The dizziness hit like a punch to the chest.
One second, Leon Fischer—Danein Blake—was jogging toward the center circle with his teammates. The next, the world tilted sharply. His legs gave out from under him.
He collapsed to his knees.
His vision blurred.
Grass. Boots. Voices muffled like they were underwater. The sky was too bright. The air felt thick. His breath wouldn't come easy.
"Huh…? What…?"
He blinked, trying to focus.
Nothing made sense.
He saw numbers—floating—above everyone's heads. Bright, digital digits hovering like holograms.
Isaac Doyle – Lv. 41 | Potential: 89
Rafael Costa – Lv. 39 | Potential: 94
What the hell is that?!
"Captain! Fischer's down!" a kid shouted.
A piercing whistle cut through the confusion. Sharp.
Coach Holloway.
Boots pounded toward him from every direction. He felt them before he saw them. Shadows crowded the sun. A half-circle of kids with worried eyes stared down at him.
"Leon?" one of them said. "Hey, Fischer, what's wrong?!"
Leon's mouth moved, but no sound came at first. His fingers twitched in the grass, and he pushed himself up slowly, joints trembling.
His pale face lifted toward the sea of concerned faces. His lips parted.
"Where… where am I?" he croaked. "Who… are you people?"
The silence was instant.
Then:
"Dude, what?"
"Did you hit your head?"
"Are you serious right now?"
"Wait… you're joking, right?"
"Are you suffering from amnesia?!"
One of the older boys—tall, bony, sharp-eyed—stepped forward, looking more irritated than worried. "You're acting like you're not even yourself, Fischer."
The name made his head throb. Fischer.
Then it came.
A rush of images—memories—but not his.
A younger version of this body, kneeling beside a flickering TV screen in a dim flat, shouting "Come on, Arsenal!" with messy hair and a crooked smile.
A woman—soft-eyed, always tired—laughing as she handed him a chipped mug of tea. Mum. Hannah Fischer.
Another memory. Rain. A car crash. A funeral. A silence that lasted longer than any child should ever know.
The memories weren't his.
But they were.
This kid… Leon Fischer. Ten years old. Father gone. Mother holding on. A talent for football…
"I… I remember," he whispered.
His head buzzed. Nausea swirled in his stomach.
Did I reincarnate… into this kid's body?
He looked down at his hands. Small. Pale. His breathing was still ragged, but steadier now.
This… this isn't me. But somehow… it is me?
The kids kept watching him like he was a broken robot.
"Maybe…" he muttered, barely above a breath. "Maybe it's just a dream. A really vivid dream…"
His fingers clenched into the grass.
But the air smells real. The ache in my chest feels real. The way the coach shouted. The sting of falling…
No. This wasn't a dream.
This was something else entirely.
Then a voice rang out, light and warm:
"Leon! Get up, man, don't scare us like that!"
A hand extended toward him.
Dark-skinned. Calloused.
He looked up.
A boy his age, with short curly hair and a bright, honest grin. Eyes full of life. Worry, too—but wrapped in warmth.
"Come on, man," the boy said. "We kinda need you."
Leon blinked at him. Something floated above the boy's head:
Byon Elias – Lv. 35 | Potential: 90
Whoa.
His lips parted.
I… I can see their stats?
Not just numbers. There was a faint aura around them. Byon's was bright and full of energy. The tall, irritated kid? Dimmer. Calculated.
Leon reached out and grabbed the offered hand.
Byon pulled him to his feet with one smooth tug.
"Coach is gonna kill you," Byon said, half-grinning. "But at least you're not dead, yeah?"
Leon nodded slowly. His heart was racing again—but this time, it wasn't panic.
It was adrenaline.
This is real. Somehow, I've been given another chance. But this time… I've got something I never had before.
He took in the group around him—fifteen kids, different sizes and shapes. Some tall and wiry. Some small but quick. All wearing the same training bibs. He glanced at their names and levels, blinking through the air like stats in a football sim game.
Theo Duran – Lv. 28 | Potential: 76
Samir Hassan – Lv. 30 | Potential: 82
Oliver Zhang – Lv. 27 | Potential: 70
It was like walking into a real-time talent scout interface. He could practically feel his brain rewriting tactics on the fly.
With that backline… our right's exposed. That Doyle kid is fast, but he pushes too high. Byon drops deep instinctively. He's the key to controlling the middle…
Coach Holloway's voice snapped him out of it.
"Fischer!"
Leon turned. The coach's shadow fell long over the turf.
"What the hell is going on with you?" the man barked, voice rough as gravel. "You drop like a stone mid-session, scare the life out of the lads, and now you're standing around gawking like a stunned squirrel?"
"I…"
Leon hesitated.
The excuse caught in his throat. He couldn't say I reincarnated. Not unless he wanted to be carted off.
"I was dizzy," he said simply. "Sorry, Coach."
Coach Holloway narrowed his eyes. "Medical team's not here yet, so you've got one chance to prove you're not gonna keel over again. Understand?"
"Yes, Coach."
As he jogged to the far side, Byon caught up beside him, smirking. "Man, what was that? You looked like you saw a ghost."
"Something like that," Leon said quietly.
"Y'know…" Byon paused, eyeing him with mock suspicion. "You're acting weird. Like... spaced-out weird. But you don't seem bad."
Leon gave a faint smile. "Thanks, I guess."