The stadium felt different today.
Not quieter.
Not louder.
Just… heavier.
Ares Locke stood at the edge of the training pitch, tying the laces on his boots with slow, deliberate movements. His hands were steady, but his heartbeat wasn't. It thumped in his chest with a dull, constant pressure—like a warning he couldn't silence.
Twenty-four days had passed.
Twenty-four days since the system had entered his life.
Twenty-four days since Rowan Vale had appeared out of the rain and offered him a chance that shouldn't have existed.
And now—
Only six days remained.
Six days until the Rising Star Trials.
Six days until everything he'd been building toward would be tested under real scrutiny.
Ares straightened and exhaled.
The field ahead of him was already occupied.
Not by Rowan.
By others.
Five young players were scattered across the pitch, stretching, juggling balls, talking in low voices. Their kits were clean. Their boots new. Their posture relaxed in a way that spoke of long familiarity with structured training.
Academy players.
Ares recognized the look instantly.
They belonged here.
He… didn't.
Yet.
Rowan Vale stood near the center line, clipboard in hand, expression unreadable as ever. When his gaze flicked toward Ares, it lingered for half a second longer than usual.
Then he nodded.
"You're late by thirty seconds," Rowan said.
Ares stiffened. "Sorry. Won't happen again."
"It better not," Rowan replied flatly. "Today isn't about conditioning."
That alone made Ares's pulse spike.
Rowan raised his voice. "Everyone, gather."
The players converged. Ares joined them, instinctively positioning himself slightly apart—old habits of not wanting to intrude.
Rowan's eyes flicked to him.
"Closer," he said.
Ares stepped forward.
Rowan surveyed them all. "You're here because you've been identified as potential Rising Star Trial candidates. That does not mean you're equal."
A few of the academy players smirked faintly.
Rowan continued, unfazed. "Some of you have years of professional training. Some of you"—his gaze flicked briefly to Ares—"have almost none."
The smirks widened.
Ares felt it.
The subtle shift in atmosphere.
Judgment.
Comparison.
The system stirred.
DING.
A faint pulse brushed his awareness, restrained—almost cautious.
Reader Attention: Moderate
Emotional State: Anticipation
Rowan clapped once. "Today, we test composure."
He pointed to the center circle. "Small-sided games. High pressure. Limited space. Limited time."
His voice hardened. "Mistakes will be punished."
Ares swallowed.
This wasn't drills.
This was exposure.
They were divided into two teams.
Ares found himself placed alongside three academy midfielders and one quiet-looking winger. On the opposing team were players with broader builds, aggressive stances, confident glances.
One of them looked directly at Ares.
A tall boy with sharp cheekbones and a lazy grin.
"Hey," he said casually. "You're the rain-shot guy, right?"
Ares stiffened.
"I heard about you," the boy continued. "Lucky strike."
The word lucky pressed into Ares's chest.
Rowan blew the whistle.
The game started instantly.
No buildup. No warm-up rhythm.
Just pressure.
The ball snapped between feet. Sharp passes. One-touch movements. The pace was faster than anything Ares had trained under.
For the first thirty seconds, he barely touched the ball.
He moved. Adjusted. Tried to read spacing.
But the system didn't activate.
No skill prompt.
No clarity spike.
Just raw instinct.
And fear.
Then the ball came to him.
A pass fired low and fast—too fast.
Ares reacted a fraction late.
The ball clipped his foot and skidded away.
Turnover.
"Seriously?" someone snapped behind him.
The opposing team surged forward.
Ares spun, sprinting back, lungs tightening. He tracked the runner, angled his body—
Too slow.
The shot came.
Goal.
Rowan didn't react.
But Ares felt the shift.
DING.
Reader Emotion Detected: DOUBT (Minor)
His jaw clenched.
No.
The next play was worse.
Ares hesitated before calling for the ball. When he received it, his first touch was heavy. His dribble line too predictable.
The tall boy stole it cleanly.
"Thought so," he muttered as he passed.
Ares's chest burned—not from exertion, but from something sharper.
Self-awareness.
For all his growth, all the nights of relentless training, all the system's gifts—
He was still raw.
Still unfinished.
Rowan's whistle shrilled.
"Reset."
The players jogged back.
Ares bent forward, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his chin.
The system flickered faintly.
DING.
Reader Attention Fluctuating
Warning: Emotional instability detected
Recommendation: Regain composure
Ares closed his eyes.
I can't rely on power alone.
He inhaled slowly. Counted his breaths.
This wasn't about spectacular shots.
It was about surviving pressure.
The game resumed.
This time, Ares changed.
He stopped chasing the spotlight.
He moved simpler.
Short passes. Safer angles. Defensive positioning.
When the ball came, he didn't force anything.
The tall boy scoffed. "Playing scared now?"
Ares ignored him.
Minutes passed.
Then—
Opportunity.
The winger cut inside, dragging two defenders. A gap opened—not obvious, but real.
Ares saw it.
Not through the system.
Through experience.
He moved into space.
Called once.
The pass came.
This time, his first touch was clean.
Perfect.
The system pulsed.
DING.
Reader Emotion Detected: FOCUS
Minor Synchronization Achieved
The field seemed to sharpen—not slow, not freeze—but align.
Ares didn't rush.
He shifted his weight, drew the defender, then slipped the ball through the channel with a precise, controlled pass.
Goal.
Silence followed.
Then murmurs.
Rowan's pen scratched lightly against his clipboard.
The tall boy glanced at Ares, grin gone.
The match continued.
Ares didn't dominate.
He didn't dazzle.
But he didn't disappear again.
He held.
Endured.
Adjusted.
When the final whistle blew, his shirt was soaked, his legs trembling.
But he was still standing.
Rowan dismissed the others first.
"Good work. Leave."
The academy players filtered out, some glancing back at Ares with unreadable expressions.
Rowan waited.
Only when they were alone did he speak.
"You cracked," Rowan said.
Ares stiffened. "I—"
"And then you adapted," Rowan continued. "That matters more."
Ares exhaled shakily.
Rowan studied him. "Talent shines under comfort. Will reveals itself under pressure."
He turned away. "Tomorrow will be harder."
Ares nodded. "I'll be ready."
Rowan paused.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "most players break when they realize they don't belong."
He looked back once.
"You didn't."
He left.
The system chimed softly.
DING.
Reader Emotion Detected: RESPECT
Unyielding Spark — Stability Increased
Ares remained on the field long after.
Sitting on the grass.
Breathing.
His body hurt.
His pride hurt more.
But beneath it all—
Something had solidified.
He wasn't ready.
Not yet.
But he was becoming someone who could be.
And that, finally, felt real.