Chapter 3: The King's Signature
The sun was a bruised purple over the National Stadium, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched across the pitch like the fingers of a giant. The air was getting cooler, but for Mide Adeyemi, the heat was only just beginning to peak.
He could feel the eyes. It wasn't just the scout, Mr. Bernard, anymore. Word had spread. People from the neighboring training pitches—coaches in faded tracksuits, younger boys clutching tattered balls, even a few street vendors—had drifted toward the touchline of Pitch 4.
They weren't looking at the score. They were looking at the boy in the #10 jersey who moved like he was dancing to a rhythm only he could hear.
[System: "Ten minutes. Your stamina is at 42%. If you don't score now, you'll be too tired to even walk to the bus stop, let alone fly to London. Do you want me to explain the menu, or do you want to keep staring at the clouds?"]
Explain it, Mide thought, wiping a mix of sweat and grit from his eyes as the opposing team prepared to kick off. I need to know exactly what I'm working with.
[System: "Fine. Listen well, because I won't repeat myself. Your 'Crown of Oyo' System has four pillars. Pay attention, Oga."]
A massive, semi-transparent interface expanded in Mide's mind, categorized into four glowing obsidian tablets.
The Four Pillars of the Crown
1. The Arsenal (Active Skills): These are your 'Juju' moves. They cost Stamina or SP to trigger. Right now, you have none unlocked. Once you get 'The Cheetah's First Step,' you'll be able to burst past defenders like they are standing in cement.
2. The Lineage (Passive Traits): These are always on. Your 'Oracle Sight' is the base. It lets you see the 'flow' of the game—stamina bars, passing lanes, and the 'hot zones' where the ball is likely to land.
3. The Treasury (The Shop): This is where you spend your hard-earned System Points (SP). You want to be faster? Buy it. You want to shoot like Roberto Carlos? Save up. You want to heal a broken leg in three days? It'll cost you a fortune.
4. The Chronicle (Database): This is your 'Future Knowledge.' It contains the history of football from 2006 to 2026. Every match result, every injury, every breakout star. You can use this to scout teammates or bet on yourself—if you're feeling lucky.
And the stats? Mide asked internally, his eyes tracking the ball as the game restarted.
[System: "Stats are 0–99. At 16, your 74 Pace is decent for Nigeria, but in the Premier League? You're a snail. Your 62 Shooting is why you passed to Tunde—you're afraid of the goal. Improve them, or remain a local champion."]
The opposing team's midfielder, a boy nicknamed 'Cobra' for his aggressive tackles, came flying at Mide. He wanted to reclaim his pride. He lunged with a two-footed challenge that would have snapped Mide's ankles in his first life.
Mide didn't even blink. The Oracle Sight showed a shimmering red aura around Cobra's feet, predicting the trajectory of the tackle two seconds before it landed.
Mide hopped—a tiny, economical jump—and the ball stayed glued to his toe. As he landed, he didn't slow down. He saw the lane.
"Tunde! Run!" Mide roared.
The defense scrambled. They were terrified of Mide passing again. Three defenders swarmed toward Tunde, leaving the center of the pitch wide open. It was a tactical gravity well—Mide's mere presence was distorting their formation.
[System: "Objective Update: Score the Goal. Use the opening. If you miss this, I will personally delete your memory of how to speak English."]
Mide didn't need the threat. He felt the 'Future Knowledge' sparking. He remembered a goal scored by a young Cristiano Ronaldo against Portsmouth—the way he hit the ball with the laces, making it dip and swerve.
He was thirty yards out. Too far for a seventeen-year-old with 62 Shooting.
Unless...
Mide focused. He poured his remaining mental energy into the strike. He didn't just kick the ball; he whipped his leg through it, striking the bottom-middle with a violent snapping motion.
[Skill Sync: Temporary Knuckleball (0.1% Chance Triggered)]
The ball didn't spin. It hissed through the air, vibrating. Ikechukwu, the keeper, stepped to his left, then his right, his hands twitching in confusion. The ball looked like it was heading for the corner flag, then suddenly, it dipped violently, crashing into the top corner of the net so hard the old twine nearly snapped.
[GOAL!!!]
[Mission Complete: Prove Your Worth]
[Rewards Granted: 50 SP, 'The Cheetah's First Step' (Lvl 1), +2 Shooting Stat]
The stadium—the whole damn training ground—went silent. Then, a roar erupted that could be heard all the way to the Lagos mainland.
Mide didn't celebrate with a dance. He didn't do a backflip. He stood still, his chest heaving, his eyes fixed on the man in the white shirt. He raised one finger, pointing directly at Mr. Bernard.
I'm coming for Manchester, the gesture said.
Post-Match: The Meeting
Ten minutes later, the whistle blew. Coach Samuel was speechless, staring at Mide as if he'd just seen a masquerade spirit play football. But Mide didn't stay for the coach's praise. He headed straight for his bag—a raggedy backpack held together by safety pins.
"Olumide Adeyemi?"
A shadow fell over him. Mide looked up. Mr. Bernard stood there, his eyes hidden behind cheap aviator sunglasses, but his hands were shaking slightly as he held his Nokia phone.
"Yes, sir," Mide said, his Yoruba-inflected English clear and confident. He didn't sound like a nervous boy from the slums. He sounded like a man who knew his value.
"That pass to the skinny boy... and that shot..." Bernard trailed off, looking at the dirt pitch. "Who taught you to play like that? There is no academy in Nigeria that teaches that kind of vision."
Mide slung his bag over his shoulder. "The streets of Lagos are my academy, sir. But I think I've graduated."
Bernard chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "My name is Bernard. I scout for Royal Antwerp, but we have a... partnership... with a club in England. A very big club. They are looking for a special talent to join their youth setup. Someone who can eventually play alongside their Portuguese star."
Mide's heart skipped. Cristiano. "Manchester United," Mide said, not as a question, but as a fact.
Bernard's eyebrows shot up. "How did you—? Never mind. You're as sharp with your tongue as you are with your feet. I want to bring you to London for a trial. Next week. But there is a problem."
"My papers?" Mide asked.
"No, I can handle the visa," Bernard said, leaning in. "The problem is Chelsea. They have eyes everywhere in West Africa. If they find out about you, they will offer your family a mountain of cash. But United... United will offer you a legacy. Which do you want, Olumide?"
Mide looked at the sunset. He thought about his first life—the broken dreams, the poverty, the 'what-ifs.'
"I don't care about the cash," Mide said, his voice dropping to a low, cold tone. "I want to be the best to ever touch the ball. Tell Sir Alex to get the contract ready. I'm coming to take over his midfield."
[System: "Oho! Look at you! Talking big to the scout. I like it. 20 Bonus SP for 'Audacity.' But remember, Mide... in Manchester, it rains every day. Your 'Lagos Magic' better work in the mud."]
Mide walked away, his stride long and purposeful. He had 110 SP in the bank, a flight to London in seven days, and a system that was just beginning to wake up.
He thought about the 2010 World Cup. He thought about the songs he hadn't heard yet. He thought about a girl named Shakira who was currently somewhere in Colombia, completely unaware that her future was walking through the dust of Surulere.
"Baba," Mide whispered as he reached the gates of the stadium. "Let's go to work."
[Current Status]
Name: Mide Adeyemi (MA10)
SP: 110
New Skill: The Cheetah's First Step (Lvl 1) - Increases acceleration by 15% for the first 3 seconds of a sprint.
Next Objective: The Carrington Trial (Manchester, UK).