Momentum Builds

The Tuesday morning sky was a soft gray as Luca pounded through his 5km run, the park path crunching underfoot. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his knee felt solid. The *Football Prodigy System* chimed as he finished, a steady rhythm to his days now.

**[Task Completed: Daily Grind - Morning Run]** 

- Points Earned: 100 

- Total Points: 250 → 350 

Back home, the kitchen hummed with life. Emily flipped eggs, the sizzle mixing with garlic's sharp scent. "Morning, champ. How's the run?" she asked, sliding a plate his way.

Luca grinned, gulping water. "Fast. Knee's good." He banged on Sophia's door—*"Up, lazybones!"*—earning a muffled, "Go away, freak!"

Gianpiero sipped coffee, smirking. "She'll thank you one day. Training today?" Luca nodded, shoveling eggs. "Yeah. Gotta keep pushing."

School was a blur until lunch, when Matteo found him by the lockers. "Yo, Cappetta, you were on fire yesterday. Paolo's still pissed you smoked him."

Luca smirked, shrugging. "He'll get over it. How's the midfield treating you?" Matteo flexed dramatically. "Like a king. But it's better with you back—team's got edge now."

Training hit hard that afternoon. Coach Rossi ran them through agility ladders—Luca's agility shone, his feet a blur. Passing drills followed, his passing steady, linking with Matteo for a slick one-two.

In a small-sided game, Luca darted down the wing, weaving past Nico, who muttered, "Fluke." Luca ignored it, his determination burning. A cross sailed high and faltered as Paolo intercepted—but Coach Rossi's clipboard twitched again.

Mid-session, Coach Rossi blew his whistle, voice sharp. "Listen up! Friendly match this Saturday—local rival, Inter U15s. Starters announced Friday. Show me you want it."

The squad buzzed, but Luca's heart leapt. A match. His first in six months. He locked eyes with Matteo, who grinned. "We're playing together, man. No bench for you."

Training ended with sprints, Luca outpacing half the team, *Iron Will* keeping his focus steady. Coach Rossi's gaze lingered longer today, a nod so slight Luca almost missed it. "Improving, Cappetta. Don't slack." Paolo scoffed nearby—"Still not starter material"—but Luca let it slide. Actions, not words.

At home, steam fogged the bathroom as Luca showered, muscles aching but alive. The system panel glowed, his 350 points tempting him.

The *Skills* tab—now 500 points to unlock—called. He'd grind more, but curiosity won. Tomorrow's run would push him over. He tapped it.

**[Skills Unlocked]** 

- Cost: 500 points 

- Remaining Points: 350 → 0 (Pending 100 from tomorrow's run) 

- Note: Points deducted upon next gain.

Choose one basic skill to master: 

1. *Stepovers* - Boosts Dribbling (+5), confuses defenders with quick footwork. 

2. *Body Feint* - Boosts Agility (+5), enhances evasion with subtle shifts. 

3. *Roulette* - Boosts Ball Control (+5), spins past opponents with flair. 

4. *Elastico* - Boosts Dribbling (+5), a flashy flick to wrong-foot markers. 

Luca's breath caught. Each move danced in his mind—*Stepovers* for flair, *Body Feint* for his agility edge, *Roulette* for control, *Elastico* for that San Siro roar.

He pictured himself on Saturday, pulling one off, silencing Paolo, earning Rossi's nod. The choice was brutal. *Dribbling* at 68 could hit 73 with *Stepovers* or *Elastico*. *Agility* at 77 could soar to 82 with *Body Feint*. *Ball Control* at 66 needed *Roulette* most.

He leaned against the tiles, water pounding his back, debating. "Which one?" he muttered. The panel pulsed, waiting. Tomorrow's run would seal it—150 points left after unlocking. He'd decide then, but the match loomed large. His epic arc was heating up.

**[Player Stats]** 

Physical Attributes: 65 

 - Speed: 66 

 - Stamina: 65 

 - Strength: 52 

 - Agility: 77 

Technical Skills: 62 

 - Dribbling: 68 

 - Passing: 58 

 - Shooting: 56 

 - Ball Control: 66 

Mental Attributes: 65

 - Determination: 79 

 - Focus: 57 

 - Teamwork: 54 

 - Vision: 60 

- Overall Rating: 64

- Potential: 85 

Dinner came with Emily's chatter—"A match? You'll crush it!"—and Sophia's yawned, "Don't trip." Gianpiero's quiet, "Show them," stuck deepest. Luca ate, mind on skills and Saturday.

The system's promise—*greater rewards*—felt real now. He'd run at dawn, pick his move, and step up. No bench. No doubts. Just proof.