The tour of the Eternal Era training grounds was overwhelming, even for someone like Dante who had already seen glimpses of extraordinary facilities in his astral space. The real thing carried a different weight the smell of fresh turf, the echo of footballs smacking against boots, the shouted drills of rising professionals chasing their dream.
Jason walked a step ahead, his muscular frame and booming voice naturally commanding respect as staff and young players greeted him. "Morning, Coach!" "Good to see you, Coach Jay!"
Dante kept pace quietly, hands buried in his hoodie pocket, eyes darting everywhere. His mind was still on his mother, on the phone call, on the bounty, but here, in this temple of football, he felt something stir.
Jason clapped him on the back. "You're looking at the future of the game, kid. The Rising Stars."
Dante raised a brow. "Team B, right?"
Jason grinned, impressed. "So you have been paying attention. Yeah, officially they're the backup unit. Unofficially, they're the next big thing. Every single one of them is fighting for a permanent spot in Team A—the Eternal Era squad."
They passed through a wide corridor plastered with posters of legends men and women who had carried the banner of Eternal Era for decades. Dante slowed when he noticed one in particular: a striker frozen mid-leap, eyes blazing, lightning crackling around his legs. The nameplate read Jae-Seok Sang, the "Lightning Spear."
His chest tightened. His father.
Jason noticed Dante lingering and sighed. "Your old man was a monster on the field. Scary talent. People still talk about the day he tore apart an entire defense singlehandedly."
"I know," Dante muttered. "I've seen the tapes."
Jason's eyes softened, but he didn't pry. Instead, he gestured toward a glass wall where a group of teenagers in matching kits were warming up.
The Rising Stars.
There were about fifteen of them, each radiating raw potential. Some stretched with casual confidence, others juggled balls with ridiculous flair, while a few exchanged competitive banter.
Jason waved to them. "Oi! Listen up!"
The chatter died instantly. Every head turned toward him. Jason motioned Dante forward. "This here is Dante Sang. He's… close to me. Treat him with respect."
A ripple of murmurs spread. One tall midfielder smirked. "Close, huh? Like your godson or something, Coach?"
Jason barked a laugh. "Not my son, not my nephew. Just someone I trust. That enough for you?"
The midfielder shrugged but didn't argue. Others eyed Dante with open curiosity.
Jason folded his arms. "You lot have been coasting. Passing drills, conditioning, the same routine every day. Today, you'll get something different. A test."
The players perked up.
Jason's grin widened. "A scrimmage. You versus him."
The Rising Stars erupted with laughter and disbelief.
"Wait, one guy against us?"
"Coach, is this a joke?"
"He doesn't even look like he plays!"
Dante felt a familiar spark ignite in his chest. The same fire that burned when balls shot from the training machine, when lightning poured through his body.
He stepped forward, calm but sharp. "I'll do it."
Jason gave him a nod. "Good. Then let's see what you've got."
The mini-pitch was smaller than regulation size but big enough for speed and skill to shine. On one side, the Rising Stars assembled, confident grins plastered on their faces. On the other stood Dante, rolling his shoulders, his red lightning flickering faintly beneath the skin.
"First to three goals wins," Jason declared. "And no holding back. You embarrass yourselves, that's on you."
The whistle blew.
The Rising Stars attacked in a coordinated wave, passing the ball quickly to exploit their numbers. A forward sprinted down the flank, boot meeting ball with a sharp cross into the box.
Dante vanished.
One moment he was at midfield, the next he reappeared between two strikers, intercepting the cross with a flick of his heel. Gasps rang out from the sidelines.
"What the—did he just teleport?!"
Dante didn't pause. He trapped the ball under his foot, pivoted, and accelerated. Lightning rippled from his calves as he dashed past three opponents in a blur.
"Stop him!"
Two defenders converged. Dante tapped the ball left, feinted right, then used Vanishing Steps. To their eyes, there were three Dantes at once. They lunged at the wrong ones, leaving the real Dante free.
He blasted forward, drew his leg back, and fired.
Boom!
The net bulged. 1–0.
The Rising Stars stared in stunned silence.
Jason folded his arms, expression unreadable.
"Lucky shot," muttered the tall midfielder. "Again!"
The second round was different. They pressed harder, bodies closing in from every angle. One player lunged recklessly at Dante's legs. Another shoved from behind.
Dante gritted his teeth. He could feel the hostility now—it wasn't just a scrimmage, it was pride. They wanted to humiliate him.
Good. He wanted the same.
He dropped low, letting the shove roll off his shoulder, then spun with inhuman balance, the ball glued to his feet. His red lightning arced outward, sparking against the turf.
Three Rising Stars closed in. Dante split them with a nutmeg, then popped the ball into the air. As it descended, he leaped backward, twisting into a scissor kick.
Boom!
The strike whistled past the keeper's desperate gloves. 2–0.
The sidelines erupted. Half the squad shouted disbelief, the other half cheered in spite of themselves. Even Jason's lips twitched.
The midfielder's face darkened. "No way. Not again. All in!"
The third round was war. The Rising Stars abandoned formation, swarming Dante with raw aggression. Boots scraped. Shoulders slammed. For a moment, he almost buckled.
But then his training in the astral space kicked in. The hours of splitting his mind, controlling avatars, juggling under impossible gravity.
His body moved in harmony with his instincts. He slipped past one challenge, heel-flicked the ball over another, then used a burst of Vanishing Steps to appear behind the keeper.
The empty goal loomed.
He tapped the ball in gently. 3–0.
Game.
Silence reigned. The Rising Stars stared, sweat dripping, disbelief written across their faces.
Jason finally spoke. "Lesson one, boys. Talent isn't enough. Out there in the real world, you'll face monsters. Better get used to it."
Dante exhaled, chest heaving, but his eyes burned with satisfaction. He wasn't just training anymore. He was proving himself.
One of the younger players, a wiry winger, jogged up with a grin. "That was sick, man. You've gotta teach me that step trick."
Others still scowled, but the ice had cracked. Respect reluctant, but growing had been earned.
Jason rested a heavy hand on Dante's shoulder. "Not bad. Not bad at all. But this was just the kiddie pool."
Dante tilted his head. "Then what's next?"