Ready to Shine

Chapter 6: Ready to Shine

Lucas Rocha Silva sat cross-legged on his mattress, dawn light filtering through his window, glinting off his Brazil 2002 World Cup trophy replica, his dad's old prize. At 10 years old in 2005 São Paulo, reborn with a man's mind from 2024, his heart thumped with the thrill of his Spark of a Legend quest victory. The Football Prodigy System hummed in his mind, Edinson Cavani's Finishing and Neymar's Flair pulsing in his veins. He closed his eyes, focusing inward to check for a new quest and use the B-grade Vigor Tonic Potion from his rewards. "System, show me what's next, and I'm drinking that potion now," he muttered.

A green glow flared in his vision, the system chiming with a sharp DING!. A small, shimmering vial materialized in his hand, its liquid swirling with faint golden flecks. He uncorked it, the scent sharp and tangy, like crushed herbs mixed with lime. He tipped the vial to his lips, the potion cool and fizzy, bursting on his tongue with a zesty kick, like guaraná soda laced with mint. It warmed his throat, then surged through his chest, his muscles tingling, legs buzzing with new strength. The system blazed:

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[Legacy Quests Update]

Player: Lucas Rocha Silva

System Level: 1 (214/1000 Legacy Points)

Talent Grade: D+

No new quests available. Assessment: Prove your spark on the pitch. The path to greatness demands real-world trials.

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[Item Used: B-grade Vigor Tonic Potion]

Effects:

- Stamina boosted: +5 permanent stamina points

- Physique slightly improved: Enhanced muscle resilience

- Talent Grade increased: D+ --> C

Assessment: Your body surges with new strength. Harness it to dominate.

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Lucas's eyes widened, a wild grin splitting his face. "Talent Grade C? Stamina boost? This is insane!" he shouted, leaping up, fists pumping. His legs felt lighter, muscles tighter, like he could sprint across the favela and strike with power he'd never known. He spun in his room, laughing, heart racing. "I'm built for greatness now!" He grabbed his scuffed football, ready for school, chores, and whatever came next, unaware of the opportunity Tico would soon reveal.

"Lucas! What's with all that noise so early?" his mother called from the kitchen, voice sharp but tired.

"Sorry, Mãe!" he called back, still grinning.

"Don't skip the school and then after school, grab manioc for Dona Clara!"

He nodded, already plotting: school to keep his grades sharp, the errand for stamina, drills to test his new strength. Carla crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "What are you screaming about now?"

He grinned. "Can't a guy be excited to crush the day?" He snatched his schoolbag and bolted out the door.

School buzzed with the clatter of bottle caps skimming across the floor and chairs scraping back from worn desks. In math class, Lucas aced a quiz on fractions, his adult mind slicing through numbers. Senhora Ana handed it back with a nod. "Nice work, Lucas. But stop vanishing during break, yeah?" Her words hit, but he just nodded, keeping it cool his mind was already on what he could do now. At recess, he slipped off to the church lot down the block, a patch of cracked concrete shadowed by peeling walls and rusted goalposts. He worked through step-overs and rainbow flicks, every touch sharper, tighter. His body moved like it finally listened to him.

A few kids gathered along the fence, eyes wide, whispering. "Yo, Lucas got quicker?" "Nah, that's not normal." He heard them, felt their stares, but stayed locked in. Let them talk. He was just getting started.

A DING! sounded, the system chiming:

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[Daily Training Update]

Neymar's Flair, S-rank skill practiced

Skill Mastery: 19%

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"Keep that up and you'll have the whole favela talking!" Tico's voice called from the fruit cart. Lucas stopped the ball and turned. It was Tico the skinny ex-player with the fruit cart. his cap was low, eyes sharp as ever, his cap low, eyes fierce. "There's an open São Paulo FC academy tryout tomorrow near Morumbi, a peneiras. Hundreds of kids show up, but a scout's watching. You've got a shot, if you bring that fire." Lucas's eyes lit up. "For real, Tio? I'm going!" Tico tossed him a mango. "Then stay hungry. Be at the pitch before dawn to register."

After school, Lucas jogged through favela alleys to Dona Clara's, a manioc sack heavy on his shoulder. The errand doubled as training, weaving past vendors grilling meat skewers, radios blaring samba. His potion-boosted stamina held strong, legs barely tiring. Carla trailed, her voice sharp. "You're acting different, Lucas." He laughed, "Feeling alive, sis." She scowled, unconvinced.

At home, Lucas found his mother at the kitchen table, mending a shirt. He took a deep breath, excitement bubbling. "Mamãe, Tico told me about an open São Paulo FC tryout tomorrow near Morumbi, a peneiras. Anyone can show up, and a scout's there. Can I go? I know I can shine." Her hands stilled, brow creasing. "Lucas, you're just ten. That's a big crowd, a tough place." He leaned in, fierce. "I've been training hard, Mamãe. My body's stronger now. This is my shot." She sighed, eyes softening. "Alright, but I'm coming with you. You're still my child." Lucas grinned, hugging her. "Thanks, Mamãe! You'll see me make it."

A few days later, Lucas woke with fire in his chest tryout day. He'd honed his skills daily, juggling in the church lot, drilling shots at a tire stack, his new physique making every move sharper. He'd dodged Senhora Ana's glares and Carla's probing questions. The favela thrummed with market bustle, vendors shouting, kids chasing stray balls. His mother, in her best dress, grabbed her bag and a packed lunch. "Let's go, Lucas. Stay focused." He nodded, heart pounding, clutching his clean jersey and scuffed football.

They stepped out into the favela's morning chaos, the air thick with roasting coffee and samba from a neighbor's radio. Lucas weaved through alleys, his mother keeping pace, her eyes scanning the crowd. They reached the bus stop, where a rickety bus idled, its engine rattling. Lucas's legs buzzed with potion-fueled energy, but he stayed calm, helping his mother board. The bus lurched through São Paulo's streets, past fruit carts, graffiti-covered walls, and kids playing with makeshift goals. His mother gripped her bag, her voice low. "You sure about this, Lucas? It's a big step." He nodded, firm. "I'm ready, Mamãe. I feel it."

The bus rumbled toward Morumbi, the stadium's silhouette looming in the distance. Lucas's heart raced, picturing the pitch, the crowd, the scout. He glanced at his mother, her worry softened by a flicker of pride. "You'll do fine, Lucas" she said, squeezing his hand. He grinned, "Thanks for coming, Mamãe." The bus slowed, brakes squealing, as they neared the São Paulo FC training ground, a gritty facility with faded signs. Lucas spotted a swarm of kids and parents milling outside, the air electric with chatter and nerves.

They stepped off, dust kicking up under their feet. Lucas's mother adjusted her dress, scanning the crowd. Lucas clutched his football, his potion-boosted body humming, Neymar's Flair and Edinson Cavani's Finishing ready to ignite. The tryout loomed a brutal peneira where hundreds would battle just for a scout's attention. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment his chance to shine, the first step toward greatness. With his mother's trust and Tico's challenge fueling him, he'd step onto that pitch, ready to turn his dream into reality.