud."
They kept passing.
No rushing. No pressure. Just rhythm.
Thud.
Trap.
Push.
Return.
Players trickled onto the field, Matteo waving across the pitch, but the two didn't break the flow. Their conversation slipped into the space between passes like it belonged there.
"Quarto Oggiaro," Jaeven said casually, catching a firm pass. "Sounds like you grew up in the middle of a battlefield. Your dad worked himself to death in that Fiat plant, right?"
Luca's smirk was humorless.
"Giuseppe. Yeah. Old bastard had Calabrian fire in his veins. After his back went? The bottle replaced the job. He used to say, 'Life's a kick in the balls, kid,' before throwing whatever wasn't nailed down."
He killed the ball with a flawless stop, eyes distant.
"I'd disappear outside. Grab a sock ball, kick it against graffiti-covered walls till my toes bruised. Better than staying home."
Jaeven kept the return pass low and smooth.
"And your mom? Maria?"
Luca's jaw tightened — not in anger, but in something quieter, more fragile.
"She worked nights. Hospital cleaning shifts. Hands smelling like bleach for hours. Always tired, but always smiling for me. Still defended him. 'He's not bad, Luca,' she'd say, even when her eyes started fading. 'He's… just broken.'"
He flicked the ball up and volleyed it back with precision.
"Got scouted at ten, didn't you?" Jaeven asked.
"Yeah." Luca rolled the ball forward with a soft touch. "Fees were insane. Mom scraped everything together. By thirteen, I made it here on scholarship. But the anger… it came with me. Tackles too wild. Headers too reckless. Coaches said I was a bomb waiting to explode."
Jaeven raised a brow. "They weren't entirely wrong."
Luca huffed a laugh through his nose.
"You should've seen me at fifteen."
The whistle blew. Renzo called for warm-ups.
But Luca kept talking as they jogged.
"Tournament in Turin. Fancy academy kids with perfect haircuts and dads in suits. We were down two-nil. Then my old man shows up, drunk as hell, yelling, 'Hit harder, pussy!' Loud enough for the whole stadium."
His fists clenched as they ran.
"I lost it. Slid into their striker like he insulted my ancestors. Straight red. Coach thought I'd lost my mind."
Jaeven didn't interrupt. Some stories weren't meant to be rushed.
"That night," Luca continued, voice dropping, "he tried to swing at me. Missed. Hit Mom instead."
The memory burned just hearing it.
"Next morning I packed my shit, came to the dorms, and cut ties. I send Mom money, but him?"
A hard breath.
"He's already dead to me."
They reached the warm-up circle.
Luca stared at the ground in front of him.
Jaeven nudged him lightly.
"You're not him, Luca."
A pause.
"That fire you have? It's not a curse. You just need to control it."
Luca snorted, but the edge had softened.
"Easy for you. Calm, golden boy Han. Then you show up and steal the spotlight. Had me pissed. Still am, a bit."
Jaeven grinned. "Good. Means we both push harder."
Luca elbowed him.
"Tch. We're teammates now, yeah?"
"Yeah."
The System pulsed:
[Bond Strengthened: Luca Bianchi | Team Synergy +3 | Mentality +4]
The day moved forward like something had quietly shifted — a weight lifted off one pair of shoulders and shared across two.
Training that day was sharper than usual.
Renzo's voice boomed across the pitch, his commands punching through the cold air.
"Press together! No gaps! Read each other!"
The academy speakers hummed alive with music, adding pulse to the drills. The sun burned away the dew, leaving the pitch bright, responsive, and ready.
Luca moved like a man possessed — not wild, but precise.
Sharper.
Focused.
Contained fury crafted into a weapon.
Jaeven found himself reading Luca's movements almost instinctively.
In 5v3 pressing drills, Luca closed angles like a hunting dog while Jaeven cut the passing lanes with surgical anticipation.
Ball shifted — Jaeven intercepted.
Ball popped loose — Luca stabbed it away.
Rebound spilled — Jaeven slipped a feint, fired into the mini goal.
