"Hey! Hey! Pass the ball!" Claude called as he slipped behind a defender, meeting the through pass perfectly in stride.
He burst toward goal, the keeper rushing out to close the angle. A quick step-over left, another to the right — then a sharp cut that sent the keeper leaning the wrong way. Claude slid the ball calmly into the empty net.
He jogged toward his teammates, grinning as they clapped hands and bumped shoulders in celebration.
"Good pass," Claude said, tapping the young midfielder's back with a smile.
A week earlier, knowing ENPPI's preseason camp was approaching, Claude had looked for a local group to train with — somewhere he could test his progress.
He eventually found a small amateur club nearby. They hesitated at first, but once he explained he was a professional striker getting back into shape — and showed proof — they agreed. From then on, he joined their sessions regularly.
When he first trained with them, he made plenty of runs behind the defense, but the passes either never came or missed him by a few meters.
He quickly realized he couldn't play the same way he did at ENPPI. These weren't professionals; he couldn't expect them to read his runs or anticipate his movement.
So instead of darting constantly behind defenders, he began dropping deeper — calling for the ball, linking play, creating chances for others. It wasn't his natural role, and he wasn't comfortable having to step into midfield to participate in the buildup. To him, a striker was supposed to exploit gaps and finish chances, not orchestrate play.
He had never thought about the position this way before, but being forced to drop in and connect passes made him look around more and think about creating goals rather than just scoring them. And that was difficult. At times he felt lost on the pitch, unsure where to position himself. Other times he played a pass that slowed down the attack or sent the ball backward when the team needed to move forward. He was still very bad at it, but at least it showed him a different side of being a striker.
He was panting lightly, sweat running down his face, when he heard someone call his name.
"Claude!"
He turned and saw a man in his late thirties, maybe early forties, wearing a tracksuit — Haji Maalouf, the coach who had agreed to let him train with the team.
"Coach, thank you again for accepting me this week. It really helped me prepare," Claude said.
"Don't worry about it," Haji replied with a smile. "It's been good for my players too — having a professional around pushes them. And you worked hard, took everything seriously. I'm sure this season will be a good one for you."
Claude smiled and nodded. "Thank you, coach."
He turned to the rest of the players, shaking hands and thanking them before heading home.
As he drove, Claude couldn't help thinking about how much he had improved. Today marked the last day of his Training Card. Tomorrow would make a full month since its activation — which meant another chance at the lottery draw — and the day after that, ENPPI's preseason gathering would begin. He was looking forward to seeing how much he had really progressed. For the whole month, he had purposely avoided checking his attributes until the very end.
"Just two days left…" Claude muttered.
A few minutes later, he was already home, sitting on his bed. He decided to check his attributes before doing the lottery.
Attributes
Finishing: 64 (+)
Physicality: 62 (+)
Speed: 76 (+)
Dribbling: 64 (+)
Passing: 52 (+)
Intelligence: 57 (+)
Mentality: 57 (+)
Overall: 62
Seeing the numbers, he noticed steady progress — +4 in Finishing, Physicality, and Dribbling, +2 in Intelligence and Passing, and +4 in Mentality. Speed hadn't increased at all, maybe because he had already reached his natural limit.
He felt a slight disappointment that his overall rating had only gone up by four. He had expected more from the Training Card. Still, it wasn't bad. With steady training and the system's help, he believed he could reach the top level eventually.
"Now, there's just the lottery left to do…" he murmured. Hoping for better luck, he clasped his hands and prayed — even though he rarely prayed at all.
After the quick prayer, he started the lottery.
[Lottery draw starting…]
[Ten draws selected…]
[You can now choose three among the ten selected.]
For his first pick, he chose the last card on the left of the second row. When the result appeared, he couldn't help but smile.
[Attribute Card: +2 in all attributes]
A brief wave of warmth passed through his body. It wasn't dramatic — just a noticeable shift, like a light internal jolt. The sensation faded as quickly as it came, leaving him a bit sharper and more focused than before.
For his second draw, he picked the last card on the first row, and for the third, the first card on the second row.
[Attribute Card: +5 in Mentality]
[Ability Card: Focused Flow]
Effect: +15% Team Passing Accuracy when facing top-five league opponents.
Condition: Active only while the user is on the pitch.
Type: Passive (Permanent)
Description: When the pressure rises, your presence brings clarity. Teammates find rhythm, passing lines open, and mistakes fade — as if the team became one.
"Yes!" Claude shouted, punching the air.
The results surprised him. It almost felt like the prayer had worked.
"Hehehe… maybe I should try that again next month." Whether it was luck or divine help didn't matter — the draw was excellent.
Just the +2 to all attributes and +5 in Mentality were already strong upgrades, but the new Ability Card made it even better. It proved that some cards could influence not just him but the entire team.
Not only could he become the best player in the world with this system, but with luck like this, he might even help any team he joined become the best. Maybe, one day, he could even help Togo win trophies — something he once thought impossible.
He checked his updated attributes.
Attributes
Finishing: 66 (+)
Physicality: 64 (+)
Speed: 78 (+)
Dribbling: 66 (+)
Passing: 54 (+)
Intelligence: 59 (+)
Mentality: 59 (+)
Overall: 64
A new line appeared under the interface.
Cards Obtained: Focused Flow
Cards Activated: [None] – [None]
Claude smiled. Everything was ready for the new season.
…
…
The next day, Claude still woke up early, but this time it wasn't for training — his agent had asked to meet, saying he had found an opportunity for him.
Claude found that hard to believe. During the years of unrest in Egypt, when he couldn't play, Mostafa hadn't managed to find him a single club willing to take him. And now he suddenly had something lined up? Claude seriously doubted it.
Two hours later, at 9 a.m., a knock sounded at his door.
