The first full week at Virtus Lombardia Academy crashed over Jaeven like a relentless wave, each day a test of body and will that left no room for weakness. He rose before dawn, the villa still wrapped in darkness, lacing his running shoes for a pre-academy jog through Milan's quiet streets. The cool air bit at his skin, but it fueled him—reminding him of the fragility he'd escaped. Fuck the old life; this was his domain now, where ambition cast long shadows and only the strong emerged into the light.
Arrival at the academy brought the familiar buzz: gates swinging open, pitches awakening under the rising sun. Locker room routine had become second nature—gear up amid the chaos of slamming doors and banter. Matteo was there early, stretching against his locker, a grin splitting his face. "Morning, Han. Look like you slept on the turf. Rough night reviewing footage?"
Jaeven tossed his bag down, pulling on his jersey. "Something like that. Milan's youth team runs a tight formation—their left back's slow on turns. We press high, we fuck 'em up."
Matteo laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Shit, you're already obsessed. Most newbies are still figuring out the cafeteria. But yeah, Renzo's got us scouting them for the friendly. He's smelling blood."
As they chatted, Luca brushed past, his shoulder clipping Jaeven's just hard enough to send a message. "Think you're a tactician now? Stick to not tripping over your own feet, bitch."
Jaeven turned, meeting Luca's glare head-on. "Worry about your own game, Bianchi. Or is that why you're so threatened—afraid I'll expose your weak spots?"
Matteo's eyes widened. "Damn, Han. Ballsy move. Luca's been the alpha since he arrived; his dad's legacy hangs over him like a storm cloud. But you're right—guy's all talk when the whistle blows."
The morning session launched into fitness circuits that made the previous days feel like warm-ups. Renzo paced the sidelines, whistle at the ready. "Pain is your teacher, you lot! Embrace it, or get the fuck out! Shuttles, burpees, plyos—go!"
Jaeven dove in, his body adapting faster than the rest, the System providing real-time feedback: heart rate monitors, stride optimizations. Legs burned, lungs heaved, but he pushed through, finishing strong while others dropped.
[Circuit Completion: Stamina +2 | Physical +1 | Pace +1]
Water break: Jaeven assessed the squad. Luca wiped sweat, eyes narrow; Matteo joked to lighten the mood. Bonds were forming—Matteo as ally, Luca as rival.
Afternoon tactics class: Renzo projected Milan footage. Jaeven spoke up. "Their mids pivot slow—quick transitions will carve them."
Renzo nodded. "Take notes, all. Han sees the field."
Luca snorted from the back. Evening scrimmage: divided teams, Jaeven on B side vs Luca's A. Fouls flew—Luca's hip check sprawled Jaeven. "Stay down, new kid."
Jaeven rose, channeling anger into play: intercept, sprint, cross—equalizer.
[Scrimmage Performance: Dribbling +2 | Passing +1 | Mentality +2]
Locker room: Matteo fist-bumped. "You owned that."
Home: villa dinner. Lucia teased. "No pussying out."
Marco advised: "Rivals fuel growth."
Week two: set pieces mornings. Jaeven curled beauties into nets. Renzo: "Ignite that spark!"
Luca's dirty tackles intensified. Jaeven endured, shining brighter.
Matteo bond deepened—strategy talks, innuendos. "Pro life? Perks endless—groupies, fame."
"Football first," Jaeven replied.
Family weekends: garden games with Lucia. "Improving," she said.
Marco: "Stay grounded."
By week's end, rep built. Shadows of ambition loomed, but Jaeven's fire grew.