The stadium was no longer empty.
That alone made it feel different.
Ares Locke stood near the sideline, hands resting on his hips, chest rising and falling as he stared across the training field. The grass was freshly trimmed. The cones were neatly arranged. A handful of players were already warming up—stretching, juggling, chatting casually.
They didn't look like prodigies.
But they didn't look desperate either.
And that scared him more than any arrogant genius ever could.
These were players who belonged here.
Rowan Vale stood at the center of the field, clipboard tucked under his arm, eyes sharp as ever. His voice cut through the air.
"Listen up. This isn't a friendly session."
The chatter stopped.
"This is an internal evaluation match. No official records. No spectators. But make no mistake—every decision today determines who stays on my list."
A few players straightened instinctively.
Ares swallowed.
Evaluation match.
Not a trial yet—but close enough to taste.
Rowan's gaze swept the group before stopping, briefly, on Ares.
"And before anyone asks," Rowan continued, "yes. Some of you are here because of reputation. Others because of recommendation."
A pause.
"And one of you is here because I saw something I couldn't explain."
A few heads turned.
Ares felt the pressure settle on his shoulders like invisible weight.
Rowan didn't elaborate. He simply raised a hand.
"Warm up. Ten minutes."
As the group broke apart, Ares moved automatically, jogging lightly along the sideline. His body felt… strange.
Not weak.
Not strong.
Just alert.
Like every nerve was listening.
DING.
The system chimed quietly.
⸻
Reader Attention Increasing
Current State: Cautious Interest
Pressure Conversion Efficiency: Stable
⸻
Ares frowned slightly.
"Pressure… conversion?"
The panel faded before he could ask more.
He shook his head and focused on stretching, forcing his breathing into a steady rhythm.
Don't think too much.
Just move.
That had always been his survival rule.
A ball rolled to his feet from nearby. Instinctively, he tapped it back.
Clean.
Controlled.
Rowan noticed.
So did a few others.
One of the players—a tall midfielder with neatly trimmed hair—raised an eyebrow.
"New guy?" he asked casually.
Ares nodded. "Yeah."
The midfielder studied him for a second, then smirked. "Try not to get in the way."
Ares didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
He had thirty days.
And this was day twelve.
The teams were split quickly. No ceremony. No speeches.
Ares found himself assigned as a wide midfielder—support role.
Not central.
Not commanding.
But not invisible either.
Rowan's whistle pierced the air.
The match began.
Immediately, Ares felt it.
The difference.
This wasn't solo training.
This wasn't drills.
The pace was sharper. The passes faster. The spaces smaller.
Within seconds, he was forced to move.
Adjust.
React.
The ball zipped past him once—too fast.
Twice—too late.
Ares clenched his jaw.
Focus.
He repositioned, reading the flow, watching feet and shoulders rather than the ball itself.
Then it happened.
The ball came toward him—low, quick, awkward.
For a split second, instinct screamed to panic.
Instead—
Something shifted.
The world sharpened.
DING.
⸻
Passive Effect Triggered
Unyielding Spark — Low Intensity
Reader Tension Detected
⸻
The ball's path became… obvious.
Not predicted.
Understood.
Ares adjusted his foot and trapped it cleanly.
The moment felt small.
But it wasn't.
Because the player who passed it to him froze—just for a fraction of a second.
Ares didn't hesitate.
He turned.
One touch.
Another.
The defender stepped in too early.
Ares slipped past him—not fast, not flashy, just… correct.
A murmur rippled across the field.
Nothing loud.
But something noticed.
He passed the ball off and moved immediately, creating space without realizing it.
His heart was racing.
Not from exhaustion.
From awareness.
Every action mattered.
Every choice echoed.
Minutes passed.
Ares made mistakes.
A bad touch.
A delayed pass.
A misjudged run.
Each one burned.
Each one tightened the invisible pressure around his chest.
DING.
⸻
Reader Emotion Shift
Frustration → Anticipation
Pressure Absorption: Active
⸻
Ares nearly stumbled.
Pressure absorption?
He felt it then—not as pain, not as power—
But as weight.
Heavy.
Demanding.
Like the world expected him to respond.
The ball came again.
This time, two defenders closed in.
Ares's instincts screamed retreat.
Instead, he stepped forward.
One defender overcommitted.
Ares cut inside.
The second lunged.
He felt the moment stretch—
Then snap.
He threaded the ball between them, barely escaping contact.
A sharp breath left his lungs.
A teammate shouted, startled. "Hey—nice!"
The pass reached its target.
The play continued.
Rowan's pen paused against his clipboard.
His eyes narrowed—not in disbelief, but in calculation.
Ares didn't celebrate.
He couldn't.
The pressure hadn't left.
It was growing.
By halftime, his legs trembled. Sweat soaked his back. His lungs burned.
But his mind—
Clear.
Terrifyingly clear.
As the whistle blew, he bent forward, hands on knees, gasping.
DING.
⸻
Reader Engagement Rising
Current State: Focused Interest
Passive Growth: Mental Stability ↑
⸻
Ares closed his eyes.
So this was it.
This was what the system demanded.
Not miracles.
Not constant brilliance.
But response.
When pressure arrived—
He had to answer.
Rowan approached slowly, stopping in front of him.
"You're not the fastest," Rowan said.
"You're not the strongest."
Ares waited.
"But you don't disappear under pressure," Rowan continued. "That's rare."
A pause.
"And dangerous."
Ares looked up, heart pounding.
Rowan's gaze was sharp—but not unkind.
"Second half," he said. "Show me you can keep it."
He turned away.
The system chimed once more.
DING.
⸻
Hidden Condition Unlocked
Pressure is no longer a burden.
Pressure is becoming a weapon.
⸻
Ares straightened.
The words echoed inside him.
A weapon.
He exhaled slowly.
If that was true—
Then he wouldn't run from it anymore.
He would welcome it.
Because the boy who trained alone in the rain had already learned one thing:
Pressure didn't break him.
It revealed him.
And the second half was about to begin.