The final whistle of the friendly match had stripped Rio of his privacy and peace, but it had secured him nine crucial days of life.
He sat on a folding chair in the empty locker room, the air conditioner humming a monotonous drone that failed to drown out the ringing in his ears. His chest felt heavy, constricted not just by fatigue, but by the physical weight of Guntur's unforgiving timepiece—a high-tech heart monitor clamped tightly to his sternum.
The red digital numbers reflecting on the polished tile floor were a constant, physical reminder of the sword hanging over his head.
"You are officially a weapon," Specter announced, floating beside the tactical board, tracing the lines of a formation with a smoky finger. "You have no free will. You belong to Guntur now. He owns your heartbeat."
Rio ignored the gloom. He was focused on the System's updated metrics, glowing in the blue interface that only he could see.
[CURRENT LIFESPAN: 46 Days, 01 Hour]
[HEART MONITOR (External): Max BPM 185]Status: Active Override. System will auto-purchase 'Stabilizer' if limit is breached.
"Stabilizer?" Rio whispered, rubbing his face with trembling hands. "How much does that cost?"
"A lot," Specter warned, his voice grave. "You don't want to find out. Guntur is giving you a budget of 185 BPM. You cross that, you burn future lifespan to prevent the heart attack. It's an auto-debit feature I unlocked to keep you from dying stupidly. Be grateful."
Rio realized Guntur's condition wasn't a safeguard; it was a way to control the cost of Rio's existence. Guntur was calculating the risk-to-reward ratio of Rio's heartbeats like a stockbroker managing a volatile asset.
A heavy shadow fell over him. Guntur Wijaya entered the room. He was no longer wearing his signature black suit, but a professional PSSI tracksuit. It didn't make him look like a coach; he looked like a warden overseeing his most volatile inmate.
"Valdes," Guntur's voice was clipped, efficient. "You are the key to the World Cup. But a key is useless if it snaps in the lock. I will not allow you to burn out before the qualifiers. Your training changes immediately."
THE NEW REGIME: THE TACTICIAN
Guntur slapped a printed schedule onto the table. It was thick with black ink.
"You will not participate in any cardio or endurance training with the squad," Guntur stated, crossing his arms. "You will not run the field. You will spend six hours a day in the video analysis room with me."
Rio frowned, looking at the paper. "But I need to improve my stamina. If I don't run, my fitness drops."
"Your body is F-Rank, Valdes. Physical conditioning takes months, years. We have weeks. 15% efficiency from your [Iron Man's Stamina] is the best we can achieve right now. You cannot be an athlete. You must be a tactician."
Guntur pointed to a section of the schedule marked 'Cognitive Loading'.
"The other players will train for physical strength. You will train the most powerful part of your body."
Guntur tapped Rio's forehead hard enough to leave a mark.
"Your eyes. Your vision is A-Rank. We will use the [Vulture's Eye] to analyze opponents and the [Eagle Eye] to design set pieces. You will know the enemy's formation, weaknesses, and preferred passing lanes before the match even starts. You won't need to run, because you will already be where the ball is going."
Rio felt a grudging respect. Guntur was taking Rio's System attributes—which he shouldn't know about—and applying them with ruthless, non-negotiable logic. He was optimizing the asset.
"I have one more condition," Guntur continued, his eyes cold. "Your relationship with Bambang must normalize. He hates you because you stole his glory. But you need his finishing. You are the brain; he is the hammer. If the brain and the hammer fight, the carpenter starves."
Guntur walked to the door, checking his watch. "Go rest. You are now exempt from all team discipline that doesn't involve your brain. I own your secret. Don't test me."
THE ISOLATION AND THE PACT
Guntur's protection was also Guntur's isolation.
While the rest of the team sweated under the punishing Jakarta sun, running drills until they vomited, Rio was locked in a dark, air-conditioned room, staring at projected video footage. He was the outsider—the fragile genius the team couldn't touch, the teacher's pet who didn't have to run.
Bambang was the most volatile element of this arrangement.
He sat beside Rio in the film room during the mandatory tactical session. He was silent, arms crossed, refusing to acknowledge the boy sitting next to him. The air between them crackled with static.
"He's still burning," Specter noted, using [Vulture's Eye] to read Bambang's mental state. The aura around the captain was a jagged, angry red. "His ego is wounded. He thinks your success means his failure."
Rio knew he couldn't win the political war through charisma. He wasn't a leader like Bambang. He had to win it through tactical superiority.
