[System initialization…]
[Host detected… Beginning synchronization…]
[Welcome, Claude Kodjo!]
The sounds echoed again and again inside his head. Claude sat upright on the bed, eyes darting around, trying to pinpoint where they came from.
"Who's there?!"
"Who are you?!" he shouted, spinning around. The only reply was the hum of his old fan.
He didn't see anything or anyone. After searching the small apartment and hearing nothing else, he returned to his bedroom.
When he sat down again, light flared in the air—thin lines forming shapes, like glass drawing itself. A blue translucent panel floated above his bed.
"Shit!"
"What the hell is this?!"
No answer.
Only the quiet hum of his room and that glowing screen, eerily familiar—like the menu of past games he has played before.
He slapped his cheek, closed his eyes, then opened them again—the panel was still there. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe the stress and exhaustion had finally cracked him.
Maybe I'm just too tired and starting to see things, he thought, reaching out to touch the "Welcome" message. The surface shimmered like rippling water.
Then—
Ding!
More messages appeared one after another, not giving him time to react.
[Welcome to the Life Dreams System!]
[You have been chosen by a universal rule among immeasurable life forms in this universe.]
[This rule takes a form the user can understand and assists in realizing the user's dream. The system adapts to that dream.]
[What is your lifelong dream, Host? What do you wish to accomplish in your life?]
[Notice: This is a one-time choice. Once chosen, your dream cannot be changed.]
Claude stared, stunned and weirded out, unable to believe what he was seeing.
Is this fucking real? he thought.
[Yes, it is very real, Host. And no, it's not a hallucination.]
Claude rubbed his forehead. "You can read my mind?"
[Yes, since I exist within your mind.]
He exhaled sharply. Great. Now I'm talking to voices too.
Who are you?
[You don't need to speak out loud—just think about what you want to say. I am a temporary, sentient thought created by the Universal Rule to inform the Host of the System's main function. After that, the Host must discover the rest on his own.]
Claude didn't really understand the part about "universal rule," but one thing was clear: this thing could help him change his career and maybe reach the goals he'd dreamed of.
What is the main function of the System?
[You will receive one lottery draw each month. The draw reveals ten cards, and you may choose three. The interface and the results will adapt to your chosen dream.]
[What is your lifelong dream?]
Claude didn't hesitate. My dream is to become one of the best players in football history and lead Togo to glory in Africa and the world.
[Lifelong dream registered…]
[Analyzing Planet Earth… Analyzing football…]
[Analysis complete.]
[Good luck on your journey, Host.]
A new screen unfolded before his eyes, lines of text forming faster than he could read.
Life Dreams System
Name: Claude Kodjo
Date of Birth: March 10 1989 (25 years old)
Height: 185 cm
Weight: 78 kg
Preferred Foot: Right
Position: Striker
Club: ENPPI SC
Attributes
Attributes Points: 0
Cards Obtained: None
Cards Activated: [None] – [None]
[Begin first lottery draw?]
Claude observed the interface. From what little he knew about the system and what he was seeing, he could make a couple of guesses about its functions.
The attributes were surely like the ratings on FIFA. "Attributes points" were surely what he would use to improve those ratings. "Cards obtained" referred to the ones he'd get from the lottery draw—but was that the only way to obtain cards?
He'd have to explore it himself. As for "Cards Activated," from what he saw, he could only activate two at a time. Was that something that could be improved later, or was it the limit?
He hoped it wasn't the limit. If he had a lottery draw every month, that meant he'd get many cards in the future, and it would be unfortunate not to be able to use them all.
Claude then clicked on Attributes, curious to see how the system rated his abilities. The interface shimmered, and five attributes appeared in front of him.
Attributes
Finishing: 60 (+)
Physicality: 58 (+)
Speed: 76 (+)
Dribbling: 60 (+)
Passing: 50 (+)
Intelligence: 55 (+)
Mentality: 53 (+)
Overall: 58
Claude looked at his attributes. As he expected, speed was his strongest point, but he was always said that football wasn't track and field, and a player who only knew how to run fast wouldn't go far in football.
Hmm, I thought there would be more attributes than that. Football can't be crammed into just seven of those.
He clicked on Finishing, and a detailed description unfolded in glowing text.
Finishing: Measures everything that turns chances into goals. It includes shooting accuracy, composure in front of goal, striking technique, heading ability, and conversion under pressure. Finishing is the ability to end a play effectively—whether from inside the box, from distance, or through instinctive one-touch strikes.
Oh, I see. That means the other attributes also include many smaller technical skills inside one, Claude thought.
He clicked through the rest, reading each carefully.
Physicality: Represents athletic presence and endurance. Includes strength, balance, stamina, jumping, and resistance to challenges. A high Physicality rating means a player can hold off defenders, maintain power through contact, and last the full match.
Speed: Isolates pure pace and acceleration. Measures short-burst explosiveness, top sprinting speed, direction change while maintaining control.
Dribbling: Ball control at speed, close touch under pressure, agility, balance during changes of direction, and creativity in one-on-one situations.
Passing: Measures the accuracy, power control, and vision behind every type of pass. It includes short combinations, through balls, crosses, and long switches of play. A high Passing rating reflects a player's ability to deliver the ball cleanly and precisely under pressure — adjusting weight, curve, and timing to match the run of a teammate.
Intelligence: Covers decision-making, spatial awareness, off-the-ball movement, and anticipation. It measures how well a player reads the game—knowing when to pass or shoot, how to exploit space, how to time runs, and how to adapt to opponents. It's the "football brain," the difference between an average player and a world-class player.
Mentality: Measures emotional and psychological strength—confidence, focus, determination, and composure under pressure. A strong mentality keeps a player sharp after missing chances, helps him lead through adversity, and perform consistently in big games. It's what decides your ability to be clutch week after week.
