After Noah had been seated on the sideline, the short, bald instructor continued the finishing drill. One group after another took their turns, with the players working through the exercise while those waiting on the sidelines tried to catch their breath.
Eventually, it was Winston and Diago's turn.
The moment their names were called, the youth players straightened up and exchanged uneasy glances. Some even looked toward the instructor, their faces filled with concern. Given the hostility between Winston and Diago, they suspected the drill might turn ugly.
However, the short, bald instructor remained calm, showing no outward sign of concern.
Winston and Diago jogged into Zone 14 while the other two midfielders spread out toward the crossing areas on either flank. Once everyone was in position, the two players waited for the instructor's signal. Diago glanced at Winston menacingly, but Winston ignored him and focused on the task ahead.
He decided to channel some Nethen Essence into his legs. The moment he did, a sharp, piercing pain shot through his body like a wave. He clenched his teeth as the sensation spread through his legs, forcing him to reconsider what he was doing.
Why does this keep happening?
He had experienced the same pain almost every time he tried to channel his Nethen Essence. Just as he began wondering what he was doing wrong, the instructor blew his whistle. Both players immediately sprinted into the penalty area, their eyes darting between the two crossing areas as they prepared to attack the incoming balls.
Diago glanced over his shoulder, a smirk spreading across his face as he waited for the first cross.
It came from the right—both players scrambled into position, preparing to jump for the aerial delivery. Diago used his body to shove Winston backward, creating enough space to leap and head the ball into the net. Before Winston could recover his position, another aerial cross came flying in from the left.
This time, Winston kept his eyes fixed on the ball. Diago tried to repeat his earlier trick, moving in to push him aside, but Winston anticipated the contact. He performed a quick body feint, shifted his position, and leapt higher than Diago.
His forehead connected cleanly with the ball, sending it sailing into the net. Diago clicked his tongue in irritation, Another cross arrived from the right. The two players battled shoulder to shoulder, each trying to establish the better position. Diago seized the opportunity to drive his elbow into Winston's ribcage.
Winston winced as pain shot through his side. Diago immediately leapt for the ball and headed it into the net. Gritting his teeth, Winston forced himself back to his feet. He turned toward the opposite crossing area, determined to win the next aerial duel.
Once again, he attempted to channel his Nethen Essence. A chilling pain surged through both legs, spreading through his muscles like ice beneath his skin. Winston gritted his teeth and pushed forward despite the discomfort. He launched himself into the air just behind Diago, rising higher than his opponent could have anticipated.
Diago's eyes widened in surprise. Winston's momentum carried him into Diago, and both players crashed to the ground. Neither was willing to remain down for long. They scrambled to their feet and immediately prepared for the next cross, which was coming from the right.
Both players fixed their eyes on the ball as it sailed toward them. However, instead of dipping into the penalty area, the delivery travelled over their heads and landed several metres behind them.
They immediately turned and sprinted after it—Winston reached the ball first. His teeth were clenched, and his ribs still ached from Diago's elbow. Nevertheless, he refused to back down. Diago came charging toward him with a sliding tackle, attempting to knock the ball away.
Winston reacted quickly. He dragged the ball over the sliding Diago's outstretched leg, stepped around him, and struck toward goal—the ball flew into the net. Winston simply turned and moved into position for the final cross, which would come from the left.
Diago was already beside him—the two pressed against each other shoulder to shoulder, each determined to win the final aerial duel. Diago wanted to finish the drill with another goal, while Winston was equally determined too do the same.
The cross came sailing toward them.
Winston remembered the elbow Diago had driven into his ribs. Acting on instinct, he thrust his own elbow backward, catching Diago in the side. Diago winced, but he reacted just as quickly. As Winston leapt for the ball, Diago crouched and swept his arm backward, catching Winston's legs and disrupting his jump.
Winston lost his balance in midair.
Despite the disruption, he managed to make contact with the ball, but his header struck the goalpost and bounced away.
The instructor blew his whistle—he shook his head, his expression stern as he looked at both players.