Renzo clapped once.
"That's it. Again."
They repeated the cycle.
Muscles burning.
Breaths heavy.
Sweat dripping into the dirt.
A machine beginning to take shape.
Inside the tactical room, Renzo replayed clips of their match against Cernusco.
"This moment here," Renzo said, pointing at the freeze-frame. "Han presses correctly. Bianchi? You're late."
Luca opened his mouth — then shut it.
"My mistake."
Silence.
Even the projector seemed shocked.
Renzo blinked twice. Matteo stared like the world had tilted sideways. Jaeven tapped Luca's arm under the table. Luca didn't even swat him away.
Progress.
Scrimmage was chaos — the good kind.
Yellow bibs vs red bibs.
Jaeven and Luca on the same team.
The ball snapped across the pitch with real purpose now.
Midfield turnover — Luca crashed in, won the duel.
Passed instantly — Jaeven danced around a defender, shot hard.
Keeper parried.
"Better!" Renzo shouted.
Moments later:
High press trigger — Luca roared forward, forcing a panicked pass.
Jaeven intercepted with perfect timing.
A quick one-two — Luca slammed a missile into the top corner.
Net rippling like it wanted to tear.
He didn't celebrate.
Just pointed at Jaeven.
"That's how we do it."
Jaeven smacked his shoulder lightly.
"Next one's yours."
Later, on the counter, Jaeven curved a cross so clean it sliced the air — Matteo tapped it in with ease.
Everything was flowing.
Everything felt right.
When Renzo blew the final whistle, he looked at them both for a long moment before saying:
"Good. Very good. Keep this up."
The System whispered:
[Training Efficiency Boosted: +12%]
[Synergy Link: Stable]
The gym in the afternoon echoed with metallic clatters and strained breaths.
Luca spotted Jaeven during bench presses, steady and reliable.
"You know," Luca said mid-rep, "those alleys taught me how to stay on my feet. Guys twice my size tried to push me around."
"Then stay on your feet here too," Jaeven panted through a rep.
"Oh, I will. Still not letting you outrun me."
Their rivalry had changed — sharpened, refined.
No longer blades clashing.
More like blades sharpening each other.
Matteo joined the core workout, panting halfway through planks.
"You two suddenly getting along… weird. Very weird."
Luca didn't even snap back.
Just said:
"Plank properly before you talk."
Matteo blinked three times.
"You're… nice? Did Han baptize you or something?"
Jaeven nearly dropped from laughing.
Evening at the villa felt like stepping into a pocket of warmth tucked away from the world.
The air was rich with basil, garlic, and roasted tomatoes — Marco's cooking filling every corner with homely comfort. Lucia practiced juggling under the soft garden lights.
"You're a little better today," she said without looking up.
"Only a little?"
"You're always only a little."
Her grin was cheeky and bright.
At dinner, Marco listened quietly as Jaeven recounted the scrimmage. Then he nodded slowly, offering a small smile.
"Talent shines," Marco said. "But bonds… bonds win matches."
Jaeven thought of Luca — all scars and shadows, wrapped in stubborn pride and raw fire.
He thought of how they moved today — not like rivals, but like twin gears turning the same machine.
Yeah.
Bonds win matches.
When he finally fell into bed that night, the System drifted into view, soft as a whisper:
[Stats Improved]
Dribbling 62 → 63
Passing 60 → 61
Shooting 50 → 51
Physical 64 → 65
Pace 55 → 56
Mentality 86 → 88
Tactical 73 → 74
[Skill Unlocked: Brotherly Assist – Lv.1]
Increases passing precision and awareness when paired with designated Rival/Ally.
[Quest Progress: UNITED – Team Cohesion Rising]
Jaeven lay still, Luca's words echoing in the quiet:
I refuse to be him.
Some people carried scars.
Some carried shadows.
Some carried both.
But even shadows could sharpen you — if you learned to walk with them instead of drown beneath them.
And for the first time in a long while, Jaeven fell asleep with warmth in his chest…
and the hunger for tomorrow burning brighter than ever.