Lying on his bed, Winston stared at the ceiling, two blocks of ice he'd ordered through the hotel's room service resting against his sore muscles. He was still replaying the match in his head. Every mistake, every missed opportunity. Every moment when his body had refused to respond the way he wanted.
It felt like torture. Yet, over time, this had become a ritual for Winston. Replaying his matches helped him identify his weaknesses and analyze what he could have done differently.
Sometimes, however, it became overwhelming. Like yesterday's match. That loss had taken the wind out of the entire squad, but Winston had taken it harder than most. He moved an arm over his face and released a heavy sigh. Slowly, he sat up. A lump formed in his throat as he took several deep breaths, preparing himself for whatever disappointment awaited him.
All right... let's see. Winston opened the Core System. His brows immediately furrowed.
Ding!
[User daily challenge]
[Call for the ball: Completed]
[Deadball goals: Not completed]
[Make assists: Not completed]
[Nethen Essence: 57%]
Oh! This Nethen Essence has been increasing for a while now… but it stopped at fifty percent. Does this mean it won't affect my rating anymore? If so, how am I supposed to increase it? Winston rubbed his chin, staring at the translucent system screen. Ever since I entered that simulation, the Nethen Essence became active. After I won that simulation match, my physical rating jumped to seventy, and the Nethen Essence percentage started increasing.
He narrowed his eyes. So there has to be a connection between the simulation, my physical abilities, and Nethen Essence. But what exactly triggers it?
[Stats]
Name: Winston Daley
Age: 19
Weak Foot: 2
Foot: Right
Profession: Footballer
Team: Westminster F.C. (Under twenty-one team)
Player Rating: 81
Position: Center forward.
Potential: 87
Acceleration
Sprint Speed
Shooting
Passing
Dribbling
Physical [Nethen Essence: 57%]
Reward Points: 00
Skills moves: None.
[Physical selected]
[Physical]
[Nethen Essence: 57%]
Physical: 70
Jumping: 70
Stamina: 70
Strength: 70
Aggression: 70
The hair on the back of Winston's neck stood on end.
He pushed himself up and dragged his feet toward the bathroom. After splashing cold water onto his face, a grin spread across his lips. A surge of excitement coursed through him, causing him to clench his fists.
I finally have a little understanding of how the Core System works.
Now he wanted to know what the Nethen Essence could actually do. Winston rushed out of the bathroom, grabbed his gym bag, and slung it over his shoulder.
"If I continue training my physique, will I be transported back into that simulation?" he muttered.
He hurried toward the training ground.
"Hey, Winston." A familiar, soft voice called out to him. Winston whipped his head around and saw the familiar girl approaching. "Hey. I was hoping I'd see you today. Are you okay? You seem to be in pain."
"Oh, hey. No, I'm fine. I just strained my leg during yesterday's match."
"Oh, okay. Are you free right now? I want to introduce you to him. I'm getting off work early today."
"Yes. Yes, I'm free."
"Don't worry about taking a taxi. We can just walk there."
"No, I'd rather walk. Maybe it'll help loosen up my leg."
"If you're sure. Wait here while I clock out."
Winston nodded. Maybe this will work in my favor. Maybe Crowe Dumi can give me some tips on how to improve my skills.
A few minutes later, the girl returned.
"Okay, I'm ready. Let's go."
"All right."
Winston and the woman walked along a concrete-tiled pathway bordered by neat rows of lush trees. The peaceful scenery almost felt like something out of a romantic movie.
"So, how do you know Crowe Dumi?" Winston asked.
"Oh, he's my father."
Winston's eyes widened. "Wait... your father? Crowe Dumi is your father?"
"Hehehe, yeah. I'm Annalise Crowe." She smiled gently.
Winston quickly looked away. "Wow. No wonder you were so nonchalant when you were talking to him."
"Yeah. He's just Dad."
"By the way, I'm Winston Daley."
"I know. You're with Westminster F.C. He watched your match yesterday."
So I wasn't imagining it. It really was him at the stadium.
"What does he think... about the match, I mean?" Winston asked, his voice filled with curiosity.
Annalise paused. "Mmm. I think he enjoyed it. He said it was interesting... and a shame, too."
"A shame?"
"You can ask him yourself. I'm sure he'll tell you what he thought."
Winston's heart sank. Great. Now I have to ask one of my idols how badly I played.
He already knew what would happen. If Dumi was anything like the man Winston remembered from television, he would have no problem pointing out every flaw in his technique. After walking several kilometers along the concrete pathway, they reached a pedestrian crossing. From there, they continued until a large house came into view.
The property was surrounded by lush, well-maintained fields. Sturdy beige stone pillars stood on either side of the entrance, each topped with smooth caps and dark wrought-iron panels that extended upward.
"This is my house."
Winston's heart began pounding. He was about to meet the very man he had watched on television alongside his father—the striker who had inspired him to develop his own shooting ability.
Oh man... why am I sweating so much? Okay, Winston. Breathe in. Breathe out. This is a once-in-a-lifetime moment. Play it cool. My name is Winston Daley. My name is Winston Daley... He took a deep breath.
