The air inside the training ground felt heavier than usual.
Not because of heat.
Not because of exhaustion.
But because of expectation.
Ares Locke stood at the center of the small practice pitch, ball resting under his foot, shoulders tense but steady. The white boundary lines were faded. The grass uneven. The goalposts slightly crooked.
Yet to him, it felt no different from a professional arena.
Because he knew now—
pressure didn't wait for the big stage.
It followed those who dared to step forward.
Rowan Vale watched from the sidelines, clipboard tucked under one arm, expression unreadable. Two assistant coaches stood nearby, whispering quietly among themselves.
They weren't impressed.
Not yet.
Ares could feel it.
Their eyes weren't hostile—but they weren't convinced either.
They were measuring him.
Waiting for cracks.
"Begin," Rowan said.
No encouragement.
No warning.
Just one word.
Ares nudged the ball forward.
The moment he moved, everything changed.
His breathing slowed.
His heartbeat steadied.
The world didn't slow—but his awareness sharpened.
Not enough to trigger Limitless Vision.
Not yet.
This wasn't the time for miracles.
This was the time for control.
He dribbled forward, light touches, keeping the ball close to his foot. One cone. Two. A turn. Another feint.
Simple.
Fundamental.
Boring, even.
One of the assistant coaches frowned. "That's it?"
Rowan didn't respond.
Ares heard the comment anyway.
And for a split second, doubt flickered.
Is this really enough?
DING.
A familiar chime echoed softly in his mind.
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: TENSION (Low)
System Status: Stable
Recommendation: Maintain consistency.
⸻
Ares exhaled through his nose.
Not yet, he thought. Don't rush it.
He continued.
Step. Touch. Shift. Balance.
Rowan's earlier words echoed in his memory:
Talentless players improve fastest through fundamentals.
At the time, the sentence had hurt.
Now, it anchored him.
Minutes passed.
Sweat rolled down Ares's spine.
His thighs burned. His calves screamed. His breathing grew heavier.
But he didn't break rhythm.
No flashy moves.
No unnecessary speed.
Just clean, repeatable motion.
One assistant coach checked his watch.
"This is dragging."
Rowan's eyes narrowed slightly.
Not at Ares—
—but at the coach.
"Watch his feet," Rowan said quietly.
The coach paused, then leaned forward.
That's when he noticed it.
Ares wasn't just dribbling.
He was correcting himself mid-motion.
Every mistake—
a touch too heavy, a turn too wide—
was adjusted instantly on the next movement.
Not through talent.
Through awareness.
Through will.
Suddenly, Rowan raised his hand.
"Enough."
Ares stopped immediately, ball dead under his sole.
His chest rose and fell rapidly. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the grass.
Rowan stepped forward.
"Again," he said. "But this time—pressure."
One of the assistant coaches rolled the ball toward Ares.
"Defensive pressure," Rowan clarified. "One-on-one."
The coach took position.
Ares's heart skipped.
This was different.
This wasn't practice against cones.
This was resistance.
The coach lunged forward.
Ares reacted instinctively—stepping back, pulling the ball with the inside of his foot.
The defender pressed harder.
Ares nearly lost balance.
His breath hitched.
For a moment, panic surged.
DING.
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: ANXIETY
Minor Boost Applied: Focus Stability +5%
⸻
Ares clenched his jaw.
No.
I don't fold here.
He dropped his center of gravity, shoulders loose, eyes up.
One fake.
The defender bit.
Ares cut sideways.
The ball stayed glued to his foot—not fast, not flashy, but clean.
The defender recovered quickly, blocking the path.
Ares pivoted.
Trapped.
No angle.
No speed advantage.
This was where most players panicked.
This was where he used to fail.
Not this time.
He didn't force it.
He waited.
Half a second.
Then another.
The defender shifted weight.
Ares moved—slipping past with a minimal touch and a sudden burst.
Not explosive.
Just enough.
The defender stumbled.
Ares broke free.
The assistants straightened.
Rowan's pen paused mid-scratch.
Ares didn't celebrate.
He didn't even smile.
He reset the ball.
Again.
The drill repeated.
Again.
And again.
Each time, the defender changed tactics.
Aggressive pressure.
Body contact.
Fake retreats.
Ares adapted.
Not perfectly.
But progressively.
His mistakes didn't disappear—
They shortened.
DING.
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: RESPECT (Moderate)
Skill Effect: Unyielding Spark — Passive Enhancement
Mental Fatigue Resistance +10%
⸻
Ares felt it.
Not strength.
Not speed.
But clarity.
The kind that came from refusing to collapse under weight.
Finally, Rowan raised his hand again.
"That's enough."
The defender stepped back, breathing hard.
One of the assistants whistled under his breath.
Rowan looked directly at Ares.
"You're not talented," he said.
Silence fell.
Ares's fingers twitched.
"But," Rowan continued, "you don't shrink when pressure increases."
He closed his clipboard.
"That matters."
Ares swallowed.
Rowan turned to the assistants.
"He stays."
One of them blinked. "Just like that?"
"Yes."
"But his stats—"
"—will change," Rowan cut in. "Or they won't. Either way, he's earned more time."
Rowan faced Ares again.
"Don't misunderstand," he said. "This doesn't mean you're special."
Ares nodded.
"It means," Rowan continued, "you haven't broken yet."
As the coaches dispersed, Ares remained standing on the field, legs trembling now that adrenaline faded.
The system chimed softly.
DING.
⸻
Quest Update: Impress Rowan Vale
Status: PARTIALLY COMPLETED
Progress: 70%
Note: Pressure resistance acknowledged.
⸻
Ares let out a slow breath.
Partially…
So this wasn't over.
He looked at the ball.
Then at the goal.
Then at the sky above the training ground.
Thirty days.
Still ticking.
Still closing in.
But for the first time, the weight didn't feel crushing.
It felt—
necessary.
Because pressure wasn't punishment.
Pressure was proof.
Proof that he was still standing.
Proof that his will hadn't shattered.
Ares tightened his grip around the ball.
"…Good," he murmured.
"If pressure is the test—"
He stepped back onto the field.
"—then I'll pass it."