The day was thick and hot, the kind of Jakarta morning where the air felt like a damp towel draped over your lungs. The humidity wasn't just weather; it was an opponent.
The Indonesian U-20 National Team stood ready for their first friendly match against a local professional club. The atmosphere was heavy, saturated not just with moisture, but with silent, simmering animosity.
Rio stood on the field, adjusting the collar of his number 10 jersey—the shadow striker's number. Beside him stood Bambang, the official captain and primary striker, wearing the coveted number 9.
The formation looked clean on paper: a classic 4-4-1-1. But the partnership was fractured before the whistle even blew.
Rio looked at his internal clock, the blue numbers hovering over the green pitch.
[CURRENT LIFESPAN: 56 Days, 03 Hours]
He had survived the medical test and the Yo-Yo test, but the true test of his survival began now: converting his sheer willpower into tangible lifespan currency.
"Remember your role, Valdes," Coach Bima snapped from the sidelines, his voice cutting through the humid air. "You support Bambang. You use your vision to create space. Do not try to be the hero. Bambang is the primary goal scorer."
"Understood," Rio replied, wiping sweat from his brow.
Bambang refused to look at Rio. He was still seething from the humiliation of the Yo-Yo Test, and furious at being paired with the sickly "Japanese import." He stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight.
"Specter," Rio whispered mentally. "What's the penalty for a draw?"
"Thirty days," Specter replied instantly, floating above the crossbar like a referee from hell. "You lose a month of life just for a draw. You have to win, Rio. You have to score. This isn't a charity match."
THE SABOTAGE
KICK OFF.
The match began with a frantic intensity typical of Indonesian football. The opponents, a sturdy professional side, were physical, quick, and organized. They treated the U-20s not as kids, but as prey.
Rio tried to play his role. He used his passive [Eagle Eye] to constantly scan the field, moving to pockets of space, signaling passes with his hands.
Minute 10.
Rio saw an open lane. He was unmarked fifteen meters from goal, a perfect pocket of opportunity.
"Bambang! Through!" Rio yelled, pointing to the space.
Bambang had the ball. He paused. He glanced at Rio, his eyes meeting Rio's for a split second. Then, deliberately, he looked away.
Instead of the simple through-ball, Bambang forced a difficult pass out to the wing, which was immediately intercepted by the opponent's fullback.
"Idiot!" Specter hissed. "He sabotaged the pass! He doesn't want you to score."
"I know," Rio gritted his teeth, tracking back to defend. "He wants to prove I'm useless without him. He'd rather lose possession than give me glory."
Minute 25.
The opponents capitalized on the disjointed play. A quick counter-attack, a missed tackle by the frustrated Bambang, and a clean finish.
GOAL. [0-1].
Rio's heart rate spiked. His internal clock flashed red. He didn't lose time yet, but the stress was palpable. A loss would mean a -30 Day Penalty. It would kill him.
I have to change the strategy. I can't rely on his cooperation. I have to be a vulture.
Rio started applying the Vulture Strategy he had practiced in his mind: Steal from allies, punish enemies.
THE THEFT
Rio dropped deep, pretending to play a defensive midfield role. Bambang, seeing Rio drop back, felt safe and started attacking aggressively, hungry to equalize on his own.
Minute 38.
Bambang dribbled into the box. He executed a brilliant feint, drawing the goalkeeper out. He was about to shoot.
Rio saw the play develop with [Eagle Eye]. He saw the predictable trajectory of Bambang's shot—straight, aiming for the near post.
He also saw a defender sliding in from Bambang's blind spot to block the shot. If Bambang shot now, it would be deflected wide.
Rio sprinted. Not to assist, but to interfere.
He exploded into the box, activating [Lightning Stride] for half a second.
ZAP!
He wasn't running to the ball. He was running to the space where the ball would be if the play failed.
He reached the box just as Bambang pulled his leg back. Instead of staying clear, Rio cut directly across Bambang's path, essentially screening his own captain.
The defender slid in, but Rio's sudden movement confused him. The tackle missed Bambang and clipped Rio instead.
Rio stumbled but stayed on his feet. The ball, momentarily lost in the confusion, rolled loose.
Bambang shouted in confusion.
Rio was there instantly. He scooped up the loose ball and hammered it into the open net before anyone could react.
GOAL! [1-1].
Rio collapsed onto the turf, panting, the 3-minute cooldown timer for [Lightning Stride] starting its descent.
The stadium was silent, then erupted in cheers.
Bambang stared at Rio, his face a mask of shock and rage. He walked over slowly and grabbed Rio by the collar, hauling him up.
