Winston bolted across the streets, his gym bag bouncing against his left shoulder as he panted beneath the blazing morning sun. He checked his watch and increased his pace. His chest was taking in air far more easily than before. A grin spread across his face.
It's been a long time since I've felt like this.
He clenched the fist holding his gym bag and weaved through the crowds of people heading to work. Several pedestrians glanced at him as he ran past, probably wondering why the youth was grinning like an idiot.
The club's training ground was across the city, and the ground he had been training at was on the opposite side. He couldn't afford to arrive at the club exhausted. Gradually, Winston slowed his pace. He hadn't slept properly—if at all—but he didn't care. Today, he wanted to prove himself. He wanted to show the coach that he belonged in the starting eleven.
At the very least, he couldn't miss the team's announcements or the warm-ups. Thankfully, he had already gotten plenty of exercise at the other training ground. Glancing at the traffic ahead, Winston spotted the pedestrian light turn green.
He immediately accelerated. Luckily, he hadn't brought his wireless earphones with him. They would have only distracted him. Once he reached the other side of the road, Winston headed toward the underground station. Fortunately, he had already bought a train ticket earlier while packing his things at the training ground.
He had stumbled across the station while running with Oswin the previous day, despite having barely explored the city. As he reached the entrance, Winston finally stopped, placing his hands on his knees while catching his breath.
He looked back toward the road. "Damn... I thought I'd missed it."
The immense relief came from remembering how he and Oswin had zigzagged through the city's alleys the previous day. They had only discovered the underground station because they needed to cross the street, and Winston had made sure to check its location on his phone before setting out that morning. As he reached the station, the train doors began to close.
"Wait!"
Winston squeezed himself through the narrowing gap just in time. He collapsed into a seat, hyperventilating as he pulled out his phone. His fingers immediately searched for Oswin's number.
Pick up, bro... come on.
The call rang And rang—Winston lowered the phone and placed both hands on his head.
Damn it.
He regretted pushing himself so hard the previous night. If he had conserved his energy, he wouldn't be struggling like this just to reach training on time. When the train finally arrived, Winston sprang from his seat and sprinted up the long staircase. He burst onto the street, crossed the road, and turned around the corner of a building.
The club's training ground stood at the end of a long, narrow road, its sides bordered by tall green fences lined with palm trees. Relief washed over him. I'm almost there.
Then he heard the whistles—his heart sank.
Shit. I'm late.
Thankfully, Winston had already changed into his training clothes. He rushed through the entrance, dropped his bag to the ground, and hurried toward the head coach.
"You're late, Winston."
The head coach stood there holding a clipboard. "You missed the warm-ups. Head over to the striker coach. He's training the attackers over there." He pointed toward the opposite side of the pitch.
"Yes, Coach."
Winston jogged toward the group of strikers performing their drills. The moment he arrived, the striker coach looked him up and down. "Well, look what we have here. He scores one goal, and now he thinks he's running the show." The coach folded his arms. "Is there anything else we should give you, Your Highness?"
The sarcasm in his voice was impossible to miss. Winston knew the coach was mocking him. For some reason, the man had never seemed to like him, and Winston could feel the irritation behind every word. Before he could apologize, the coach pointed toward the field.
"Thirty laps."
Winston's eyes widened. "Coach, I—"
"Thirty."
Winston swallowed his words. "Yes, Coach."
As Winston turned and began jogging, the striker coach noticed the sweat soaking through his training clothes.
He's already drenched. The coach narrowed his eyes. He must have run here.
Winston, meanwhile, adjusted his pace. Instead of maintaining one steady rhythm, he adopted a more strategic approach. He jogged for a while before suddenly bursting into a sprint for sixty seconds—the same pattern he had used while running around his neighborhood.
Then he slowed back down—Another burst—Another recovery. His breathing remained surprisingly controlled.
My body really is different now.
Ding!
[Nether Essence: 31%]
Ding!
[Nether Essence: 32%]
Ding!
[Nether Essence: 33%]
Ding!
