Three weeks dissolved into a blur of grey concrete, green grass, and black exhaustion.
Life in the Tokyo Verdy Youth Dormitory was a machine designed to strip away weakness. It was a brutal, rhythmic cycle: Eat. Sleep. Train. Repeat.
The Japanese work ethic was terrifying. The local players—boys who had been drilled since they were four years old—arrived at the pitch an hour before dawn and stayed until the floodlights hummed with fatigue. They were technically superior, physically fitter, and mentally disciplined.
To keep up, Rio Valdes didn't just have to run; he had to sprint toward his own grave.
Midnight. The Academy Gym.
Rio lay collapsed on a yoga mat, his chest heaving like a bellows. The smell of rubber and stale sweat filled his nose. The gym was empty, save for the low hum of the ventilation system and the glowing blue numbers hovering relentlessly in his vision.
[CURRENT LIFESPAN: 68 Days, 10 Hours, 15 Minutes]
Rio stared at the timer, hate bubbling in his gut like acid.
He had lost over 20 days of life in just three weeks. Not from gambling on the Gacha, but from the relentless daily drain. High-intensity training burned his weak heart faster than a normal human. Minor penalties in practice matches—missed passes, failed drills—chipped away at his time hour by hour.
He was bleeding out, drop by drop.
"You're burning fuel faster than you're earning it," Specter's voice drifted from above. The ghost was hovering over a treadmill, reading a discarded Japanese tactical magazine. "At this rate, you'll be dead before the season playoffs. You are a candle burning at both ends in a wind tunnel."
"I know," Rio grunted, forcing himself into a plank position. His arms shook violently. "But if I don't train, I get cut. If I get cut, the Quest fails, and I die immediately. It's a catch-22."
"You're working hard, but you're not working smart," Specter floated down, his face inches from Rio's straining nose. "Your body is F-Rank garbage. We established that on Day One. You can't grind physical stats like these healthy Japanese kids. You need to upgrade your software."
Rio collapsed onto the mat, gasping. "Software?"
"Your Skills," Specter pointed a translucent finger at the air. "Open the Skill Tab. Look at Flash Step."
Rio wiped sweat from his eyes and summoned the interface.
[ACTIVE SKILL: FLASH STEP (Rank D)]Proficiency: 98/100 Effect: Grants 200% Movement Speed for 2 seconds. Cooldown: 5 Minutes. Side Effect: Heavy Muscle Strain. Current Status:Ready for Evolution.
"See that Proficiency counter?" Specter grinned, his gold tooth glinting. "You've been spamming that skill in practice just to survive against Hiroto's passes. You're two uses away from maxing it out. When a System Skill hits 100, it doesn't just stop. It evolves."
Rio sat up, his interest piqued. "Evolves? Into what?"
"Rank C," Specter replied, his eyes glowing blue. "Better efficiency. Lower cooldown. Less strain on your pathetic muscles. But..."
The ghost paused, the smoke from his cigar turning a dark, ominous grey.
"...evolution isn't free. The System demands a tribute to break the biological limit. It needs to rewrite your muscle memory instantly. That requires... raw material."
Rio stood up, wincing as his calves protested. He looked at the calendar on the gym wall.
Tomorrow: Prince Takamado U-18 Premier League - Matchday 1.Opponent: FC Tokyo.
It was the Tokyo Derby. A war. The rivalry between Verdy and FC Tokyo was bitter and bloody. If he went into that match with his current limitations—a 5-minute cooldown on his only escape tool—he would be useless.
"I don't care about the cost," Rio said, his voice hard. "I need to be stronger. Tell me what to do."
"Max it out," Specter ordered.
Rio walked to the empty indoor track. The silence of the gym felt heavy, like the calm before a storm.
"Two uses left," Rio whispered.
He crouched in a sprinting stance.
[ACTIVATE: FLASH STEP]
WHOOSH!
He exploded forward. For two seconds, he was a blur, crossing 20 meters in a blink. The familiar burn tore through his calves, but he ignored it.
[Proficiency: 99/100]
"One more," Rio panted.
He paced around the gym like a caged animal, watching the 5-minute cooldown timer tick down. It felt like an eternity.
When the timer finally hit 00:00, he dropped into the stance again.
"System," he growled. "Full power."
[ACTIVATE: FLASH STEP]
ZAP!
He tore through the air, the wind rushing past his ears. As he skidded to a halt, the blue screen shattered into gold shards.
[CONGRATULATIONS!][SKILL PROFICIENCY MAXED]
[Evolution Available: FLASH STEP (Rank D) -> LIGHTNING STRIDE (Rank C)]
[EVOLUTION COST]
3 Days Lifespan
Physical Trauma (Severe)
Rio stared at the cost. "Three days... and 'Severe Trauma'?"
"It rewrites your nervous system," Specter explained casually, floating cross-legged in the air. "It's going to hurt like hell. Imagine tearing your muscles apart and stitching them back together in five seconds. But if you want to beat FC Tokyo... you have no choice."
Rio closed his eyes. Three days. That was 72 hours of existence. Was it worth a faster sprint?
He thought of the doctor's face in Jakarta. He thought of his mother waiting for a call. He thought of Hiroto's effortless genius.
"Do it," Rio ordered.
He pressed [EVOLVE].
CRACK.
The moment his finger touched the screen, Rio didn't just feel pain. He felt ruin.
"ARGHHHH!"
A raw, strangled scream tore from his throat, echoing off the metal walls of the empty gym like a tortured animal.