Okay... hoo.
Annalise reached for the enormous dark-patterned glass door. She turned the handle and swung it open.
"Dad, I'm home. And I brought a visitor."
She gestured for Winston to come inside. The smooth jazz playing throughout the house immediately eased some of the tension in his chest.
"You want something to drink?" Annalise asked.
"Huh? Water would be fine, thank you."
"Go down the hallway on the right. There's a lounge room there."
"Ooh... okay."
Winston walked toward the lounge. As he approached, the subdued jazz gradually grew louder. A man's voice hummed along with the intricate melody of a solo guitarist. When Winston entered the open lounge, he saw Crowe Dumi standing with his back toward him, inspecting a collection of vinyl records. His foot tapped rhythmically against the floor.
A profound wave of emotion washed over Winston. That's him. The man he had admired for years was only a few steps away.
"Hey, honey. Who's this visitor? Is he here for you or me?" Dumi picked up his whisky glass from the coffee table without even looking around. He continued humming, his voice becoming more animated as the guitarist reached his favorite part of the song.
"Why are you so quiet? Did something happen at the hotel?"
"Umm... excuse me, sir."
Winston cleared his throat. Dumi's head snapped around. His eyes widened, and he nearly lost his grip on the glass. "Oh. It's you."
Winston blinked.
"The boy who's been practicing alone nonstop for the past two days."
"Oh, yes. My name is Winston Daley."
Winston hurried forward and extended his hand. Dumi shook it. "Nice to meet you. Please, sit down."
He lowered the volume of the music. "How was yesterday's match?" Dumi asked. "I heard you played well. Tell me, did you and your team win? I couldn't attend."
Winston hesitated. Was this some kind of test? He studied Dumi carefully. Even in retirement, the man still possessed an impressive athletic build. Winston guessed he was somewhere in his mid-forties. Dumi had retired at only thirty, right when he was still at the peak of his career. The football world had been stunned. Why would one of the greatest strikers in the world retire while he was still dominating?
Dumi had first gained worldwide recognition after an extraordinary season in which he scored 200 goals and single-handedly dragged his team from fifth place to the top of the table. He went on to win multiple championships over five consecutive years, developing a distinctive style that inspired young strikers across the globe.
After his retirement announcement, speculation exploded across social media. Some believed he had retired because of his failure to capitalize on several scoring opportunities during the championship final.
"We gave the match our all," Winston finally answered, twiddling his thumbs. "But the other team was too good."
"Is that so?" Dumi leaned back. "Then tell me. If you had to rate your own performance, what would you give yourself?"
"Hmm... maybe a five and a half."
"What made you give yourself that rating?"
The room fell silent. Winston pressed his thumb against his other hand so hard that the pain jolted him. He lifted his head and met Dumi's gaze.
"It was because... I wasn't good enough." His voice lowered. "I felt like I was dragging the team down."
"Oh? Is that so? Then why—"
"C'mon, Dad. This isn't therapy." Annalise entered the lounge carrying a tray of juice and cookies. "Don't listen to him. He was there. He knows what happened."
"I was having a light, man-to-man conversation."
"You were grilling him."
"Well, that's how men talk."
"Yeah, right."
Annalise rolled her eyes, Dumi stood up. "Anyway, I'm off. Time for my afternoon nap."
"Actually, Dad... He's here for you."
"Me? Why?"
Annalise looked toward Winston. Winston immediately stood. "I was hoping you could train me." He swallowed. "I'll pay you. Please, sir."
Dumi released a heavy sigh. "Doesn't your club have a forward coach?"
"We do. But he's not very good. He only teaches us the fundamentals."
"Kids these days. What's wrong with the fundamentals?" Dumi walked toward Winston and studied him from head to toe. Then his eyes stopped at Winston's legs.
"What's wrong with your legs?"
Winston glanced down. "I strained them while running. They don't really hurt, though."
"And what did the medic say?"
"I haven't told them."
Dumi's expression hardened. "You haven't told them?" He shook his head. "Kid, you're developing muscle tension. When was the last time you gave your legs proper rest?"
"Umm... about two weeks ago."
Dumi stared at him. "What? Kid, are you stupid?"
"Dad, is it serious?" Annalise asked, glancing at Winston's legs.
"Yes." Dumi crouched slightly, examining Winston's posture. "If you keep training without giving your muscles time to recover, you're going to cause serious damage. From what I'm seeing, this kid has been training day and night without taking proper time off."
Winston's expression changed. "Is it possible to fix it?"
"Yes. I know someone. A retired physician."
"Then you can take him to that physician," Annalise said.
Dumi looked at her. "But my nap."
"You really should consider going outside more, Dad. Staying inside all day isn't healthy."
"Please, Mr. Crowe," Winston pleaded.
Dumi sighed. "Already, kid. You don't have to look at me with those puppy eyes. You look like a lost dog." He grabbed his keys. "C'mon. We'll take the car."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We still need to see whether Haruto can treat your legs first."