The dusk sunlight stretched long shadows across the academy's west field. Training had just ended, and the air still carried the smell of damp grass and sweat. Players trudged toward the benches, dragging their cleats, their laughter mingling with exhaustion.
Bram wiped his forehead with his sleeve, chest heaving as he leaned on his knees. The scrimmage against Class B-8 earlier that week still echoed in his mind — that last-minute equalizer from a corner kick, the cheers, the frustration of almost having it. Almost.
You did well, Bram. But not enough yet.
That whisper of self-critique burned sharper than anyone else's praise.
He straightened, stretching his back as Percy tossed him a water flask. "Still brooding over that match?" Percy asked with his usual grin.
Bram gave a faint smirk. "Not brooding. Thinking."
"Same thing," Daren cut in, plopping down beside them, towel around his neck. "You're always thinking when everyone else is done."
"I'm trying to figure out where it went wrong," Bram said. "We played well, but lost rhythm after the 40th minute."
Percy nodded, eyes narrowing. "Fatigue. You looked spaced out near the end."
That word hit Bram deeper than it should've. Fatigue wasn't just physical — it was systemic.
He exhaled quietly.
[ System Update: Player Status — Bram Ashcroft ]
Age: 12
Position: Midfielder (Undeclared Specialty)
Overall Potential: ??? (Locked)
Stamina: 67 (+2)
Agility: 57
Strength: 47
Passing: 71 (+1)
Dribbling: 57
Shooting: 52
Vision: 70 (+1)
Composure: 53
Determination: 78
Replay Vision – Mastery: 27%Each progression increases Vision by +1 until full synchronization achieved.
Bram's pupils dilated faintly — the faint blue glyph that flickered across his inner vision vanished His head throbbed slightly; the dull ache had become familiar, like a reminder of his limit.
He couldn't afford to use the ability recklessly. Not yet.
Still locked…No shortcut. Just steps.
He tightened the strap of his boots and looked out at the fading light.
"Hey," Daren said, breaking the silence. "You heard? Scouts are here again."
Percy snorted. "Yeah. As if we don't see the black cars at the east gate every week. Rumor says they're watching for the Trials."
"Trials?" Bram asked, feigning ignorance.
Daren leaned closer, lowering his voice. " yeah i heard they've changed it again."
The trio fell silent for a while, listening to the faint hum of sprinklers washing over the empty pitch. Around them, the dome lights flickered on, bathing the field in pale silver.
From the far path, a small group of senior instructors walked by, their voices hushed — but Bram caught fragments.
"—six matches left, Class B-7 still has a chance.""—if they keep form, they might qualify for the Trials bracket."
The words lingered.
Bram didn't react outwardly, but deep down, something stirred — a quiet spark between pressure and possibility.
Later that evening, as the corridor lights dimmed, Bram walked alone toward his dorm. The chatter from nearby rooms faded behind him — laughter, teasing, the occasional sound of music.
When he entered his Hallway, Percy was already half way to his room, grinning. "Tomorrow's going to be wild. Your sister's final match before she flies off — can you believe it?"
"Yeah," Bram said quietly. "It's going to be something."
The morning sun fell through the academy dome like polished glass, scattering across the pristine green of the women's field. The stands were already buzzing, filled with students from every division.
It wasn't an ordinary match. It was the match — Year 3's closing fixture. SS1 versus SS2. And for many, including Elira Ashcroft, it was the last time they would ever wear the academy's crest.
From the edge of the stands, Bram sat with Percy and Daren among the crowd of lower-year students. Their uniforms made them easy to spot — a patch of dark blue among the vibrant mix of upper-year spectators.
"There she is," Percy said, pointing toward the field.
Elira stood near the circle, tying her armband with calm precision. Her expression was serene, but Bram could see it — the quiet intensity beneath. Even from a distance, her movements were composed, exact — the kind that came from years of discipline, not just talent.
Daren whistled softly. "Man, she looks serious. No wonder scouts are fighting over her."
Bram didn't reply. His gaze never left her. The cheers around him blurred into a hum — the same hum that filled his head before his own matches. But this time, he wasn't the one standing on the pitch.
When the whistle blew, SS1 took the initiative instantly. Elira's first touch was a statement — smooth, delicate, and controlled. She pivoted past her marker, eyes scanning the field. Every movement of hers looked like a thread in a larger pattern — deliberate, measured, purposeful.
The opposing captain, Selina Varron, met her near midfield. They didn't exchange words, but their gazes spoke volumes — the rivalry between them stretched back years. Both were stars in their own right, both already promised to professional clubs. Selina, to Aurelia Blades, the capital's elite women's team. Elira, to Athena.