He opened it to see his agent, Mostafa Sobhi — bald head, clean-shaven face, lean build, dressed in a full suit.
"Morning, Claude. How are you doing?" Mostafa said immediately.
"I'm good. You?" Claude replied with a smile, stepping aside to let him in.
"I'm fine. But you — you'll be even happier when you hear the news I have for you," Mostafa said, his smile wide and excited.
Claude raised an eyebrow, expression flat. We'll see, he thought.
They headed to his small dining table and sat down.
Mostafa, still smiling, opened a stack of documents. Claude noticed a club logo he didn't recognize from any of the main leagues in Africa — and he knew most of those by heart. That alone made him wary.
"Why are you so grumpy today?" Mostafa asked, disappointed. "I'm bringing good news to help your career move forward, and you can't even smile."
"Don't worry about that. Just tell me the news, and we'll see if it's good or not," Claude said.
"You remember how you complained the past two years about me not finding you any club where you could play and keep progressing?" Mostafa asked, his tone already leading somewhere.
Claude nodded silently.
"Well, I found you a club," Mostafa said. "Botswana Premier League — Police XI SC. They're very interested in you after I told them about your youth performances with ENPPI. Their striker is getting old, and they see potential in you as his replacement."
He leaned back slightly, clearly satisfied with himself. "So, what do you think?"
Claude let out a long breath. "So even you don't really believe in me anymore? You're trying to send me to some small league nobody pays attention to?"
"Claude, don't look at it like that," Mostafa said quickly. "Think of it as rebuilding yourself. If you go there, play regularly and impress, bigger leagues in Africa can come in for you after."
"But how does that get me on European radars?" Claude shot back. "At least here in Egypt, there's visibility. If I break through and play well, this can be my trampoline to Europe."
He didn't say the rest out loud: With the system, with the way I'm improving now, I won't stay on the bench forever. If I explode this season, Europe won't be some fantasy.
"You're still thinking of Europe?" Mostafa asked, shaking his head. "Be realistic, Claude. You're 25 and not even starting in a mid-table Egyptian club. How is that supposed to happen? In Botswana you'd actually play. Here, you won't get a single minute, and your contract is ending soon. Do you prefer being without a club? I'm already preparing you a way out — all you have to do is accept it and do your best."
"How can you, my agent, be the first one to give up on me?" Claude snapped, his voice rising. "Aren't you supposed to support me?"
"I am supporting you," Mostafa replied, still calm but with a hint of irritation now. "But I also have to look after your career realistically. If I let your contract end without securing another team, you'll be a free agent — and you know how hard it is to find a club at your age with almost no professional matches played."
He paused, studying Claude's face. "I'm not trying to crush your dream. I'm telling you the truth. Everyone wants Europe, but not everyone gets there. At this stage, your priority should be to relaunch yourself and make something out of the years you still have."
Claude clenched his jaw. Deep down, he knew Mostafa wasn't lying about how football worked. But he could still feel the Training Card's month of work in his legs, in his body. He knew how much he had improved already — and that was only the beginning. If I keep growing at this pace, if I take this season seriously, why can't I turn things around here first?
"I still think I can fight for my place here and improve," Claude said, tone firm. "I haven't given up on my dream. Give me until January. If my situation is still the same, I promise I'll follow what you said."
He met Mostafa's eyes and didn't look away.
Mostafa sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Claude, you know offers like this don't stay on the table forever. Clubs don't wait months."
"I know," Claude replied quietly. "But this is my career. Let me try it my way one last time."
Mostafa looked at him for a long moment. He could see Claude wasn't just being stubborn for the sake of it — there was certainty there, something he couldn't fully understand.
"You're the player, Claude. I can't force you to join a club," Mostafa said at last. "I just hope we're not making a mistake we'll both regret."
"Don't worry. Have confidence in me," Claude said. "I'll work harder. This year will be my revival."
Mostafa gathered the documents, arranging them neatly, then stood up. "I'll handle things with Police XI. I'll tell them your position. I just hope you're right, and not just being optimistic. Have a good day, Claude."
Claude watched him leave, the door closing softly behind him. A mix of pressure and motivation settled in his chest. After a few seconds, he took a deep breath, pushed the thoughts aside, and began preparing for his first preseason training session.
…
…
Claude arrived early at Petrosport Stadium, in New Cairo. The area was quiet at that hour, the wide roads still empty as the morning heat began to settle in.
He greeted the security at the entrance of the Petrosport sports complex, exchanging a few words before walking past the stadium and toward the nearby Petrosport training grounds, where ENPPI held its daily sessions.
Claude stood alone on the training pitch, scanning the empty grounds with a serious expression. This was it — the beginning of another chance, a chance to restart a career that had stalled for too long.
He didn't linger. After changing, he stepped back out and began jogging around the pitch, warming up while waiting for the coaches and the rest of the squad to arrive.
As he ran, his thoughts drifted to the season ahead. This time, he hoped it would actually reach its end. Egyptian football had lived in uncertainty for years, suspended and restarted repeatedly, always affected by events beyond the pitch. The decision had already been made: for security reasons, the league would be played behind closed doors, with empty stadiums and strict controls.
The format would be different as well. Instead of a single league table, the championship would be split into two groups, a temporary solution meant to keep the competition manageable. ENPPI had been placed in the Central Group, alongside familiar names — Al Ahly, Smouha, Al Mokawloon, and others.
But before thinking about any of that, Claude knew one thing came first. He had to fight for his place in the starting lineup this season. In that sense, the timing couldn't have been better. The coach from last season, Tarek El Ashri, had resigned, and the club had appointed a new one. A new coach meant new ideas — and no fixed opinion about him yet.
For Claude, this was the perfect opportunity.