The Weight of Potential

Day two dawned with a vengeance.

The U17s came out swinging, their tackles harder, their runs more relentless. Luca felt every hit, his 62 Strength a glaring liability against players built like tanks.

Matteo held his own, his 80 Teamwork and 77 Passing stitching plays together with ease. He barked at Luca to stay sharp, and Luca nodded, determined to match him.

The system's task—Maintain Focus Under Pressure—hummed in his mind, keeping him tethered.

In a pressing drill, Luca chased a loose ball, only to be flattened by a U17 striker. The older boy smirked as he jogged away, slotting the ball home. Luca's temper flared, but he shoved it down.

Focus. He reset, eyes tracking the next play. His chance came soon after—a quick interception, a burst of 74 Speed, and a Cruyff Turn that left a defender grasping air. He slipped a pass to a U17 teammate, who tapped it in. The striker's smirk faltered, and Santini's pen scratched again.

The scrimmage was the real crucible. Luca, on the right wing, faced a full-back with a 71 Overall and a mean streak.

The first clash was brutal—Luca went for the ball, and a shoulder sent him sprawling. He bounced up, jaw tight. The next time, he adapted—feinting left, then cutting right with his 83 Agility.

The full-back lunged, missed, and Luca whipped a cross to Matteo, who nodded it past the keeper. A U17 midfielder clapped. "Nice one, U15."

Luca's chest swelled, but his body ached. The older players' physicality was a wall he couldn't break—not yet. In a late duel, he was shoved off a header, landing hard.

The whistle blew, and he stayed down a moment, catching his breath. The system pinged:

*[Task Completed: Maintain Focus Under Pressure]*

—Reward: +2 Focus.

His Focus ticked to 60, a quiet triumph amid the bruises.

Santini called them over as the session wrapped. The U17s dispersed, some nodding at Luca and Matteo with newfound respect. Santini's voice was gruff but steady. "Rossi, good vision out there. Keep it up. Cappetta—"

He paused, eyes boring into Luca. "You've got the tools—speed, skill, even some grit. But you're too light. They're tossing you around like a ragdoll.

Build your physicality—strength, endurance—or you won't stick here permanently."

Luca swallowed, the words stinging but true. "I'll do it, Coach. Whatever it takes."

Santini's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Good. You've got a spark, kid. Don't let it fizzle out." He turned away, leaving Luca and Matteo standing there, winded but wired.

On the walk home, Matteo elbowed him. "Told you we belong. Now we just gotta bulk up." Luca nodded, his mind already racing.

His 62 Strength was a chink in his armor, exposed by the U17s' power. He'd impressed Santini, earned a sliver of respect, but it wasn't enough. Permanent meant dominating, not just surviving.

Back in his room, Luca stared at the ceiling. The system had sharpened his focus, but his body lagged behind. He pictured the U17 star—76 Overall—and the gap he had to close.

Sophia would probably laugh, saying he'd need to eat a cow to catch up. Let her tease. He'd train harder, lift heavier, run longer.

The U17 squad wasn't just a goal—it was his future. And he'd claim it, one punishing step at a time.