Paris Saint-Germain training facility. 3:00 AM.
The lights were off. The security guard was asleep.
Soccer was on Field A.
He stood in the center circle. Eyes closed.
Rain fell softly. Paris rain. Cold. Urban.
Soccer was visualizing.
The mountain. The storms. The wind.
"Too quiet," Soccer muttered.
He imagined the roar of the Champions League. The chant of his name. *Soccer! Soccer!*
He opened his eyes.
He kicked the ball.
Not hard. Precision.
It hit the crossbar. *Tink.*
Rebounded. He volleyed. *Tink.*
Rebounded. He headed. *Tink.*
A perfect rhythm. Hitting the metal bar over and over.
"Practice?" a voice asked.
Soccer turned.
Noel Noa stood there. In pajamas (silk, obviously).
"Couldn't sleep," Soccer said. "My leg was itching."
"Phantom pain?" Noa asked, walking onto the grass in slippers.
"No. Phantom goals."
Noa picked up a ball.
"Show me," Noa said. "The Zone."
"The what?"
"You enter a state," Noa said. "During the matches. When everything slows down. When you do impossible things. What is it?"
Soccer thought.
"It's quiet," Soccer said. "Like the snow falling. The world stops. And only the ball moves."
"I have seen it," Noa said. "But you can't control it. It happens when you are desperate."
"Yeah."
"If you want to be the best," Noa kicked the ball to Soccer. "You must summon the ghost on command."
Soccer trapped it.
"On command?"
"Close your eyes," Noa ordered.
Soccer closed them.
"Find the silence."
Soccer breathed. He tuned out the distant sirens. The rain.
*Silence.*
"Now," Noa whispered. "Hunt."
Soccer moved.
Eyes closed. Blind.
He dribbled.
His other senses flared. The smell of the grass. The texture of the air pressure. The sound of the ball rolling.
**The Blind Predator.**
He felt the goal. He didn't see it. He *knew* it was there. 25 yards away.
He shot.
*THWACK.*
He heard the net ripple.
Noa watched.
"Good," Noa said. "You saw the path."
Soccer opened his eyes.
"It's like... following a scent trail."
"The Assassin's Zone," Noa named it. "A state of pure predatory instinct. When you enter it, logic dies."
Noa turned to leave.
"The second leg against Madrid is next week. Kai will be perfect. You must be chaos."
"I will be," Soccer promised.
He looked at his titanium leg.
It didn't itch anymore.
It felt ready.
"Zone," Soccer whispered. "Assassin's Zone."
He closed his eyes again.
And in the darkness, the eagle screamed.