The game continued on the big screen, colors flashing as the crowd roared through the speakers.
Lincoln High sat huddled around the table—watching, laughing, commenting—but Julian's focus had shifted.
Not to the score. Not even to the Messi highlights that Leo kept freaking out over.
No.
His eyes had locked onto one name.
Benjamin Cremaschi.
Eighteen years old. Starting beside Lionel Messi for Inter Miami.
Moving like he belonged there.
And on the other side?
Jack McGlynn.
Twenty. Starting for Philadelphia Union. Calm. Composed. Already a midfield general.
Julian leaned back slightly, his gaze sharpening.
One was just a year older. The other, barely three. And yet they were already here—on the world stage, broadcast live, their stats tracked, their names known.
Meanwhile, he was seventeen.
Still a whisper in the wind.
Still sprinting in the shadows.
If they were taking one step a day…
Then he needed to take a hundred.
That was the math.
That was the mission.
He clenched his fists under the table. He wouldn't just chase them. He'd overtake them.
But before his thoughts could spiral deeper, a new voice broke through the noise.
"Hello, honey."
Julian turned in time to see Coach Owen lean up from his seat and press a kiss to the cheek of the woman who had just arrived.
She was stunning.
Her skin was deep black, smooth and luminous beneath the restaurant lights, like polished obsidian kissed by firelight. She had curves that could make silence fall in any room, and thick, wavy hair that framed her face like a lioness walking into her den.
She wasn't young.
But she wasn't old.
She was... right.
"Ah—this is my wife, Tawny Owens," Coach Owen introduced, grinning like a man who knew he'd hit the jackpot.
Julian nodded politely.
"How are you, kids?" she asked, voice honey-warm with a subtle edge of seduction. Her gaze landed on Julian. "Oh—you must be the new player. Julian, right?"
He nodded again. "Yes, ma'am."
"Mm. Quiet one. Dangerous. I like it." She winked.
The boys tried not to combust.
"How's the food, boys?"
"Good!" Leo said with his mouth full.
"Yeah, yeah—so good. It's been forever since I ate this much," Cael added.
Riku didn't even stop chewing—just gave her a thumbs-up while still devouring his second plate.
Tawny smiled, pleased. "Alright then. I'll head back to the kitchen. You boys enjoy."
She turned and walked off, and a few heads definitely turned with her.
Leo leaned in toward Julian, eyes wide. "This restaurant's actually owned by Coach Owen and his wife."
Julian raised a brow.
Coach Owen overheard and chuckled between bites. "Owned by her," he corrected. "I just pay the bills. Tawny runs everything else. I'm just the guy who yells at teenagers for a living."
More laughter.
And then silence again, as attention turned back to the screen.
To Messi.
To Cremaschi.
To McGlynn.
To the football Julian would one day invade with boots laced and teeth bared.
But for now, he was watching.
He was learning.
And soon…
He'd show the world how fast an emperor could rise.
…
They stayed until 10:00 PM.
Long after the match ended, after the last bite of food was gone, and the team's noise had mellowed into a warm, tired energy.
At one of the back tables, they pulled out a board game.
Something about cards, dice, penalties.
Julian had no idea how it worked.
Which, naturally, meant—
He got punished. Every time.
"Bro, you're cursed!" Cael laughed as Julian had to draw another forfeit card.
"Why does this one say 'chicken dance on the table'?" Julian muttered, deadpan.
"Rules are rules!" Leo said, clapping.
The restaurant echoed with laughter—some from teammates, some from the few lingering guests nearby. Even Riku, who rarely smiled, looked like he was enjoying himself.
They didn't talk about training.
Didn't talk about tactics or the next match.
They just lived.
A night of food.
A night of games.
A night where Julian Ashford—no longer just the striker, or the prodigy, or the quiet warrior—felt like one of them.
A teammate.
A brother.
A part of something real.
They laughed.
And they waited for tomorrow.
…
Julian woke up the next day.
Sunday.
He glanced at the clock: 05:00 AM.
The world outside was still dark—quiet and slow.
He sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, spine straight, hands resting on his knees.
And began to meditate.
The minutes bled into one another.
He could feel sweat bead along his brow, slowly rolling down his cheeks, warm and clean.
Not the heavy stink of stress—this was focus.
Discipline.
No distractions.
No system notifications.
Just breathing.
One hour later, he opened his eyes. Still. Grounded.
But… no level-up.
No boost.
Not everything brought immediate reward.
He cleaned up and stepped out of his room—only to see Crest standing there, arms folded, lips curved in a sly, proud grin.
"Julian," she said. "The gym's ready."
Julian blinked.
"Already? I… I was just talking about it yesterday."
Crest tilted her head, then pointed to a large box beside the door.
"Also your gaming setup. I moved it out."
Julian walked over and unboxed it, his fingers brushing familiar keys, familiar buttons.
Even after reincarnation, after blood and sweat and fire—he still loved gaming.
In his free time, it was peace.
He carried the equipment back to his room.
Then turned toward what used to be his gaming room.
The lights flicked on.
And the space he once called a haven of screens and controllers had become a private gym.
Weights. Racks. Mats. Mirrors. The smell of rubber flooring still new.
A warrior's temple.
"…Did my parents say anything?" Julian asked, his voice cautious.
Crest's smile faded.
She looked away.
"Nothing. Just approved it," she said quietly.
Julian's eyes narrowed—but only for a second.
So they were watching.
Let them.
If they wanted to step into his path again, he'd be ready.
…
[System Quest Alert]
Build you Body
Complete the following exercises in your private gym for in one week
Jogging: 0 / 100 KM ( 62 mile)
Bench Press: 0 / 5000 KG ( 11023.11 Lbs)
Squats: 0 / 3000 KG ( 6613.868 lbs)
Stretch & Core: 0 / 7 Sessions
Reward : Rare Skill
[ Accept Quest? ]
[Yes] [No]
…
Julian didn't hesitate.
He tapped yes.
This time, the grind was physical.
No shortcuts. No cheats. Just sweat, steel, and the road ahead.