Training

The locker room buzzed with excitement after the match. Players were still catching their breath, jerseys drenched in sweat, but the atmosphere was different now—charged with the energy of a hard-fought comeback.

Richard sat on the bench, rolling his shoulders as teammates clapped him on the back.

"Not bad, rookie," Luka smirked. "Came in and changed the game."

Richard grinned but stayed quiet. He wasn't the type to brag—not yet.

As the post-match talk settled, Richard pulled up his system screen, heart pounding. His permanent Star Card was about to be revealed.

[STAR CARD ACQUIRED]

Name: Andrea Pirlo (S-Tier) [Permanent]

Effect: Enhanced vision, passing, and composure under pressure.

His eyes widened. Pirlo—one of the greatest midfielders of all time. The system really wasn't playing around.

A warm sensation spread through him, like gears clicking into place in his mind. His awareness of the game, the spacing, the movement—it all felt sharper. He clenched his fists.

He wasn't just playing anymore. He was seeing the game.

Before he could dwell on it, Luka threw an arm around him. "We're going out to celebrate. First pro game, first comeback—don't tell me you're gonna be boring and stay in."

Richard chuckled. "Wouldn't miss it."

They hit a small bar in the city—not a high-end place, just a spot where players could unwind without too much attention. The drinks flowed, the stories got exaggerated, and Richard let himself enjoy the moment.

Midway through, Jasper scrolled through his phone and smirked. "Look at this."

He turned the screen toward Richard. It was an article from a local sports site.

"New Signing Sparks Comeback—Blake Impresses in Debut."

The article wasn't front-page news, but it had details of the match, some praise for his play, and even a small note about his playing style.

Richard leaned back, letting a slow grin creep across his face. It wasn't worldwide fame, not yet—but it was a start.

And that was all he needed.

Training was brutal. The intensity had gone up now that Richard was officially part of the squad. No more trial matches—this was real. The coaches pushed them hard, drilling passing patterns, pressing structures, and attacking transitions.

Richard thrived in it. His Pirlo Star Card had sharpened his vision, making the game feel slower, more readable. He could see passing lanes before they opened and adjust his positioning instinctively. But his teammates weren't pushovers. Luka, playing as a winger, was relentless with his pressing. Jasper, a defensive midfielder, had a knack for disrupting plays.

After training, Luka and Jasper pulled him aside.

"You survived," Jasper smirked, handing Richard a water bottle.

"Not bad for a rookie," Luka added, grinning.

Richard took a deep breath before responding. "You guys don't hold back, huh?"

"That's how we win," Jasper shrugged. "Come on, you need a proper tour of the city."

They headed into town, the streets lively with chatter and movement. Brussels had a mix of modern buildings and old European architecture, blending tradition with the present. As they walked, Jasper pointed out landmarks—Grand Place, Atomium, the bustling streets of the city center.

"This club," Jasper said as they passed a store selling team jerseys, "has been around for over a century. We're not the biggest name, but we've had our moments. A few seasons in the top flight, some deep cup runs. The fans? Loyal as hell."

Richard nodded, taking it all in. He wasn't just here to play—he was stepping into history.

"You keep playing like you did in your debut," Luka said, nudging him, "and you might just write your own chapter in it."

Richard smirked. "That's the plan."

The whistle blew, signaling the start of the training match. Richard adjusted his socks and took his position in midfield. The session had been intense all week, but now was his chance to show he was more than just a promising debutant—he was here to dominate.

The game started at a blistering pace. Luka, playing on the left, was making darting runs behind the defense, while Jasper controlled the midfield with his physicality. Richard, however, had his own plans.

Receiving a pass under pressure, he barely glanced up before threading a no-look through ball between two defenders. Luka sprinted onto it, but the goalkeeper rushed out just in time to block the shot.

On the sidelines, head coach Gerrit Vossen stood with his arms crossed, watching intently. Next to him, assistant coach Michel Laurent shook his head.

"He sees passes before they happen," Michel muttered.

"He's got vision, no doubt," Vossen replied. "But look at him—he's still adjusting to the speed."

On the pitch, Richard was adapting fast. His Pirlo Star Card made him calm in possession, but he was learning that just passing wasn't enough. He had to dictate the game.

Midway through the match, he picked up the ball near the edge of the box. A defender lunged in—Richard feinted left, then right, before sliding a disguised pass to Jasper, who smashed it into the net.

Vossen smirked. "He's growing every day."

Michel exhaled. "Still raw, though. Needs to handle physical battles better. He's not used to getting bullied off the ball."

Vossen nodded. "That'll come. But you don't teach vision like that. He's special."

Back on the pitch, Richard wiped sweat from his brow. He knew he wasn't perfect, but he could feel it—he was getting better.The training match resumed with an even higher intensity. Richard was in the zone, but so was everyone else. The defenders pressed aggressively, midfield duels were fierce, and the attackers struggled to break through.

Richard picked up the ball near the halfway line, Luka making a run ahead of him. He tried another through ball, but this time, the center-back read it and intercepted easily.

"Too predictable, Blake!" Coach Vossen shouted. "You're telegraphing your passes. Mix it up!"

Richard gritted his teeth. He knew he had the vision, but this wasn't like playing in Nigeria. The defenders here were sharper, more disciplined.

A few minutes later, Jasper received a pass and immediately got swarmed by two opponents. He lost possession, leading to a counterattack. The opposing striker fired a shot, forcing the goalkeeper into a diving save.

Vossen blew the whistle. "Jasper! You held onto the ball too long. If you've got two on you, someone's open. Look for the pass faster!"

Jasper nodded, frustrated but understanding.

The match continued, and Richard found his rhythm again. He started varying his play—sometimes playing quick one-twos, other times carrying the ball himself. He dribbled past one, then another, before shifting the ball to his right foot and curling a shot toward the bottom corner.

The keeper barely got a hand to it, pushing it wide.

"Better," Vossen muttered to Michel. "But he's still rushing his shots. He needs to be more composed in front of goal."

The final whistle blew. The match ended in a draw, but the real focus was improvement. Vossen gathered the team.

"Luka, don't be afraid to cut inside when you see space. You rely too much on pace. Jasper, release the ball faster. And Richard—good vision, but stop forcing the killer pass every time. Play simple when needed."

Richard nodded. He was learning, but he still had a long way to go.

Later, back in his room, he collapsed onto the bed and pulled up his system interface.

[PLAYER STATUS]

Name: Richard Blake

Position: Attacking Midfielder

Age: 17

Overall Rating: 72

[Attributes]

Pace: 75

Dribbling: 74

Passing: 78

Shooting: 70

Defending: 50

Physical: 68

Stamina: 73

Vision: 82

His rating had gone up slightly since his debut. The system didn't give him free upgrades—he had to earn every bit of progress.

Richard clenched his fists. 72 overall wasn't bad, but it wasn't enough.

He needed to keep grinding.