The stadium was louder than Ares remembered.
Not louder in volume—
but heavier.
Every shout carried weight.
Every whistle scraped against his nerves.
Every pair of eyes felt sharper than before.
Ares stood near the sideline, hands on his hips, chest rising and falling as he tried to regulate his breathing. Sweat trickled down his spine beneath the thin training jersey. The Rising Star Trials were only halfway through the second evaluation match, yet his muscles already ached like he'd played a full ninety minutes.
This wasn't exhaustion alone.
It was pressure.
And for the first time since awakening the system, Ares felt it clearly—
Pressure without protection.
No glowing panels.
No sudden skill activation.
No reassuring chime telling him he was doing the right thing.
Just silence.
The system hadn't spoken since the morning.
Not a warning.
Not encouragement.
Not even a cold, neutral notification.
Nothing.
And that terrified him more than the scouts watching from the stands.
Across the field, the opposing midfielder jogged past him with a sneer, bumping his shoulder deliberately.
"Careful," the boy muttered. "Wouldn't want you collapsing again."
Ares didn't respond.
He couldn't afford to.
Rowan Vale's words echoed in his head from earlier that day.
"Today isn't about highlights."
"It's about consistency."
"If you draw too much attention, you'll be tested."
Rowan had been right.
Because Ares had already drawn attention.
Too much of it.
Earlier in the match, he'd made a perfectly weighted interception—clean, efficient, unflashy. Then another. And another. His positioning was off the charts for someone with no academy background. Scouts noticed.
So did the other players.
That was when the fouls started.
Nothing blatant.
A clipped heel here.
A shoulder charge there.
A late step that earned a warning but no card.
Each one whispered the same message:
We see you.
And we don't like it.
The referee's whistle shrilled.
"Play on!"
The ball rolled loose near midfield.
Ares reacted instantly, instincts firing before thought. He moved to intercept—
—and pain exploded up his calf as another player slid in late.
Ares stumbled but stayed upright, teeth clenched as he forced balance back into his frame.
The crowd murmured.
The system remained silent.
Ares swallowed hard.
I can't rely on it, he realized.
Not today.
The ball was passed forward. The play continued.
And so did the targeting.
By halftime, Ares had taken four hits that would've dropped him a month ago.
Now, he remained standing.
Barely.
As the whistle blew to signal the break, Ares jogged toward the bench, legs trembling. His vision swam faintly at the edges, but he forced himself not to slow.
Not to show weakness.
Rowan Vale met him halfway.
"You're limping," Rowan said quietly.
"I'm fine," Ares replied automatically.
Rowan's eyes hardened. "Don't lie to me."
Ares hesitated… then shook his head.
"I can still play."
Rowan studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.
"Sit. Drink. Don't let them see how tired you are."
Ares collapsed onto the bench, chest heaving. He took the offered bottle with shaking hands and downed half of it in one go.
The other players avoided his gaze.
Some looked annoyed.
Some wary.
One or two… resentful.
He understood why.
He was an outsider.
And outsiders who shine are rarely welcomed.
The system finally spoke.
DING.
The sound was faint—almost reluctant.
Ares's heart jumped.
⸻
System Status Update
Reader Engagement: Unstable
Current Emotion Trend: Tension / Concern
Warning: Host is drawing narrative focus
Adaptive Growth Suspended
⸻
Ares frowned internally.
Narrative focus?
The words lingered uncomfortably.
Before he could ask—before he could even process the meaning—the panel vanished.
Rowan clapped his hands sharply.
"Listen up," the coach barked. "Second half. They're going to test our midfield. Don't panic. Don't force plays."
His gaze flicked briefly to Ares.
"And you—don't try to be a hero."
Ares nodded.
But inside, a different thought burned.
I don't want to be a hero.
I just want to survive this.
The second half began brutally.
The opposing team pressed hard, targeting space Ares occupied. They forced him to move, to react, to decide—again and again.
Each decision mattered.
One misstep could cost him the trial.
