The whistle faded, and the players trudged off the field like soldiers returning from a losing battle.
Julian's legs felt like lead.
Every breath burned in his lungs.
His soaked shirt clung to his body.
His muscles screamed, tight with exhaustion.
That first half had drained everything.
He had pushed [Rule The Pitch] to +7, activated a martial skill, and even dropped deeper than usual just to hold the line. Not just as a striker—but as a wall. As a shield. As a desperate anchor.
And it wasn't enough.
He reached the bench and collapsed onto it, breath ragged.
Laura was already there, handing him a towel and a cold energy drink without a word.
"Thanks," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow and gulping down the liquid like it was life itself.
The team was silent—until Coach Owens stormed in.
And then it exploded.
"What the hell was that?!" Coach barked, voice cutting through the heavy air like a whip. "You know how many damn shots they got on our keeper?!"
No one answered.
Julian stayed still, chest heaving.
"That midfield! You let them suffocate us! Even Julian had to drop back—and you call that football?! That killed our offense!"
The players stared at the grass.
Coach turned, eyes narrowing at Julian.
"Julian—yes, you can drop to support. But not that deep. If the ball's gone, let it go! Your job is to hit them back, not drown in their tempo. Got it?"
Julian gave a slow nod. "Understood, Coach."
Coach pivoted sharply.
"And we all know where their engine is—Adrian. He's the heart. He's the metronome. Leo—shadow him. Smother him. Make him bleed for every touch."
Leo nodded, eyes blazing.
Coach turned back to the team, voice steadying into strategy.
"We're going to flip this. Since Julian's already dropping deeper, we'll use that. Leo, you'll push high—misdirect. Let them follow you. Julian, you'll operate as the transitional midfielder when needed. Confuse them. Switch roles. Make them chase shadows."
Silence.
Then a ripple of understanding.
"Got it," Julian muttered.
"Yessir," Leo added.
"Alright then," Coach said, stepping back. "Let's win this. Let's finish this perfect run before the real season begins."
Leo turned toward the team, raising his fist.
"This is it, boys. We draw blood here. Let's end strong!"
"YEAHHH!"
The bench roared as one.
And Julian?
He took one last sip of the drink, wiped his mouth clean, and rose.
His legs still trembled. His lungs still ached.
But his eyes—
They were sharp.
Ready.
…
Second half.
Kick-off. Lincoln High.
Leo stood poised at center circle, one foot on the ball. Julian stood beside him, eyes already darting across the field like radar. No words were needed. Just trust.
The whistle pierced the air—
Sharp. Shrill. A gunshot to restart the war.
Leo tapped the ball sideways.
Julian was in motion before it even rolled.
He took the pass, settled it with a gentle touch, and immediately lifted his head.
Bellmere surged.
Yuan flew in first—low, fast, sharp.
Behind him, Adrian Bellamy stalked the zone with surgical calm, ready to pounce the second Julian hesitated.
But Julian wasn't rattled.
[Activating Rule The Pitch – Lv.1: +5 To All Attributes]
+5.
Not everything. Just enough.
Just enough to play the game within the game.
He wasn't trying to break free.
He was setting bait.
One touch.
Two.
He rolled the ball back with the sole of his boot—slow, deliberate.
Yuan lunged.
Too eager.
Julian let it happen.
Then—crack.
A sudden pivot.
A curling diagonal pass burst off Julian's boot, slicing across the pitch like a blade drawn under moonlight.
It soared.
Silver jerseys twisted mid-stride.
Too late. Too slow.
Felix was already there.
He sprinted down the right flank, the ball dropping perfectly at his feet—soft spin, perfect weight, like it had been summoned by instinct.
Bellmere's formation rippled.
Leo charged forward into the space Julian had just vacated, dragging two defenders in his wake.
And Julian?
He lurked.
Just between the lines, floating in the shadows of their structure.
But Adrian Bellamy saw it.
Of course he did.
The prodigy raised his arm, barking a command before repositioning—cutting off angles with machine-like precision.
Malaka, already recovering from the wing, exploded forward again, moving like a damn missile, narrowing Felix's window.
The ball came back—right to Julian's feet.
And now, Bellamy stood in front of him.
A wall.
Julian inhaled.
[Activating Rule The Pitch – Lv.1: +10 To All Attributes]
His muscles screamed.
His vision sharpened.
He surged forward—straight into Adrian.
Shoulder to shoulder.
The impact echoed through Julian's bones. He gritted his teeth.
Adrian didn't flinch.
He turned with the pressure, flowing with the contact like a martial artist.
Julian's instincts screamed.
Danger.
He dug deeper.
[Rule The Pitch – Lv.1: +12 To All Attributes]
Power surged again.
His boots tore into the turf, cleats digging for traction.
Adrian was pushed back—just a step—but it was enough.
A gap. A flash. A choice.
Julian spotted Leo's movement.
Adrian's presence still suffocating him.
Felix still locked with Malaka.
And Yuan?
Floating up front—out of reach.
This was it.
Julian swung his leg and fired a pass toward Leo—
It wasn't perfect.
Adrian's interference had thrown off the angle.
He collapsed to the grass.
Chest heaving. Vision blurry.
But the ball—it flew.
And Leo caught it.
First touch—clean.
So clean it left his marker lunging at empty air.
Inside the box now.
The Bellmere keeper reacted—bolting off his line.
Too late.
Leo chipped it.
A delicate flick.
Not power.
Precision.
The ball rose like a dream.
Curved—slow and cruel.
The keeper leapt—
Too far.
The net shimmered—
And the ball dropped in.
GOAL.
1 – 0.
The crowd erupted.
But on the pitch—
Julian wasn't celebrating.
He was down.
Sprawled on the grass, his back arched slightly, his hands gripping the turf like it might steady him.
His legs trembled.
His calves twitched.
And then—the sting.
A sharp, electric jolt shot through his feet.
Like lightning licking through his nerves.
His lungs scraped for air—every inhale ragged, his chest rising and falling like a dying engine.
Coach Owens saw it instantly.
He was already shouting for the sub.
Ricky Zhang stood at the sideline, stretching, jogging in place, ready to go.
Leo jogged over, breathless and grinning, but when he saw Julian—his expression shifted.
"Hey," Leo knelt beside him, "nice pass… You okay?"
Julian managed a tight smile.
"Yeah. Just… some sore. Cramp."
He chuckled dryly, but even his laugh felt forced.
The medics reached him seconds later.
He waved them off at first—stubborn pride, maybe—but his body betrayed him.
He couldn't stand.
They picked him up gently, guiding him toward the bench.
Each step away from the pitch felt like retreat.
Each roar of the crowd?
A slap.
Because this wasn't how it was supposed to be.
Julian's jaw tightened as he dropped onto the bench. Laura handed him a towel, a drink, but it all felt distant.
His mind spun.
It had been so long since he felt this weak.
Not since his illness.
Not since the days where he could barely walk, let alone fight.
In his past life, he was the prodigy.
The one who always won.
The one who shattered records and carved legacies.
The main character.
Fate danced in his palm.
But now?
Now he was here, sidelined.
Cramped. Exhausted. Body trembling.
A weapon... sheathed.
And it burned.
Not just his muscles.
Not just his lungs.
His pride.
This wasn't defeat.
But it was a reminder—
That the road to reclaim the crown would be paved with blood.
And this was only the beginning.