The stadium was quieter than usual.
Not empty—never truly empty anymore—but subdued, as if even the wind had chosen to hold its breath.
Ares Locke stood at the center circle, hands resting on his hips, chest rising and falling steadily. Sweat clung to his collarbone, and the muscles in his legs trembled faintly—not from exhaustion, but from tension.
Today wasn't about training.
Today was evaluation.
Rowan Vale stood on the sideline with a clipboard, eyes sharp and unreadable. Beside him were two assistant coaches Ares had never seen before—men with professional posture, neutral expressions, and the kind of gaze that dissected everything without mercy.
They weren't here to encourage.
They were here to decide.
Whether Ares Locke was worth continuing to observe…
—or worth cutting loose.
Ares swallowed.
Thirty days.
That was what everything had been building toward.
Thirty days of pain, repetition, humiliation, silent mornings, and lonely nights. Thirty days of a system that didn't always help. Thirty days of readers who came and went, whose emotions rose and fell like invisible tides.
And thirty days of a single, stubborn decision:
I won't break.
Rowan raised a hand.
"Start when ready."
Ares nodded once.
He didn't rush.
That alone was a change.
He placed the ball carefully, adjusting its angle with the inside of his boot. His breathing slowed. His shoulders loosened. The chaos that once ruled his body—the frantic need to prove something immediately—was gone.
The system remained quiet.
No chime.
No prompt.
No skill activation.
Just him.
And for the first time… that didn't scare him.
He began moving.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
Controlled.
His foot touched the ball with precision, each tap measured, each movement deliberate. He curved around the first cone, pivoted smoothly, and transitioned into a short acceleration burst.
Rowan's pen paused.
The assistant coaches exchanged a glance.
Ares could feel it—the subtle shift in the air. Attention sharpening. Judgment forming.
He cut left.
Then right.
A sudden feint.
The ball stayed glued to his foot, as if obeying instinct rather than force.
Still, no system activation.
And that was fine.
Because this wasn't about miracles.
This was about proof.
Ares accelerated into open space, then slowed abruptly, dragging the ball back with the sole of his foot. His balance held. His center of gravity stayed low.
No stumble.
No wasted motion.
The younger version of himself—three weeks ago—would have collapsed here.
Now, he flowed.
DING.
The sound was faint, almost respectful.
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: FOCUS
Minor Synchronization Established
Passive Effect: Movement efficiency slightly increased
⸻
Ares didn't react.
He didn't smile.
He didn't falter.
He simply kept going.
That, more than anything, impressed Rowan.
The final sequence came naturally.
Ares pushed the ball forward, drew back his leg—
—and stopped.
Not because he hesitated.
But because he chose not to shoot.
Instead, he passed.
A clean, sharp diagonal ball toward an imaginary teammate.
Perfect weight.
Perfect timing.
Perfect restraint.
The field fell silent.
Ares came to a stop, breathing evenly.
Rowan lowered his clipboard.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Then Rowan stepped forward.
"That," he said calmly, "was the right decision."
Ares's heart skipped.
Rowan continued, "You didn't chase spectacle. You didn't try to impress. You chose efficiency over ego."
One of the assistants nodded. "Rare, at this level."
Another added, "Especially for someone desperate."
Ares's fingers curled slightly.
Rowan looked at him directly now.
"You still lack refinement. Your stamina is below professional standard. Your muscle memory is unstable."
Ares's chest tightened.
"But—" Rowan said, holding up a finger, "your adaptability is exceptional. And your mentality…"
He paused.
"…is dangerous."
Ares looked up.
Rowan's gaze was sharp, but not cold.
"Dangerous in the sense that it grows when pressured," Rowan clarified. "That's not something you can teach."
He turned to the assistants.
"I want him on the provisional list."
The words hit Ares harder than any system reward.
Provisional.
Not guaranteed.
But not dismissed.
The first door.
Rowan faced Ares again.
"This doesn't mean you've made it," he said flatly. "It means you haven't failed."
Ares bowed his head slightly. "Thank you."
Rowan's lips twitched. "Don't thank me yet. Trials will be worse."
As Rowan turned away, the system chimed—this time, clearly.
DING!
⸻
Quest Completed: Impress Rowan Vale
Reward Granted:
• Physical Stat Boost (Minor – Stability Focus)
• Passive Perk Unlocked: "Mental Anchor"
Description:
Under pressure, decision-making speed and emotional control improve instead of degrading.
⸻
Ares exhaled slowly.
So this… was the reward.
Not power.
Not flash.
But something deeper.
Something permanent.
He clenched his fist.
Rowan stopped at the gate and glanced back.
"Rest today," he said. "Tomorrow, we raise the intensity."
Ares nodded.
As the coaches left, the stadium returned to stillness.
Ares remained where he was, staring at the grass beneath his feet.
Thirty days ago, this field had been a place of loneliness.
Now…
It was the place where everything began.
The system flickered one last time.
⸻
Reader Emotion Detected: ANTICIPATION
Synchronization Level: Slowly Rising
⸻
Ares smiled faintly.
"So… you're still watching."
He turned toward the exit.
The Rising Star Trials were no longer a distant dream.
They were coming.
And for the first time in his life—
Ares Locke was ready to step through the door.