The net was still vibrating.
Enzo was the first to arrive, jumping onto Adrian's back. But with Adrian's Strength: 180 and Heavy Tank passive, he didn't even budge.
"Did you see that?!" Enzo screamed, shaking Adrian by the shoulders. "The ball vanished! You broke the laws of physics, man!"
Hugo, the goalkeeper, ran up from the other side of the pitch, high-fiving Adrian. Even the defenders from Team B, who usually ignored Adrian, were patting his back.
"Monster shot," one of them muttered. "Just keep doing that."
Adrian felt a rush of heat in his chest. It wasn't just the adrenaline. It was the system.
[Ding!]
[Mission Progress: 1/3 Goals.]
He looked over at Team A.
Jerome was pale, rubbing his bruised ribs, but his eyes were sharp. He was pointing at Adrian, then pointing at the empty spaces on the field.
"Watch out," Adrian muttered to Enzo. "They're planning something."
The whistle blew for the restart. 1-1.
Minute 23. Team A kicked off.
Adrian stepped forward to press, just like a normal striker would.
He moved towards the center-back holding the ball.
He simply passed the ball five meters to the right.
Adrian changed direction. It took him a full second to stop his momentum and turn. By the time he faced the new ball carrier, the ball was already moved again.
Team A was playing keep-away.
Minute 28. Jerome had the ball. Adrian walked towards him, entering his zone. usually, a defender would use his arm to hold off the striker.
Jerome didn't touch him. He literally ran away from Adrian, circling wide.
"Too slow, Lighthouse!" Jerome shouted, playing a through ball down the wing.
Because Adrian had Speed: 42, he couldn't close the gaps. Team A had realized the truth: Adrian was a turret. A turret is dangerous if you stand in front of it. But if you walk around it? It's harmless.
Team B was effectively playing with 10 men.
Minute 32.
Team A's winger, Leo, burned past Team B's fullback. He cut inside.
Adrian was still near the center circle, jogging back, trying to help. But he was forty meters away from the action.
"Mark him!" Hugo screamed from the goal.
Leo squared the ball to Sylvain. Sylvain was unmarked because Team B's midfielders were exhausted from covering Adrian's lack of running.
Sylvain tapped it in. Easy.
GOAL! Team A 2 - 1 Team B.
"Damn it!" Enzo kicked the grass. He was breathing heavy. He had been running for two people.
Minute 38. The momentum had shifted completely. Team B was demoralized. The high of Adrian's goal had evaporated.
"Why doesn't he run?" a Team B defender complained loudly. "I'm doing all the work here!"
Adrian heard it. He gritted his teeth. He wanted to run. He pushed his legs, pumping his arms.
[System Alert]
[Current Speed: 18 km/h (Max Effort)]
[Opponent Speed: 31 km/h]
It was pathetic. He looked like he was running in quicksand.
Team A launched a counter-attack. A long ball over the top.
Jerome intercepted a weak pass from Enzo and launched it forward. Sylvain chased it down. Hugo came out to save it, but Sylvain chipped the ball over him.
The ball bounced slowly into the net.
GOAL! Team A 3 - 1 Team B.
Minute 42.
"Pass it to me!" Adrian roared, waving his arms.
Enzo tried. He really did. But Team A had cut off all the passing lanes to Adrian. They surrounded him—not tight enough to get hit by his Heavy Tank body, but close enough to intercept any ball rolling his way.
Adrian was an island. A lonely, angry island.
He stood there, watching Team A pass around him, mocking him with their movement.
Is this it? Adrian thought, clenching his fists. I have a god-tier shot, but I can't even touch the ball?
[Ding!]
[Mental State: Frustrated.]
[Performance Grade: D-]
Fweeeeet!
The halftime whistle blew.
The score was 3-1. Team A walked off laughing, high-fiving each other. Jerome looked back at Adrian and winked.
"Nice goal, Lighthouse," Jerome called out. "But football is a running game."
Adrian walked off the pitch, his head down. The silence from his teammates was deafening. They were tired. They were losing. And they blamed him.
The Locker Room
Team B players slumped on the benches, chugging water. The smell of sweat and defeat filled the small room.
"We can't win," the left-back threw his towel on the floor. "It's 10 vs 11 out there. Adrian doesn't press. He doesn't track back. We are getting overrun in midfield."
Adrian sat in the corner, staring at his boots. He wanted to argue, but he knew it was true.
"I..." Adrian started to speak, his voice hoarse.
The door slammed open.
Coach Lucien walked in. He didn't look angry. He looked... cold. Calculated.
He stood in the middle of the room, his eyes scanning every player. He stopped on Adrian.
"So," Lucien said, his voice quiet but cutting through the noise. "The show is over?"
Nobody spoke.
Lucien pointed at the whiteboard where the score 1-3 was written.
"I watched the first half," Lucien said. "I saw a team of cowards. And one statue."
He turned to the defenders. "You complain that Adrian doesn't run. You cry that you are tired."
Then he turned to Adrian. "And you. You stand there waiting for the world to serve you. You think one goal makes you a king?"
Adrian looked up, meeting the coach's eyes. "I can't catch them, Coach. They are too fast."
"I know," Lucien snapped. "You run like a pregnant cow. It's embarrassing."
Some players snickered.
"But," Lucien raised a finger, silencing the room. "You have something they don't."
Lucien walked over to the whiteboard and drew a cannon. A crude, simple cannon.
"Adrian is a Siege Cannon," Lucien said, his voice rising in intensity. "He is heavy. He is slow. If you ask a cannon to chase a rabbit, the cannon loses. That is what you are doing. You are trying to play 'normal' football with a weapon that is not normal."
Lucien turned to Enzo and the midfielders.
"Why are you trying to pass to his feet when he is marked? Why are you trying to play tiki-taka?"
Lucien slammed his hand on the board.
"He is 188cm tall! He has the strength of an ox! And his shot broke the net!"
The players straightened up. The goosebumps started to rise on their arms.
"Listen to me," Lucien growled, leaning in close. "You want to win? You want a contract? Then stop playing fair. Stop playing pretty."
He pointed at Adrian.
"You are the Carriage," Lucien told the rest of the team. "Your only job—your only job—is to wheel the Cannon into range. I don't care if you have to foul, I don't care if you have to bleed. You get the ball, and you get it to him. Not to his feet. Put it in the space where he can kill them."
Lucien turned to Adrian.
"And you," the coach's eyes burned with intensity. "Stop waiting for the perfect pass. You are a tank. If they block the path, move them. If they stand in front of you, destroy them. Do not be a passenger. Be the disaster they fear."
Lucien checked his watch.
"You have 45 minutes. If you lose, you go home and become accountants. If you win... you become legends."
He opened the door.
"Now get out there and load the damn cannon."
The silence in the room lingered for a second.
Then, Enzo stood up. He adjusted his glasses. He looked at Adrian.
"You heard him," Enzo said, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm going to get you the ball, Adrian. Even if I have to die for it."
Adrian stood up. His shadow loomed over the room. The frustration was gone. The doubt was gone.
Adrian cracked his neck.
"Let's go," Adrian said, his voice deep and vibrating with power. "I need two more goals."
"Let's crush them!" Hugo shouted.
"YEAH!" the team roared back.