The stadium was still echoing with the roar of disbelief. The scoreboard now read:
União Barreirense 1 – 2 Leixões SC
Rain continued to fall in thin sheets, beading on the players' jerseys, the pitch slick with every step. Adrian jogged back toward the halfway line, his chest pounding, his lips pressed tight against the urge to break into a grin.
The commentator's voice was still ringing in his ears:
"What a strike from the substitute! A boy nobody expected—Adrian Silva—just pulled one back for Barreirense! Is this the spark they needed?"
The crowd had changed its tune. The very voices that had booed him minutes ago now shouted his name in confusion and growing excitement.
"Silva! Silva! Shoot again, kid!"
"Where the hell was this before?"
"Number twenty-seven, remember that name!"
Adrian lowered his gaze, his expression unreadable. But inside, his veins burned with fire.
85th Minute
Play resumed with a renewed energy.
Leixões tried to slow the tempo, passing calmly among their defenders, but the crowd's roar pushed Barreirense forward. Even Adrian's teammates, who had scoffed at him earlier, suddenly passed him the ball more often, testing if the miracle had been luck or skill.
Adrian received one such pass near midfield. The ball felt alive against his boot, more responsive than ever. The System flickered faintly in his vision, overlaying subtle cues: a faint circle glowing at his feet, a meter measuring his balance, suggestions whispering through instinct.
[Attribute Boost Active: Shooting +5]
[New Skill Card: Basic Finishing Equipped]
Adrian's breath caught. The ball didn't just roll—it sang, as though the System had tuned his senses sharper, made his touch smoother, his awareness wider.
He feinted left, nudged right, and slipped past a defender. The crowd roared at the sudden burst of flair.
"Look at the kid go!" the commentator shouted. "He's brimming with confidence now!"
But before Adrian could build the play, he was hacked down by a heavy tackle. His body hit the soaked turf with a wet thud, mud splattering up his side.
"Foul!" the referee's whistle shrieked.
Adrian hissed through his teeth, pushing himself up. The defender loomed over him, snarling. "Don't get cocky, benchwarmer."
Adrian met his glare, rain dripping from his hair, his expression calm, almost chilling. He didn't reply—he didn't need to. His eyes said enough: I'm not afraid anymore.
89th Minute
Barreirense had one final chance. A free kick, thirty yards out, slightly off-center. The captain hovered over the ball, ready to strike. But the crowd began to murmur, voices rising louder.
"Give it to Silva!"
"Let the kid try!"
"Number twenty-seven!"
The captain scoffed at first, but Coach Mendes hesitated on the sideline, his brows furrowed. His lips pressed into a tight line before he finally shouted, "Let him take it!"
The captain stepped back reluctantly, glaring at Adrian as if daring him to mess up.
Adrian exhaled slowly, stepping toward the ball. His boots sank slightly into the soaked grass, raindrops racing down his temples.
The stadium seemed to hold its breath.
The System pulsed:
[Special Opportunity Detected.]
[Guidance Mode: Activated.]
A faint glowing arc appeared in Adrian's vision, curving toward the top corner of the net. His heart thundered.
The referee's whistle blew.
Adrian ran up, struck cleanly—his body moving with precision he didn't know he had. The ball rose, spinning, cutting through the rain like a blade. It curled viciously, dipping at the last moment toward the keeper's top corner—only for the goalkeeper to leap, fingertips grazing it, pushing it wide.
The crowd groaned, some clutching their heads, others applauding the effort.
"Silva with the free kick! Inches away from glory! What a strike from the youngster—it forced a top save!" the commentator cried.
Adrian stood at the edge of the box, chest heaving, rain dripping down his jaw. His face remained calm, but deep inside, his fire only grew stronger.
Full Time: União Barreirense 1 – 2 Leixões SC.
The whistle blew. Another loss. But nobody left the stadium talking about the scoreline. All eyes, all whispers, all questions circled one name—Adrian Silva.
As he walked off the field, teammates whispering, coach Mendes studying him with wary eyes, the System chimed softly once more:
[Performance Evaluated.]
[Overall Rating Increased: 43 → 47.]
[Hidden Trait Awakened: Big Game Temperament.]
Adrian lifted his head, the stormy night still pouring over the modest stadium, and a faint, fierce smile finally broke across his face.
He wasn't a benchwarmer anymore.
He was a name beginning to stir.
---
The locker room was a storm of its own.The smell of sweat and damp leather hung in the air, mingling with the sting of liniment and the metallic tang of wet jerseys dumped onto the floor. Cleats clattered against the tiles, the voices of frustrated teammates rising above the hiss of the showers.
"We had 'em! And we still lost!"
"Damn referees, always against us."
"Don't blame the refs—you lot couldn't keep the ball!"
The argument cut through the room, but Adrian barely heard it. He sat at the far end of the bench, water dripping from his soaked hair onto the floor, jersey still clinging to him like a second skin. His pulse hadn't slowed.
Every so often, someone's gaze darted his way. Some looks were grudgingly impressed, others bitter. One defender sneered outright, muttering loud enough to be heard.
"Just one lucky hit and now everyone's acting like he's the next Ronaldo."
Adrian didn't rise to it. His expression was calm, though his fingers dug into the fabric of the towel draped over his knees.
Coach Mendes entered, silence falling like a curtain. His raincoat still glistened with droplets as he slammed the door shut. He scanned the room with sharp, weary eyes.
"We fought," he said curtly. "But not hard enough. We lacked composure. We lacked precision."
No one spoke. Mendes's eyes finally landed on Adrian, lingering longer than the boy expected.
"And yet…" The coach's jaw worked. "When we needed a spark, one of you delivered."
A few heads turned toward Adrian. The sneering defender scoffed.
"With all due respect, Coach," the defender snapped, "he almost cost us with that free kick! Wasted chance."
"He nearly equalized," Mendes shot back, voice like a whip. "And I'll take nearly from a seventeen-year-old over complacency from veterans any day."
The room stiffened. Mendes adjusted his cap and strode toward the exit.
"Silva," he said, pausing at the door, "you'll be starting in training next week. Let's see if that goal was luck or the start of something real."
The door slammed shut, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
Adrian sat frozen, the words replaying in his head: starting in training. It wasn't a full promotion, not yet, but it was a crack in the wall he had been pounding against for months.
The sneers, the stares—he ignored them. He pulled his bag onto his lap, his fingers brushing the fabric as the System flickered awake once more.
[Post-Match Evaluation Complete.]
Match Rating: 7.2
Contribution: 1 Goal, 2 Key Chances Created.
Reward: +4 Overall Rating.
[New Passive Acquired: 'Focused Mind' – Reduced nerves under pressure situations.]
Adrian's breath caught. The glowing text faded, but the sensation lingered. His body felt… steadier. His heart wasn't racing the way it used to in pressure moments—it was controlled, sharp.
For a second, a grin tugged at his lips. But then he remembered the stares, the mutters. The path ahead wasn't victory it was war.
He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, ignoring the whispers that followed him out into the damp Lisbon night. The rain had eased, but the streets were slick, reflecting the glow of streetlamps like streaks of silver.
Adrian tilted his head toward the sky, his expression unreadable. Inside, though, he knew one thing for certain:
Tonight was the beginning.