On the screen, a clip from the previous match played. It showed a sequence where Bambang missed a header from a cross.
"Pause," Bambang grunted.
The video froze.
"If Valdes passed the ball earlier," Bambang said, pointing at the screen, "the timing would have been perfect. The defender recovered because the ball hung in the air too long."
Rio looked at the screen. He didn't argue. He pulled up the telemetry data Guntur had provided.
"No," Rio interrupted, tapping the console. "Look at your hips."
He zoomed in on the frozen image of Bambang.
"Your body was leaning 10 degrees too far forward when the pass arrived. You initiated your jump 0.4 seconds early. You needed to stabilize your core before the takeoff. The pass was mathematically correct; your technique was flawed because you were rushing to beat the defender."
The room went silent. The other players held their breath. Bambang glared at Rio, his face flushing with anger.
"You think you're better than me?" Bambang hissed, standing up. "You think because you can pass, you can tell me how to jump?"
"I think I see things you miss," Rio replied calmly, not moving from his chair. "You are an excellent finisher, Captain. Maybe the best in Southeast Asia. But you rely on instinct. I rely on math. I can correct your math."
Rio looked at the raw data displayed on the screen—the trajectory lines, the speed of the opponent, the optimal intercept points.
"Your goal conversion rate is 80% when you receive a flat pass at 30 km/h. It drops to 50% when the ball spins over 15 rotations per second. You waste 20% of your chances on errors I can predict."
Rio pointed to the screen, tracing a line from his position to Bambang's.
"If you do exactly what I tell you—if you run exactly where I point, without questioning the timing—your scoring rate goes to 100%. I give you the perfect glory. You give me the win."
Bambang stared at the screen, then at Rio. He hated being dissected. He hated being told he was imperfect. But the sheer, cold logic of the numbers was compelling. It wasn't an insult; it was a business proposal.
It was a deal with the Devil based on pure performance.
"Fine," Bambang finally grunted, sitting back down heavily. "But if you make me look bad... if you send me a pass I can't reach... I snap your leg in the shower."
Rio nodded. "Fair enough."
THE FINAL PREPARATION: COST REDUCTION
The qualifiers were just days away. The atmosphere in the camp shifted from competitive to desperate.
Guntur pulled Rio aside after the film session.
"The next match is crucial, Valdes. It's the final friendly before we fly. We need a guaranteed win to boost morale. I need a guaranteed 90 minutes of output from you. No collapses. No 'tactical slowdowns'."
Rio knew his body was operating on a dangerous deficit. The mask purchase had left him with 37 days. Even with the wins, he was barely floating. He needed to ensure his survival, not just for the win, but to prevent the System Stabilizer from triggering an auto-purchase that would bankrupt his lifespan.
"I need to lower the operating cost," Rio told Specter internally. "My heart rate spikes too fast. I need a buffer."
Rio opened the Shop. He had 46 days left after the recent earnings. He needed the cheapest, most efficient cost reducer.
[CURRENT LIFESPAN: 46 Days]
[SKILL: CATENACCIO LUNGS (Rank C)]Effect: Boosts recovery speed by 40%.Cost: 30 Days Lifespan.(Too expensive. Leaves no margin for error.)
[ITEM: LIFE SAVER PILL (Rank D)]Effect: Reduces the Lifespan cost of the System Bypass by 10% for 12 hours. Stabilizes heart rhythm during high stress.Cost: 7 Days Lifespan.
"The Life Saver Pill," Rio decided. "It's not a permanent upgrade, but it makes my current life cheaper. It gives me a buffer to use my existing skills without triggering the cardiac alarm."
"It's a consumable," Specter warned. "Once you use it, the days are gone. It's like renting survival."
"I have to rent it to earn the mortgage," Rio countered.
Rio pressed [CONFIRM PURCHASE].
Zzzzt!
The 7 days vanished instantly, replaced by the familiar cold dread of a shortened life. A small, blue pill materialized in his inventory slot. It pulsed with a faint, calming light, promising a temporary peace for his tortured heart.
[LIFESPAN DEDUCTED: -7 DAYS][CURRENT LIFESPAN: 39 Days, 01 Hour]
[ITEM ACQUIRED: LIFE SAVER PILL]Status: Ready to Equip.
"You just lowered your operating costs," Specter nodded approvingly, tipping his fedora. "Smart. You're learning to manage the market."
Rio looked at the grim countdown. 39 days.
He was ready to face the final test before the qualifiers. He was ready to manage the market of death.
"Let's go earn it back," Rio whispered.