It felt like actual lightning had struck his legs. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his thighs. His muscles spasmed violently, visible ripples moving under his skin like snakes as the System forcibly rewired his fast-twitch fibers. It was agony beyond the physical—it was his very DNA being scorched and remolded.
"Breathe, kid! Don't pass out!" Specter shouted, though he looked fascinated by the display. "If you pass out, the process fails!"
Rio bit his lip until it bled, tasting copper. He clawed at the rubber mat, tears streaming from his eyes.
The pain lasted for sixty seconds. The longest minute of Rio's life.
Then, as quickly as it came, the fire vanished. It left behind a cold, numbing sensation.
Rio lay on the floor in a pool of cold sweat, his chest heaving. He tentatively moved his legs. They didn't feel heavy anymore. They felt... charged. Like a coiled spring waiting to snap.
[EVOLUTION SUCCESSFUL][NEW SKILL ACQUIRED: LIGHTNING STRIDE (Rank C)]
Effect: Increases movement speed by 250% for 3 seconds.
Cooldown: 3 Minutes.
New Feature: [Drift] - Can change direction once during activation without losing momentum.
"Three minutes cooldown," Rio whispered, a grin spreading across his pale face. "And I can turn? That changes everything."
Specter nodded approvingly. "You paid the price in blood and time. Now, go get some sleep. You have a war to fight tomorrow."
Matchday 1. Ajinomoto Field West.Tokyo Verdy Youth vs. FC Tokyo U-18
The atmosphere was hostile.
Even for a youth game, the stands were surprisingly full. The hatred between the two clubs ran deep. The FC Tokyo ultras—wearing blue and red—beat drums and chanted insults at the Verdy players warming up.
"Gasmen! Gasmen!" they chanted, mocking Verdy's history.
Rio sat on the bench, wearing the #19 jersey. He shivered, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of the air.
On the pitch, the game was a bloodbath.
FC Tokyo U-18 wasn't a team of technicians like Verdy. They were monsters. They were huge, physical, and aggressive. They played a low block and countered with brute force.
Minute 35.
Hiroto Nakamura, Verdy's #10, received the ball. Immediately, three FC Tokyo players swarmed him. One kicked his ankles, another shouldered him.
Hiroto went down hard. No whistle.
"Tate, hime!" (Stand up, princess!) the FC Tokyo defender spat.
Verdy's delicate passing game was being strangled. They couldn't connect. They were being bullied.
Halftime Score: Verdy [0] - [1] FC Tokyo.
In the locker room, the mood was tense. The smell of frustration hung heavy.
Coach Tanaka kicked a water bottle across the room. It slammed into the lockers with a deafening bang.
"You are letting them bully you!" Tanaka screamed in Japanese, veins popping in his neck. Specter translated the rage. "They are slow! They are clumsy! But you are playing scared! We need to break their lines before they can touch you!"
He scanned the room, his eyes landing on the bench players.
"Barudesu." (Valdes).
Rio's head snapped up.
"Warm up," Tanaka ordered. "Hiroto is being caged in the middle. I want you on the wing. Play as a False Winger."
Rio nodded, standing up. "False Winger?" he asked Specter.
"Don't cross the ball," Specter interpreted Tanaka's glare. "Drag their defenders out of position. Make them chase you. Create chaos. Use your... instinct."
Rio tied his laces tight. His heart began that familiar, dangerous hammering. The bypass engine was revving up.
As he walked down the narrow concrete tunnel toward the light of the pitch, Specter floated beside him.
"Ready to test drive the new engine?" the ghost asked.
Rio slapped his cheeks. Sting.
"Let's show them what a Rank C skill can do."
Minute 55.
Rio stepped onto the pitch. The FC Tokyo fans booed him immediately, mocking his skinny frame.
"Look! Verdy sent out a twig!""Break him!"
Rio took his position on the right wing. His direct opponent was the FC Tokyo Left Back—a hulking player named Ota with thighs as thick as tree trunks. Ota grinned at Rio, cracking his knuckles.
"Omae wa shinda," (You are dead), Ota whispered.
The game restarted.
Hiroto, frustrated and bruised, saw Rio enter. He locked eyes with Rio for a split second. Do something, his eyes said.
Hiroto sprayed a long pass out wide to Rio.
The ball skidded across the grass. Rio controlled it.
Immediately, Ota charged. He came in like a rhino, full speed, intending to tackle Rio and the ball into the advertising boards. He was banking on Rio being slow. He was banking on physical dominance.
"Gotcha!" Ota yelled.
Time slowed.
Rio didn't pass. He didn't retreat. He waited. He watched Ota's momentum commit fully to the tackle.
Now.
Rio's eyes flashed blue.
[ACTIVATE: LIGHTNING STRIDE]
The world didn't just blur; it warped.
Rio didn't run forward. He exploded diagonally, cutting inside.
Usually, at this speed, a human body couldn't turn. Inertia would throw them off balance. But the Rank C evolution kicked in.
[DRIFT ACTIVATED]
Rio dug his cleats into the turf. His body leaned at an impossible acute angle, almost touching the grass. He pivoted 45 degrees without losing a single kilometer of speed. The grass screeched like tires on asphalt.
ZOOM.
Ota tackled empty air. He was so confused by the sudden disappearance of his target that his legs tangled, and he face-planted into the turf with a humiliating thud.
Rio was gone.
He was in the open space. The wind rushed past his ears. The crowd's jeers turned into a collective gasp.
For the first time since his diagnosis, Rio Valdes didn't feel weak. He didn't feel sick.
He felt faster than light.
And ahead of him, the goal gaped open.