The next morning Arthur stood at the edge of the training ground, sweat dripping from his brow. The morning sun in Hayes Academy always seemed sharper on days like this. Coach Darius had the whistle in his mouth, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over the squad like a hawk.
"Ball circulation!" Darius barked. "Quick touches. Think before the ball comes. Don't admire your passes."
The lads moved in rhythm, short one-two exchanges across the field. Arthur's first few passes had weight behind them, but not enough bite. His legs burned after every ten-yard sprint, a reminder that stamina remained his greatest chain.
"Hayes," Darius's voice cracked through the air. "Don't jog back. I want recovery runs at full pace."
"Yes, coach!" Arthur forced air into his lungs and chased the ball down.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Clovis smirk. "Try not to collapse this time," he muttered just loud enough for Arthur to hear.
Arthur swallowed the reply on his tongue. Fighting back wouldn't add to his stamina bar. The system in his mind flickered as he kept moving:
[Stamina +0.1][Short Passing +0.2]
Tiny gains, almost insulting. But gains nonetheless.
Marcus jogged beside him, giving him a small nod. "Ignore him. Just keep the rhythm. You're seeing the passes, even if your legs don't want to cooperate yet."
Arthur exhaled through his nose. "Yeah… thanks."
By midweek, training shifted to set-piece drills. Corners, free-kicks, restarts — every detail drilled into muscle memory. Arthur wasn't in the main eleven for corners. He hovered outside the box, tasked with recycling loose balls.
When Darren overhit a cross, Arthur darted in, controlling it with one touch before sliding it neatly back to Adrian, who struck on target. It wasn't glamorous, but Coach Darius noticed.
"Good positioning, Hayes," Darius said. No smile, no favoritism — just fair acknowledgment.
Arthur's chest tightened with quiet pride. Fair was more than enough.
Clovis, however, rolled his eyes. "Luck. Ball just happened to fall for you."
Marcus shot him a sharp glance. "Then why didn't it fall for you?"
The tension simmered, but Darius's whistle ended the bickering.
After their training coach Darius organized all the players telling them they will be playing their first match tomorrow, and it will be against Ironclad. The meeting room was tense with determination to fight in the eyes of every player.
That evening after going back home, Arthur sat with his parents at dinner. His mother, Eleanor Hayes, served stew with gentle hands, while his father, Reginald Hayes, sat silently at the head of the table.
"You've been looking stronger," Evelyn said softly. "Your cheeks have more color."
Arthur smiled faintly. "Coach has us running until our lungs burn, and we are playing our first match of the season tomorrow."
"The board has finally arranged it, that's good," Reginald finally spoke. His deep voice carried the weight of past glory, of a house that once stood among nobles. "Every drop of sweat is a brick laid to rebuild Hayes. Don't forget that."
Arthur lowered his gaze. "I won't, Father."
Matchday arrived.
The academy bus rumbled toward the small but proud stadium. Arthur sat by the window, watching banners of other houses flutter in the wind. Rival crests gleamed, while whispers of Ravenworth Academy lingered like a storm cloud on the horizon. Cedric's name had been mentioned by classmates all week — his dominant performance in a preseason friendly had already made waves.
But today wasn't about Cedric. Today was about Hayes.
Coach Darius stood in the aisle of the bus as they approached the stadium. "Listen up," he said, voice steady. "This is league football. No more scrimmages. Every mistake is punished. Every lapse is costly. Stick to what we drilled. Discipline, composure, teamwork."
He glanced around the players, gaze sharp but even. "I don't care about family names. I don't care about noble banners. On the pitch, it's football that decides. You give everything, or you don't wear the Hayes crest."
Arthur clenched his fists. Neutral, fair, demanding — that was Darius. And that was enough.
The bus slowed. Through the window, Arthur saw the pitch waiting like a battlefield. The stadium wasn't huge, but the stands were alive, banners waving, chants echoing. This wasn't training anymore. This was real.
His first official match.
And somewhere deep inside, the system stirred.
[Quest Triggered: Make an Impact in Your First Official Match]Reward: ???
Arthur's pulse quickened. It was time.