The second week of training began with pain.
Not the dramatic kind.
Not the heroic kind.
The dull, grinding pain that settled deep into muscle and bone—and stayed there.
Ares Locke woke before dawn with his legs screaming in protest. Every step out of bed felt like dragging iron weights through wet cement. His calves were tight. His thighs burned. His lower back throbbed with a constant ache that refused to fade.
For a brief, dangerous moment, he considered lying back down.
Just five more minutes.
Just one more breath.
The thought barely formed before something inside him snapped tight.
"No," he said aloud.
The word came out rough. Absolute.
He stood up anyway.
The old stadium greeted him with silence and dew-covered grass. The air was cool, but his body heated quickly as soon as he began warming up.
Rowan Vale arrived ten minutes later.
On time. As always.
He didn't greet Ares. Didn't nod. Didn't comment on the stiffness in his movements or the faint limp he was trying—and failing—to hide.
Rowan simply dropped a bag onto the bench.
"Today," he said, "we introduce pressure."
Ares paused mid-stretch. "Pressure?"
Rowan's eyes were sharp. Evaluating. Measuring.
"Anyone can train alone," he continued. "Anyone can look decent when there's no consequence. Football isn't played in comfort. It's played under expectation."
He reached into the bag and pulled out a thin black band.
A resistance strap.
Rowan tossed it toward Ares.
"Put it on."
Ares caught it, hesitating. "This… is for speed training?"
"No," Rowan replied flatly. "It's for failure training."
Ares frowned but obeyed, strapping the band around his waist as Rowan secured the other end to a metal post near the sideline.
The tension pulled immediately.
"Dribbling course," Rowan said, setting cones in a tight zigzag pattern. "Same as before. But now—every mistake counts."
"What happens if I mess up?"
Rowan's lips curved faintly.
"You'll feel it."
Ares swallowed.
"Begin."
The moment Ares took his first step, the resistance band yanked back hard.
He stumbled.
Barely caught his balance.
The ball rolled half a meter too far.
"Reset," Rowan said.
Ares clenched his jaw and started again.
Tap. Control. Turn.
The band pulled harder with every step forward, fighting his momentum, punishing hesitation.
By the third cone, his legs were shaking.
He clipped the ball.
The band snapped tight.
Pain tore through his waist as he was dragged backward, landing hard on the grass.
Air blasted from his lungs.
Rowan didn't react.
"Reset."
Ares lay there for a second, chest heaving.
The system chimed softly.
DING.
Reader Tension Detected: Rising
Ares pushed himself up.
Again.
By the tenth attempt, his shirt was soaked. His breathing was ragged. His footwork—once improving—had begun to deteriorate under fatigue.
He messed up again.
The band yanked him off balance.
Another fall.
This time, he stayed down longer.
Rowan finally spoke.
"You know what separates professionals from amateurs?"
Ares spat grass from his mouth. "Talent?"
Rowan shook his head. "Recovery."
He stepped closer.
"Talent fails under pressure. Discipline adapts."
Ares forced himself upright.
"I can do this."
Rowan met his gaze. "Then stop fighting the pressure. Use it."
Ares frowned. "What does that even mean?"
Rowan gestured to the band. "Every pull is feedback. Let it guide your center. Adjust your touch. Accept the resistance."
Ares stared at the strap, then the cones.
Then he inhaled.
Slowly.
He stepped forward again—but this time, he leaned slightly into the pull, lowering his center of gravity. His movements became smaller. Tighter.
Tap.
Turn.
The resistance pulled—but instead of panicking, he let it inform his balance.
Tap.
Shift.
Control.
The ball stayed closer to his foot.
Rowan's eyes narrowed.
"Again."
Ares completed the course.
Barely.
But he did it.
The system chimed.
DING.
Reader Emotion Detected: Anticipation
Minor Focus Stability Increase Applied
Ares didn't smile.
He reset.
Again.
Hours passed.
No breaks.
No praise.
Only repetition.
By midday, Ares's muscles were trembling uncontrollably. The resistance band felt heavier than before—like it had doubled in strength.
Or maybe he was just running out of himself.
He tripped again.
Fell again.
This time, his hands shook when he tried to push up.
Rowan said nothing.
The silence was worse.
Ares squeezed his eyes shut.
If I stop now…
The thought burned.
The system flickered.
DING.
Reader Anxiety Detected
Will-Based Skill Response Available
Ares didn't open the panel.
He didn't need to.
He knew.
He whispered through clenched teeth, "Unyielding Spark."
The warmth ignited immediately—familiar, restrained, but steady.
Not explosive.
Enduring.
He stood.
This time, when he ran the course, something felt different.
His mind sharpened.
The pull of the band no longer felt like punishment—it felt like a test he could read.
He adjusted instinctively.
Turned cleaner.
Moved smoother.
Finished the course without falling.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
"Good," he said.
It was the first time he'd said the word today.
Ares almost laughed.
Almost.
Training ended as the sun dipped low.
Rowan unhooked the band and tossed it back into the bag.
"You're adapting faster than I expected," he said. "Still not fast enough. Still not clean enough. But you're learning."
Ares wiped his face with his sleeve. "Is that… enough?"
Rowan studied him.
"For today," he said. "Yes."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Remember this," Rowan added. "Pressure isn't punishment."
Ares looked up.
"It's a privilege," Rowan continued. "Only players worth testing are pushed this hard."
He walked away.
The system chimed one last time.
DING.
Reader Respect Detected
Passive Trait Unlocked: Pressure Adaptation (Lv. 1)
Effect: Performance degradation under stress reduced.
Ares sank onto the grass, exhausted beyond thought.
But something inside him was changing.
Pressure no longer felt like something meant to crush him.
It felt like proof.
Proof that he was still standing.
Still growing.
Still worth watching.
He stared up at the darkening sky, chest rising and falling.
"…Keep watching," he murmured softly.
Then he closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, the pressure would return.
And he would meet it again.