After reading all the details about each attribute, Claude was ready to start the lottery draw.
Begin lottery draw, Claude said in his mind.
[Lottery draw starting…]
[Ten draws selected…]
[You can now choose three among the ten selected.]
Cards spun before his eyes like a deck being shuffled. A flash of light blinded him for a moment, and ten cards appeared—five above and five below, all face down.
Hmm… so even the selection is based on luck. I thought I'd at least see what I was picking, Claude thought.
"Fuck!" he muttered. "These past two years I've been completely unlucky, and now my system is luck-based too?"
He closed his eyes, drew circles in the air with his finger, and tapped a random card. Then he waited, heartbeat quickening.
A few seconds passed. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The last card on the lower row flipped over, shining faintly in gold.
[Training Efficiency ×4 (One Month)]
A line of text appeared beneath it:
"Quadruple all training efficiency for one month. Improvement depends on effort, discipline, and training intensity."
Claude stared at it for a few seconds, blinking. He sighed—not disappointed, exactly, but he had hoped for something more instant. Still, this would help him improve faster than before.
He calmed himself. A few minutes ago, he had no way out. Now he did. He just had to train hard like always and feel the results later. And he still had two cards left.
This time, he didn't close his eyes. He picked the first card on the top row and the middle one on the bottom left. His heart sank when they flipped.
[Better luck next time!]
[Better luck next time!]
"What the hell?!" Claude shouted.
Is this possible too? He had thought every card gave at least something, even small—but apparently, he could also get nothing. And with his luck, that message would probably appear often.
Fwee… Anyway, ×4 training efficiency is still enormous. If I train like always, maybe even harder, I'll see progress before preseason starts, Claude thought.
"Alright, time to sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day," he said, clapping his cheeks once to wake himself up before lying down.
…
…
At dawn the next day, Claude prepared to begin his one-month training. His goal was simple: be ready to fight for his place when the season began. He had always trained, never slacking off before, but now with the System, he could see his growth — and with the Training Card, his progress would be extraordinary.
He lived in Nasr City, a district in eastern Cairo, not far from ENPPI's training ground. When he stepped outside, the streets were still quiet, only a few taxis and bakery trucks passing by. He got into his small silver Toyota Corolla and drove west, the air still cool, crossing the empty main roads until the buildings opened up and the river came into view.
A few minutes later, he was at the Nile Corniche. The sun hadn't risen yet, and the air carried the faint smell of river water and dust. Streetlights cast long yellow lines on the pavement, and across the water, old buildings still glittered with the last of the night lights. The Corniche stretched wide and straight along the Nile — a quiet road where runners, cyclists, and early workers crossed paths before Cairo woke up.
Claude began to warm up with a steady jog, his breathing calm and rhythmic. Then he switched to his sprint routine — a 30-meter burst, slow jog to recover, then a 50-meter dash. His shoes slapped against the pavement, echoing faintly in the still air. He passed a few others who, like him, were running in silence, eyes forward, chasing their own mornings.
After running, he drove back to Nasr City and went to Smart Gym, a place he had been using since his first season with ENPPI. The morning crowd was small—mostly silent faces, headphones, and machines humming in rhythm. Claude didn't speak to anyone. He hung his towel on the bar, stretched, and began his routine.
Squats, core stability, upper-body resistance. His movements were sharp and steady, perfectly measured.
Every rep landed cleanly, every exhale controlled. His body worked like a machine, but his mind was elsewhere—on the season ahead, on the one year left in his contract, on what he would do if nothing changed.
No. He couldn't think like that. Something had to change. With a system like this, there was no excuse for failure.
When he finished, he sat for a moment, towel over his shoulders, staring at the mirror in front of him, sweat running down his temple.
He stood, rolled his shoulders, and headed for the exit. The next step was the field.
For the training on the field, he couldn't really work on his off-the-ball movement, nor on his finishing easily since there was no goalkeeper and no other players. He had to be creative with his training.
He set up several cones, some in a straight line and others in a tight zigzag. The goal was to go through them as fast as possible, then finish with a shot toward the net. He decided that only a top-corner strike would count as a real goal — anything else would be a miss.
In his first attempt, he took a few steps back, inhaled, and started his run. The cones were lined in a tight zigzag, forcing him to stay light on his feet. He weaved through them smoothly, his touch clean, short, and controlled.
As he reached the last cone, he shifted the ball slightly to his stronger foot and looked up at the goal. He angled his body to curl the shot toward the top corner, the way he'd imagined countless times. But when he struck, his body leaned too far forward and his ankle didn't turn enough — instead of brushing the side of the ball, he hit it too close to the center.
The ball flew hard and straight, cutting through the air but heading right down the middle. It smacked the net, dead center. That was not what he wanted; if there had been a keeper, that wouldn't be a goal nine times out of ten. He exhaled through his teeth, annoyed.
He checked the timer on his phone: 12 seconds. For a forward, that was nothing impressive. "Too slow," he muttered to himself, already setting the ball back up for another go.
In the next attempts, he either touched the cones—making the run void—or kicked the ball too wide, too central, or saw his shots crash against the bar. Across fifty attempts, he dribbled through the cones perfectly many times, but his finishes were far from satisfactory. Most of the time, the ball still found the goal, but out of fifty strikes, only seven reached the top corner.
The days began to blend together—morning runs, gym, drills, the same quiet walk home every night. The timer on his phone ticked lower each day, just like the time left on his Training Card. It didn't bother him. He could feel the difference now: his touches sharper, his body lighter, his confidence returning. Weeks passed one after another, and for the first time in years, he believed it.
This season would be different.