Chapter 14
Fated Encounter
Flashback: 4 days ago, early morning – 7:00 AM
I was in front of my coach. The under-15 coach was there as well.
Coach U-15: "I think it's time you move up to the U-15 team. The only reason we didn't take you before is because you were still 13, but now that you're 14, we can take you."
I stood there silent, looking at my current coach, waiting for his answer.
Coach U-14: "Yes, we already spoke about it before. We were just waiting, but now—you can go up."
I spoke calmly, "Only one condition. I keep my #11 jersey number."
They agreed.
Scene shift.
I arrive at the practice field. I see them playing already. My eyes catch a boy my height. He's open, but when he gets the pass—it's in an awkward position. Deliberately awkward. His teammates don't want to play with him.
Then suddenly, 3 minutes later, he intercepts a pass. I see the light in his eyes.
His movements… it's like he's casting something. Each step he takes builds with rhythm, with purpose. Simple, quick touches—almost magical. He dances past one, then another. He embarrasses the other team with nothing but raw instinct and calculated chaos.
But just as he turns, he's body-checked. Thrown off balance. He hits the ground hard, and the ball is stolen. They counterattack and score while that nerdy-looking body, with innocent hope still clinging to his eyes, lies on the floor.
And I get a flashback...
"I see your magic… and without anyone with you, you're a loser. Then—"
A hand is stretched out.
"Let me be your king to lead you. And you be my loyal loser."
Flashback ends.
I walk over to him. I stand beside him, silent. He looks up.
I ask, "What drives you to keep going?"
He looks up at me with bruises on his elbows, dirt on his knees, and a calm glow in his eyes.
"Because football is my favorite thing in the world. The one thing… I see magic in."
I stretch out my hand.
"What's your name, wizard?"
He takes it and stands.
"I'm Alexis Ness."
"Then the next play… pass it to me. And show me your magic."
Scene shift.
I scan the field. It's short—half court. Then, space opens. A player marks me tight. Without even looking, Ness sends the ball. The timing is perfect.
I step forward—over the ball—my left leg lifts it over the defender's shoulder.
In one motion, I swing my right leg into a J-step gainer.
The defender, unaware, lunges toward me.
Mid-air, I flip over his head.
I stretch my hand for balance.
Upside down in mid-air, I trap the ball with my swinging right leg as it comes down.
Using my hand, I twist off the defender's shoulder like a rotation axis.
I land—facing the goal.
Before my left leg even hits the ground—I whip it forward.
Weight shift activated.
Boom.
KAISER IMPACT.
The ball rockets forward—180 km/h—and slams into the net.
The defender hasn't even turned around.
I turn back slowly.
T-pose.
Head down.
Signature Kaiser celebration.
Ness, stunned, not far from me, hears the captain whisper,
"Woah… that's the young prodigy, Kaiser."
Ness's eyes gleam. A dreamy light flickers behind his glasses.
Scene shift.
I walk out after running and lifting weights, my body sore but buzzing.
I've just finished weighted drills—training off-the-ball movement.
I was practicing while using my Tribrid-Vision, pushing my body under pressure.
I forced myself into the weight—so I can adapt to the moment when I face a true speedster.
The feeling is the same:
Knowing exactly what to do, and where to be—
—but the body being too slow to execute.
That's why I train like this.
My body is dripping with sweat.
Then, I see him.
Ness.
He stands there, holding a water bottle.
He hands it to me.
Ness: "I've never seen anyone move like that. The way you play—it's not normal."
I grab the bottle.
"Shhh… don't talk," I say calmly, but cold.
"All I need around me are talented players. If you don't have the drive to surpass me… then I don't need you."
I stare into him. My gaze is cold, sharp, undeniable.
He freezes for a moment. Then I say,
"Continue to evolve that magic of yours. It could surpass even logic one day."
Ness smiles.
I walk away, reach my dorm, take a cold shower.
Steam fogs the mirror. I wipe it with my palm.
I check my phone.
A message from Alina:
"So when will I get to use you as my training dummy? ❤️"
I smirk.
"Well, you'll have to be good enough to use this training dummy. Premium access only, luv. 😈"
Then I scroll through football updates.
There was a game in England.
A new rising star in Liverpool:
Hamzadt Salah.
He's shaking things up.
His speed—his angular shots from the wing, pinpoint and long-range—
He's closing in on Adam Blake.
Commentators are buzzing:
"Who will be the new Goal King of England?"
Then I check Serie A—Italy.
Napoli's new sweeper keeper.
A talented, fearless shot-stopper.
He reads the game like a script.
Cat-like agility.
He ends Juventus' momentum single-handedly.
Snuffy's team and his best friend (name redacted) are shut down.
He reads ball trajectories like he's memorized them.
He intercepts passes before they happen.
He reacts before a striker can even turn.
Keeper's name: Eric Holder.
Another clean sheet.
Another draw stolen from a sure loss.
I notice something deeper:
Napoli's defenders don't chase.
They hold zones.
If the ball breaks the zone—Holder gets it.
He sweeps it up like a lion catching prey.
The moment a winger hesitates—he's there.
It's a level of trust and system play I've never experienced.
To survive in that system…
I would have to change the way I play.
Completely.
I drop my phone.
End of flashback.
Present Day
I now sit in a meditative position.
My breathing slows.
My mind drifts—
I relive all my moments.
The goals.
The improvisations.
All the times I used my body beyond logic.
Thanks to Weight Shift.
But I know the truth.
In the future—this won't work forever.
I will be countered.
Because weight shift relies on timing, speed, and the opponent being in the right position.
If even one part fails…
It'll all collapse.
I'll get caught.
I'll look like a clown.
It can't be done more than once against elite defenders.
They'll study.
They'll adjust.
I need something new.
Something else.
I play a few vids.
And then…
I'm captivated.
There's this player.
He's on the ground…
But—