It wasn't just a game. It was a farewell — and a clash of legacies.
SS1 pressed high, building their attack through quick exchanges. Elira operated as a deep-lying playmaker, her control absolute. Every touch drew murmurs from the crowd — not from flashiness, but precision. Her awareness was terrifyingly sharp; she didn't even look up before threading a diagonal pass through two defenders.
The ball curved beautifully, meeting her forward's stride perfectly. A heavy shot followed — saved at the last second by the SS2 goalkeeper. The stands roared, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Bram's eyes widened. So this is her level…
Minutes rolled by, and SS2 began to fight back. Selina Varron was a mirror of Elira — aggressive where Elira was calm, instinctive where Elira was cerebral. She danced through defenders like flame and smoke, carving space with a flick of her heel before unleashing a curling strike from outside the box.
The ball screamed toward the corner — only for Elira to slide in, intercepting it with surgical timing.
The clash of boots against leather echoed across the pitch.
"Unbelievable!" Percy gasped. "She's everywhere!"
Bram's heart was pounding now, every muscle tense. His sister's movements — her footwork, her anticipation — it was everything he'd been trying to master, just on another level. It wasn't Replay Vision. It was pure instinct refined into art.
The game grew tighter with each passing minute. Elira commanded from the center, orchestrating attacks with silent gestures. Her teammates followed her cues without question — a single glance was enough.
At the 22nd minute, she found her moment.
Selina had just won possession near the halfway line and tried to switch play quickly, but Elira read it like an open book. Her intercepting step was fluid, almost too fast to see. She stole the ball and drove forward — one, two touches — her boots barely kissing the turf.
Defenders closed in, and for a heartbeat, she looked trapped. But her left foot twisted, body turning sideways, and the next instant the ball left her boot with an effortless outside flick.
The pass split the backline like a blade through silk.
Her forward caught it in stride, chipped it past the keeper — goal.
The crowd erupted.1–0 to SS1.
Bram felt the noise surge through him, goosebumps crawling up his neck. He couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. "That was hers," he murmured.
By halftime, SS1 led narrowly, but the tension was thick. Scouts from across the dome — quiet figures in dark suits — watched from the upper balcony. Their eyes, cold and calculating, tracked every movement, every decision, every spark of talent.
Daren leaned back. "You think they're all here for her?"
Percy shrugged. "For both of them. Selina's just as good — but Elira… she's different."
Bram didn't speak. He didn't need to. He already knew.
The second half opened with a bang. SS2 stormed forward, pressing harder than ever. Selina took control, twisting past two defenders before releasing a blistering strike that curved around the keeper's reach — goal.1–1.
Cheers from the opposite stands drowned the air. Both captains locked eyes again across the field — no anger, just mutual respect.
Then came the storm.
Elira's movements sharpened. The pressure didn't shake her; it only honed her precision. She played short one-twos, dictated the tempo, forced Selina to chase shadows. Her passes grew bolder — quick cuts through impossible spaces, each one closer to breaking the deadlock.
The match stretched toward its final minutes. Elira stood near the edge of the box, waiting — her breath steady, eyes calm.
A loose ball rolled her way. She didn't hesitate.
One step. A gentle lift of her heel. A volley — clean, sharp, spinning.
The ball arced through the air like silver light — and kissed the inside of the top corner.
Goal.2–1.
The stands exploded.
Bram rose without realizing. He didn't shout, didn't cheer — just stood there, eyes wide, chest tight.
His sister jogged back slowly, teammates surrounding her. For a second, she looked up toward the stands — and her gaze found him. A small, knowing smile. Then she turned back to her team.
Percy nudged him. "Why is everyone in the Ashcroft family crazy, huh?"
Bram just laughed softly. "Guess so."
By full time, SS1 had won 2–1. As the whistle blew, Elira and Selina exchanged handshakes — one of respect, not rivalry. The crowd gave them both a standing ovation.
Up in the balcony, one of the scouts quietly marked two names on his tablet before slipping away.
Later, as the stadium cleared, Bram stayed behind. The sky outside the dome had begun to fade orange. He sat quietly, replaying the match in his mind — every pass, every read, every touch.
He wanted to reach that level. Not just to match his sister — but to stand as an equal or even beyond.
His fingers curled. "I'll get there," he whispered.
And somewhere deep inside, the faint hum of the System responded — quiet, approving.
Progress acknowledged. Synchronization: 28% → 29%Vision +1.
Bram smiled faintly. "Yeah," he murmured. "I saw it."