The Velodrome's roar was a living thing, a hurricane of noise and hostility pressing against Ibukun's skin like a physical force. The referee—newly appointed, untainted by the old corruption—checked his watch. No favors today. No rigged calls. Just football.
The System's mission pulsed in his vision, stark and unforgiving:
### **MISSION: BREAK THEM**
- **2 Goals + 1 Assist**
- **Reward:** *"Clutch Gene"* (Performance surge in critical moments)
- **Failure:** -15% Composure (Next 3 Matches)
No instructions. No step-by-step guide. Just the demand.
Jay-Jay's voice slithered into his ear, half-mocking, half-expectant:
*"You see that backline? They think you're just another flashy dribbler. Show them the difference between talent and obsession."*
---
### **The First Test**
Marseille came at him like a pack of wolves. Gonzalez, their enforcer at the back, marked him with the kind of aggression that left bruises through the shin guards. Ibukun didn't flinch.
In the 18th minute, the ball came to him at the edge of the box, slightly behind his stride. Gonzalez closed in, teeth bared.
The System flickered—a rare, uninvited suggestion:
***→ OPTION: "Outside Curl (Cost: 400 SP)"***
Ibukun ignored it.
Instead, he dragged the ball back with his sole, letting Gonzalez's momentum carry him past like a bull missing the matador. One touch to set himself. Then the shot—a knuckling blast that swerved late, kissing the underside of the bar.
**1-0.**
The stadium went silent.
Jay-Jay's laugh was sharp. *"Cheap tricks won't make you great. But that? That was yours."*
---
### **The Grind**
Marseille adjusted. They doubled up on him, their fullback tucking in to cut off his angles. The System stayed quiet. No hand-holding. No shortcuts.
In the 35th minute, Ibukun dropped deep, demanding the ball under pressure. Rongier, Marseille's pitbull in midfield, lunged. Ibukun spun away, but not cleanly—the contact was enough to unbalance him.
The System flashed again, this time with a demand:
***→ UPGRADE BALANCE NOW? (Cost: 600 SP)***
He refused.
Instead, he let himself fall, rolling back onto his feet in one motion. The ball was still at his feet. The defense, expecting a foul, hesitated.
That was all he needed.
A threaded pass split two defenders, landing at the feet of Lille's striker. The finish was clinical.
**2-0. Assist logged.**
Jay-Jay's voice dripped with reluctant approval: *"You're learning."*
---
### **The Breaking Point**
Second half. Marseille threw everything forward. Milik, their new sub, wasn't here to play football—he was here to leave marks.
In the 63rd minute, Ibukun twisted past him, only for Milik's studs to rake down his Achilles. The pain was instant, white-hot. The referee's yellow came just as fast.
The System saw an opportunity:
***→ INJURY NEGATION (Cost: 800 SP | Duration: 25min)***
Ibukun clenched his jaw. *No.*
He'd played through worse. He'd *trained* through worse.
Instead, he adjusted his gait, favoring the other leg. He didn't need the System's crutch. He needed his own resolve.
---
### **The Kill**
Free kick, 87th minute. 24 yards out.
The wall jumped early, trying to unsettle him. The crowd whistled, jeered, flashed phones in his eyes.
The System offered its usual transactional help:
***→ "BECKHAM CURVE" GUARANTEED (Cost: 500 SP)***
Ibukun exhaled.
He didn't need guarantees.
Three steps back. Eyes on the far post. The strike was pure instinct—no overthinking, no hesitation.
The ball dipped, swerved, then snapped back like a boomerang, burying itself in the top corner.
**3-1.**
***MISSION COMPLETE***
- **Reward Claimed:** *"Clutch Gene"* (Cold-blooded when it matters)
- **SP Preserved:** No unnecessary spending
- **League Notice:** Top scorer race tightens
---
### **The Aftermath**
Lille's manager pulled him aside after the whistle, eyes alight with greed and fear. *"Real Madrid won't wait forever. They want an answer."*
The System, for once, stayed silent. No analysis. No recommendation.
Ibukun peeled off his jersey, revealing the fresh welts and bruises.
"Tell them I'll decide when the season's done. Not before."
Jay-Jay's final whisper was almost proud:
*"That's the first smart thing you've said all night."*
---