Julian picked up the ball.
The sunlight beat down on the backyard, heat blooming across the grass.
The ball felt smooth under his fingers—cool at first, then warming quickly in his grip.
And tried his first juggle.
His foot caught it with a light tap.
Another bounce—clumsy, but upward.
It slipped off the side of his foot and shot off into the bushes.
Julian sighed and walked over to retrieve it.
His legs didn’t move like they used to in his past life.
And in this one—they never had.
But now, with a working body and open sky above him—
Even failure felt good.
The way the ball struck his foot.
The slight vibration up his calf.
The thump as it landed near his toes.
Like a spring wind after a long winter.
For a man who had spent two lifetimes sick and dying—
The sun climbed high, then began its slow descent.
The system projected a faint glowing line across the grass—a curved path to follow.
He chased it, weaving awkwardly, stumbling, losing balance.
Again. And again. Until the system chimed completion.
He kicked the ball against a board. It came back at weird angles.
Sometimes too slow. Sometimes too fast.
His footwork was rough. Timing sloppy.
The system projected ten blue circles across a makeshift net.
He missed more than he hit.
But with each reset, he got closer.
More centered. More calculated.
But those eight... meant something.
Julian collapsed into the grass, arms spread wide.
His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
Sweat clung to his skin, cooling in the wind.
His muscles ached. His ankles throbbed.
"I missed this," he thought.
The sting of breathless lungs.
The soreness in his shoulders.
The fire in his calves.
The feeling of pushing past his limits, of doing something with his own strength—
Julian sat in the grass, drenched in sweat, dirt smudged across his arms, chest heaving. He was just about to try juggling again when—
She crossed her arms, standing just a few steps away, a stern look on her face.
"I’m proud of you," she said, tone gentle but firm.
"I really am. You’re trying, you’re fighting, and I love seeing it."
Then her eyes narrowed. "But you just recovered. Are you really going to neglect food ?!"
Her voice sharpened, and her eyes locked onto his with a piercing maternal glare.
Julian scratched the back of his head, sheepish.
"Okay... fair," he mumbled.
Crest raised an eyebrow, clearly satisfied.
"Come on, before you pass out on the lawn."
He followed her into the house, tracking dirt across the floor, still soaked in sweat, not even bothering to shower.
He smelled like death, and he knew it.
But right now, he didn’t care.
Because the scent in the air wasn’t his.
And not just any food—
Laid across the table were steaming plates of grilled chicken, fresh vegetables, fluffy rice, miso soup, sliced fruit, and freshly baked bread.
No plastic wrappers. No fast food grease.
This wasn’t convenience—
Julian sat down like a warrior returning from battle.
He picked up his fork and started eating.
Fast at first. Then slower, savoring every bite.
Each piece of food didn’t just fuel his body—
As he ate, he could feel it:
That faint, glowing thread of soul power, still circulating in his core.
It wasn’t just digestion.
His soul took in the nutrients like heat to steel—
Strengthening bone. Repairing tissue. Sharpening focus.
By the time he finished eating, he didn’t just feel full.
After resting for an hour, Julian returned to the backyard.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light across the grass.
This time, there was only one goal:
He picked up the ball.
Tossed it gently into the air.
The ball hit the ground and rolled away.
1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7...
Too far forward. Off balance.
The ball crashed into the fence.
He lost count of the failures.
But with every attempt, he adjusted.
Position. Timing. Force. Focus.
To most people, it would look like he was slow.
But what they didn’t see—
Was that Julian Ashford had never touched a football before.
This was the beginning of something real.
Every mistake became a lesson.
Every reset was another step forward.
And just as the sun kissed the horizon—
The sky awash with orange and violet—
The ball landed safely in his hands.
Julian collapsed, gasping.
Sweat poured down his face like rain.
His legs wobbled, nearly giving out beneath him.
Juggling: 10 times, uninterrupted
Wall Pass: 10 times, clean return
Dribbling: Follow System path markers
Target Shooting: Hit 10 bullseyes
Julian didn’t hesitate.
Ashi materialized in front of him, floating like a wisp of moonlight.
[Please choose your stat allocation, Host.]
State: Partially Stabilized
➤ [Battlefield Mind] – Passive
You react like a warrior. Movement predictions, pressure reading, and timing enhanced.
➤ [Martial Memory: Lv.0]
Martial techniques will adapt into this world as your body grows.
[Host may repeat this quest daily until Total Stat reaches 70.]
"Okay, Ashi. Thank you."
The notification faded, and the yard fell quiet again.
But Julian didn’t move.
His eyes lingered on the status window—on one skill in particular.
[Martial Memory: Lv.0]
"Still level zero... huh."
Despite all his training, despite the soul power awakening,
the skill hadn’t advanced.
"Martial techniques will adapt into this world..."
A strange description.
No details. No triggers. No active component. Just a line.
"So it’s not about using martial arts directly."
It was about adapting.
Julian smirked slightly, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"A shy skill, huh?" he muttered. "Hiding in the shadows, waiting for something."
He looked down at his hands—hands that once gripped blades, fists that once shattered stone.
Now they fumbled a football.
They’d do more than that soon.