The cheering was distant.
Not because the volume was low —
but because it belonged to another world.
On the cracked screen of an old laptop,
Neymar danced.
2012. Atlético Mineiro.
A twist of the hips.
Two defenders broken.
One curl into the top corner.
The stadium erupted.
The hospital room did not.
Jaeven Moretti Han watched in silence.
Twenty-five years old.
Skin pale as winter ash.
A body that trembled from the effort of breathing.
The monitor beside him beeped with dull indifference —
a metronome counting down a life that had never truly begun.
He replayed the goal.
Again.
And again.
Not because he admired it.
Because he envied it.
"If only I had the body…"
The sentence never finished.
It didn't need to.
His fingers — thin, fragile — pressed against his ribs as pain lanced through his chest. Even dreaming felt exhausting.
The smell of disinfectant clung to him like fate.
Football was a world of speed, collision, glory.
He belonged to IV drips and quiet rooms.
The crowd roared once more from the laptop speakers.
And this time—
It didn't fade.
It grew louder.
Closer.
Violent.
—
Sunlight struck his face.
Grass brushed his fingertips.
Wind rushed past his ears.
Jaeven's eyes snapped open.
Blue sky.
Open field.
Boys sprinting.
A whistle splitting the air.
He inhaled—
And it didn't hurt.
His heart pounded.
Not weak.
Not trembling.
Strong.
Alive.
He looked at his hands.
Steady.
He turned toward a fallen water bottle and caught his reflection.
Sixteen.
Black hair shifting in the wind.
One sea-green eye.
One sky-blue.
"…What?"
A sharp tone echoed inside his mind.
[Divine Echelon Framework — Initializing]
Golden letters burned across his vision.
[Host: Jaeven Moretti Han]
[Age: 16]
[Location: Virtus Lombardia Youth Academy]
[Status: Active]
His breath quickened.
Not from fear.
From possibility.
[Starter Traits Acquired:]
— Double Foot (A)
— Spectral Awareness (S)
— Ball Control (S)
A pause.
Then—
[Hidden Potential: EX — Sealed]
Something stirred deep inside him.
Not power.
Not yet.
Hunger.
A ball rolled to his feet.
Instinctively, he stopped it.
Perfect touch.
The leather responded like it had been waiting for him.
The whistle blew again.
"Move!"
A coach's voice barked across the pitch.
Jaeven lifted his head slowly.
For two lifetimes, he had watched from the sidelines.
This time—
He stepped forward.
And somewhere far beyond Italy, beyond this field, beyond time itself—
Fate adjusted its course.