"You two give me ten laps around the training dome!" he barked, neither Winston nor Diago dared to argue. They turned and began running around the dome.
As Winston ran, he winced and rubbed his ribcage. The pain in his legs had not subsided either. Every time he tried channeling his Nethen Essence, the same sharp, chilling sensation shot through his muscles.
Maybe Haruto was right. I haven't mastered my Nethen Essence the way I thought I had. Maybe the way I'm channeling it is wrong.
Winston stopped trying to channel the energy. Instead, he relied entirely on his own strength, pushing himself forward with each stride. Gradually, he pulled ahead of Diago, leaving his rival several steps behind.
By the time they completed their tenth lap, Winston was still running on his own strength, his mind occupied by the problem he could no longer ignore. He needed to understand his Nethen Essence before attempting to use it again.
Just as the two players finished their laps, the short, bald instructor blew his whistle once more, signaling the end of the day's training inside the attacking dome.
Winston didn't linger in the training dome as he usually did. The stares from the other players annoyed him, so he picked up his belongings and left.
He still had a few things to take care of. First, he needed to visit the main building. After that, he wanted to check on Oswin in the infirmary before heading to the Building D training field to speak with his friends.
As he walked along the long pathway, he heard voices just as he was turning a corner. He stopped, quickly stepped out of sight, and listened.
"Do you think Winston will ever find out that all of this was planned?" one player whispered. "I didn't know Lucas would actually injure Oswin. If Winston finds out we only recruited him to waste his one-on-one challenge for the week, we're finished."
"Shhh! Keep your voice down, you idiot!" the other player hissed. "As long as you keep your mouth shut, he won't find out. Remember what Diago said. If we stay quiet, Sebastian will vouch for us. Ethan also told us that if Winston suspects anything, we should deny it."
He paused before continuing, "We're already in Group B, so let's just wait it out and let them fight among themselves. We only have to last another three weeks. Come on, let's go to the cafeteria. I'm hungry."
The two players walked away, heading toward the cafeteria. Winston watched them leave, his expression darkening. His hands curled into fists, and before he could restrain himself, he punched a nearby tree.
So they planned all of this from the beginning. They even sent players to recruit me. He rubbed his chin, trying to piece everything together. I wondered why Ethan recruited me when I'd only just woken up after three days of sleep. So he was part of it too. How long have they been planning this?
His jaw tightened. Stupid, Winston. Stupid! This is just like that time in the playground years ago. You stood there and watched your friend get injured, and now you've let it happen again.
He clenched his fists even tighter. But this time, things will be different. I won't let it happen again. Everyone involved in this will get what's coming to them.
Winston continued along the tree-lined pathway, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He had to be careful. Acting recklessly would only give his enemies another advantage.
Just then, a familiar voice called from behind him. "Winston! Wait up!"
He turned to see Jamison running toward him. Jamison caught up and stopped beside him, bent slightly forward as he tried to catch his breath. "I've been calling you. Why didn't you turn around?"
"What do you want, Jamison?" Winston asked coldly. "I'm busy right now."
Sensing the hostility in Winston's voice, Jamison hesitated before speaking. "The Mortal Street League matchday is happening three weeks from now. Since it falls during our final week at the academy, we'll need to sneak out when the time comes. So be ready."
He paused to catch his breath before continuing. "Unfortunately, I couldn't get you a spot in the match. Anyway, it'll be held at the harbour, a few kilometers from downtown Hartford City. We're planning to take a share ride there."
Jamison rested his hands on his hips, "That's all I wanted to tell you."
Winston resumed walking, "Okay. I got it. I'll be ready."
He didn't wait for Jamison to respond before continuing down the pathway. Jamison stood still, watching him walk away, then shook his head.
I guess Oswin's injury really rattled him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression turning troubled. I could have warned Winston about Sebastian and his friends' plan, but I don't want to offend Sebastian or his father. If his father decides to interfere, it could ruin my chances of being scouted.
Jamison watched Winston disappear farther down the path. A flicker of pity crossed his face. Sorry, Winston. I have to think about my own future too.