One reckless play could cost him credibility.
So Ares did the hardest thing he'd learned so far.
He held back.
No flashy moves.
No risky interceptions.
No desperate sprints.
He positioned himself where he was needed—not where he wanted to be seen.
It was agonizing.
Every instinct screamed at him to push harder, to stand out, to prove himself.
But Rowan's voice echoed louder.
Consistency.
A sharp pass came toward him.
Ares trapped it cleanly.
Instead of turning forward, he passed back.
Boos erupted from a section of the crowd.
Ares flinched internally.
The system chimed faintly—but not as a reward.
DING.
⸻
Reader Emotion Shift Detected: Frustration (Minor)
No effect applied.
⸻
His jaw tightened.
They want more, he realized.
They want spectacle.
But this wasn't a story.
This was his life.
Another tackle came in—harder this time. Ares went down, sliding across wet grass. The referee finally blew the whistle.
Foul.
The opposing player raised his hands innocently.
Ares pushed himself up slowly, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg.
He locked eyes with the player who'd fouled him.
The message was clear.
We're not done.
The free kick was taken. The play resumed.
Minutes crawled by.
Ares's stamina dipped dangerously low.
No skill activation.
No sudden clarity.
Just fatigue and will.
And then—disaster.
A loose ball deflected unpredictably off another player's shin, spinning toward Ares at an awkward angle.
For a split second, his body reacted on instinct.
Limitless Vision.
The skill surged—
—then failed.
Nothing happened.
No trajectory.
No prediction.
No advantage.
Ares misjudged the bounce.
The ball slipped past him.
The opposing striker broke free.
The crowd roared.
Time slowed—not through the system, but through dread.
Ares turned and ran.
Every muscle screamed. His vision blurred. His lungs burned like fire.
He chased.
Not because he believed he'd catch up.
But because giving up wasn't an option.
The striker shot.
Ares lunged—
—and barely clipped the ball with his toe.
It deflected just enough.
Wide.
The stadium exploded in noise.
Some cheers.
Some gasps.
Some angry shouts.
Ares collapsed to one knee, chest heaving violently.
Pain lanced through his calf.
He stayed down for a second too long.
Rowan stood from the bench.
Concern flashed across his face.
The referee jogged over. "Can you continue?"
Ares looked up.
This was the moment.
If he said no, he was done for the day.
If he said yes…
He didn't wait for the system.
He didn't wait for readers.
He nodded.
"Yes."
The referee hesitated, then waved play on.
As Ares forced himself upright, the system finally spoke—clearer this time.
DING.
⸻
Reader Emotion Surge Detected: Anxiety → Admiration
Condition Met: Will Supersedes Capability
Temporary Effect Activated
[Unyielding Spark — Resonance]
⸻
Warmth flooded his limbs—not explosive, not overwhelming.
Steady.
Grounding.
Not power.
Endurance.
Ares inhaled sharply.
So this is it, he thought.
This is the real test.
The final minutes passed in a blur of pain and focus.
Ares didn't dominate.
He didn't shine.
But he didn't break.
When the final whistle blew, he was still standing.
Barely.
The match ended in a draw.
As players exchanged exhausted handshakes, Ares limped toward the tunnel.
Rowan intercepted him.
"You nearly lost control," Rowan said bluntly.
Ares lowered his head. "I know."
"And yet," Rowan continued, "you didn't chase glory."
He studied Ares carefully.
"That matters."
Ares looked up, surprised.
Rowan turned away. "Get medical attention. We'll talk later."
As Ares entered the locker room, the system chimed one final time.
DING.
⸻
Chapter Evaluation Complete
Reader Sentiment: Divided
Growth Assessment: Stable
Narrative Status: Sustained Interest
Conclusion:
Standing out draws power.
Surviving earns respect.
⸻
Ares sank onto the bench, exhaustion finally crashing over him.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time since the trials began, he understood something crucial.
This system wasn't here to make him unstoppable.
It was here to test whether he deserved to continue.
And for now—
He had paid the price.