The late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm, amber glow across the city's outskirts. The modest football pitch, surrounded by cracked concrete walls and rusty fences, felt almost magical bathed in that golden light. Molnár Áron stood near the center circle, his breath forming faint clouds in the cool air as he adjusted the collar of his team jersey.
Fatigue tugged at his limbs, a lingering reminder of the trial match earlier that week. The muscles in his legs ached, but it was a familiar kind of pain — the sort that spoke of progress, effort, and growth. He had spent the morning running drills under Coach Kovács' sharp gaze, working hard to improve his ball control and passing.
Around him, his teammates laughed and joked, their voices carrying the easy camaraderie of boys bound by shared struggle and dreams. Áron felt a quiet envy at the ease with which they related to each other. He was still an outsider, still learning the subtle dances of friendship and rivalry.
From the edge of the field, partially concealed by a cluster of overgrown bushes, a man observed the scene with intense focus. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, missing no detail. Dressed in a tailored blazer and polished shoes, he seemed oddly out of place amid the worn cleats and dusty training gear.
This was Márk Szabó, scout for Ferencvárosi Torna Club — the most celebrated football club in Hungary, steeped in tradition and glory. His job was simple in theory but complex in practice: to find raw talent, diamond-in-the-rough players who could one day wear the green and white and carry the club's legacy forward.
Márk's gaze fixated on Áron.
There was something about the boy's movement — fluid, confident, yet thoughtful. Áron was not just running drills; he was studying the game, analyzing space and players in a way that felt... different. Almost as if he could see beyond what was in front of him.
Márk made a small note in his leather-bound notebook. "Potential," he whispered to himself.
The training session wrapped up with the usual drills and cool-down jogs. Áron wiped sweat from his brow and stretched his tired muscles, but his mind was far from rest.
As the players gathered their gear and started to disperse, the scout stepped forward, brushing a hand through his neatly styled hair.
"Molnár Áron?" His voice was calm but carried authority.
Áron turned, slightly startled by the unexpected address.
"That's me," he replied cautiously.
The man extended his hand. "I'm Márk Szabó. I'm a scout with Ferencváros."
Áron's eyes flicked to the name. The weight of it pressed down on him, though he tried to mask his reaction.
"I've seen you play," Márk continued, eyes locked onto Áron's face. "You have raw talent — speed, control, vision. For someone so new to the game, that's rare."
Áron nodded slowly. "I'm still learning. There's a long way to go."
"True," Márk smiled, "but every great player starts somewhere. And every club needs players who not only have skill but hunger. Do you have that hunger, Áron?"
The question hung in the air. Áron thought about the endless hours of solitary practice, the sting of Patrik's challenges, the weight of being both god and boy.
"I do," he said finally, his voice steady.
For the next several minutes, Márk explained what Ferencváros could offer: professional coaching, state-of-the-art facilities, the chance to compete at higher levels, and a pathway toward a real football career.
Áron listened intently, absorbing the unfamiliar vocabulary — "academy," "scouting trials," "contracts," "development squads." These concepts were foreign yet tantalizing.
Coach Kovács, who had quietly approached during the conversation, chimed in.
"Áron's got the potential, Márk. But he's still raw. Needs time and guidance."
Márk nodded thoughtfully. "That's exactly why we're interested. We want to give him that guidance."
Over the following days, Márk made arrangements for Áron to visit Ferencváros' training facilities. The invitation filled Áron with a mix of excitement and apprehension. He was stepping into a world far larger and more demanding than the dusty pitch he'd called home.
On the day of the visit, Áron arrived early. The training complex was a revelation — sprawling green fields meticulously maintained, gleaming gymnasiums, classrooms for tactical study, and a buzzing atmosphere of ambition and professionalism.
Márk greeted him warmly.
"This is where some of Hungary's best players train," he said. "You'll have access to coaches who can teach you not just how to play, but how to think about football."
Áron's eyes scanned the scene, taking in the rapid drills, the precise passes, the camaraderie and competition that mingled in the air.
As the tour ended, Márk paused and looked Áron in the eyes.
"Do you want this?"
Áron hesitated. The answer was obvious, yet the path was uncertain.
"I do," he said quietly.
"Good." Márk smiled. "Then we'll help you get there."
That night, as Áron lay beneath the stars, he reflected on his journey.
A god born anew in a mortal world, chasing not power or immortality, but something simpler and more profound: the beautiful game, and the chance to belong.
His heart beat steadily, filled with determination.
SYSTEM:New Quest: Trial at Ferencváros AcademyObjective: Impress coaches, adapt to professional training
Reward: Potential contract offer