[Nether Essence: 34%]
The reason for the shooting drill was simple. In their previous match, Westminster had several opportunities to shoot from long range, but they failed to take advantage of them. Because of that, the striker coach decided to put the forwards through a series of long-range shooting drills.
The previous match had also forced the coaching staff to make a difficult decision: Maximilian or Winston? Both players were hungry, and despite their differences, they had developed a certain chemistry on the field. After discussing it, the head coach and striker coach decided to put both forwards in the starting eleven.
Of course, neither Winston nor Maximilian knew. In fact, none of the players had seen the starting lineup yet. That made the training ground feel like a battleground. Every player was giving everything they had, fighting for a place in the starting eleven. It was like soldiers preparing for war, each one determined to prove that they deserved to be on the field.
The under-twenty-one league was especially important. It was the primary league where senior clubs searched for and selected their next prospects. Winston, in particular, had caught the attention of several people after his previous match. He had come off the bench and significantly changed the game's outcome, displaying a level of confidence and ball control that he hadn't shown before.
What Winston didn't know was that his performance had begun circulating online. People were comparing his recent under-twenty-one performance with his brief appearance in the senior league. Many were surprised by how much more confident he looked with the ball.
Winston, however, had no idea. He hadn't checked his social media once. During the water break, Winston sat down and opened the Core System. He raised his index finger and performed the familiar motion he had come to use whenever he wanted to navigate the interface. His signature arcade move. With a small flick of his finger, the system opened before him.
[User has now upgraded]
[User physical stats]
[Pace]
[Voltage Core: Loading]
Acceleration: 70
Sprint Speed: 70
[Physical]
[Nether Essence: 34%]
Physical: 70
Jumping: 70
Stamina: 70
Strength: 70
Aggression: 70
What is a Voltage Core? And Nethen Essence is now at 34%? Winston choked on his drink, his eyes widening in disbelief.
The sudden reaction made everyone around him stare, bewildered. To be honest, Winston's reaction was justified. He had been focusing on increasing his skills, yet instead of seeing his attributes improve, his Nethen Essence had increased.
But what does Nethen Essence even do? He still didn't understand its purpose. However, he had a suspicion. The Nethen Essence seemed to be responsible for restoring his energy whenever exhaustion began overwhelming him. It was the only explanation he could think of for why his body was recovering so quickly.
Winston glanced down at his arms. Even though he hadn't started lifting weights or doing any strength training, his muscles were becoming more defined. All the running he had been doing like a maniac was finally showing results.
So all that running wasn't for nothing.
Before shutting down the Core System, Winston remembered the newly acquired skill he had been wanting to test. A grin slowly formed on his face.
Let's see what this can do. He navigated to the Skill Moves Shop and activated it with a double press.
[User skill move: Acquired]
[Dead Ball]
[Dead ball: Equipped]
Winston noticed that the striker coach was giving Maximilian private coaching. His brows furrowed.
Why does he get special attention while the rest of us don't?
Instead of receiving constructive guidance, the other forwards were constantly being lectured. Most of the time, the coach simply criticized them harshly without explaining how they could improve.
Winston shook his head and returned to the line. When it was Maximilian's turn, the striker coach passed him the ball. Maximilian stepped forward and took the shot.
He finessed it despite not making clean contact. The ball curved toward the post, struck it, and bounced into the net.
"Next!"
After two more players completed their attempts, it was Winston's turn. The striker coach passed the ball toward him—but far too hard. Winston's eyes widened—he immediately chased after it. Just before the ball went too far, Winston planted his foot and struck it.
Instead of hitting the post like Maximilian's shot, the ball rose sharply into the air. Winston watched it climb, expecting it to sail over the goal. But then the ball suddenly dipped and curved toward the far right corner, its movement resembling water spraying from a hose. The ball slammed into the inside of the net. Winston's eyes widened.
This Dead Ball skill is amazing. A grin slowly spread across his face. Imagine if I master this... it'd be unstoppable.