"What was that, Valdes?! You cut in front of me! You stole my shot!"
Rio looked up at him, his face pale but his eyes burning. He kept his voice low, but fierce.
"You were going to miss, Captain. The defender was there. I secured the goal. The team needs to win."
Rio pointed at the scoreboard. [1-1].
Coach Bima ran onto the field, separating them. "Bambang! Focus! Valdes, brilliant anticipation! But don't crowd the striker!"
Bambang glared at Rio, then reluctantly backed away. The hostility was now mutual, raw, and public.
THE TRUCE
Halftime.
The locker room was cold. The air conditioning fought the humidity, creating a thick condensation on the metal lockers.
Bambang sat alone, separated from the rest of the team, silent. He was drinking water aggressively, crushing the plastic bottle.
Rio sat in the corner, utilizing his suspension time to recover his heart rate.
[CURRENT LIFESPAN: 56 Days, 05 Hours]
He had successfully created a goal, but at the cost of team cohesion and a massive spike in cardiac stress.
"That was magnificent treachery," Specter whispered admiringly. "You used his ego against him. You stole his potential goal and converted it into your own life source."
"I earned 2 days," Rio whispered back. "I need 30 for the Mask. I need more."
"You need a partner," Specter countered. "Hiroto was useful because he was a genius. Bambang is just a brute. He will sabotage you the rest of the game."
"Then I'll break him," Rio decided. "Or I'll use him."
Rio activated [Eagle Eye] (Active) for a quick 10-second scan of the team's tactical board on the wall.
He focused on Bambang's dot. The [Eagle Eye] didn't just show player positions; it showed desire lines—the path a player wants to take.
A burning golden thread connected Bambang to the goal. It was the path of greed.
He wants the ball in front of him. He craves the finish.
Rio realized Bambang wasn't a tactical genius; he was a pure finishing machine. He needed perfect service.
If I give him the perfect service, he has to score. He can't refuse the glory.
THE SERVANT AND THE KING
Second Half.
The game resumed. The professional club was tired but determined to avoid embarrassment against kids.
Rio didn't try to score. He changed his entire focus to feeding Bambang.
Minute 60.
Rio intercepted a loose pass in midfield. Immediately, the opponent's defensive midfielder rushed him.
Rio activated [Lightning Stride] and sped past the initial press. He ran three steps, then slammed on the brakes (Drift), leaving two players behind him in a cloud of dust.
His muscles screamed. He resisted the urge to shoot from distance.
Instead, Rio aimed a pass not to where Bambang was, but to where Bambang wanted to be: ten meters behind the last defender, with a clear run to the goal.
It was a perfectly weighted, curving through-ball—a skill learned purely through [Eagle Eye] and hours of mental training. Calculating the trajectory hurt his brain more than his legs.
Bambang, surprised by the sudden, perfect service, sprinted. He received the ball in stride, one-on-one with the keeper. He scored easily. [2-1].
Bambang turned back, his face a mix of suspicion and elation. He hadn't celebrated with Rio, but he hadn't yelled at him either.
Minute 75.
Rio did it again. He used his [Iron Man's Stamina] to endure the relentless running, keeping his efficiency high even as his body failed.
He won a header in midfield (a skill he didn't even know he had). He saw the gap. He launched another perfect, laser-precise through-ball.
Bambang was too hungry for glory to refuse. He finished it clinically. [3-1].
The coach was ecstatic. The crowd was roaring. Rio was dying.
[Stamina: 10/100][Heart Stress: 160%]
The sheer effort of the game, plus the sustained use of skills, had pushed him into a dangerous zone.
Minute 90.
The final whistle blew. Indonesia [3-1] Victory.
Rio collapsed onto the turf, unable to move. His chest heaved like a broken bellows.
Bambang jogged over. He didn't offer a hand, but he stood over Rio, blocking the sun.
"You're a demon, Valdes," Bambang panted, his arrogance partially replaced by awe. "You're weak, but those passes... they were God-level. Do that every game, and you can stay."
He tossed Rio a water bottle. It landed on Rio's chest.
Rio took a shallow sip. He looked at his interface.
[MATCH WON]REWARD: +7 Days Lifespan
[GOAL + 2 ASSISTS]REWARD: +6 Days Lifespan
[TOTAL GAIN: +13 DAYS]
"Thirteen days," Rio whispered, the heat of the Jakarta sun suddenly feeling cold against his skin.
He had survived the captain's hatred by turning him into a tool for survival. And he was getting closer to buying the Mask.