The interface began spinning before his eyes, like a golden roulette. Various icons and style names flashed quickly across the screen:
[Dribble Style] [Power Shot Style] [Number 10 Style] [Finisher Style] [Maestro Style] [Fast Winger Style]
The roulette lights blinked in vibrant shades of blue, gold, and red until, with a dry clicking sound, it slowed down. Kelvin held his breath.
The roulette stopped. The screen glowed intensely with golden letters:
[Style Acquired: Instinctive Dribble]
Kelvin felt a jolt run through his body, a shiver that made every hair stand on end. Suddenly, it was as if something was being uploaded into his nervous system. His legs, feet, and hips trembled with a subtle, restless energy. He hadn’t even noticed that his posture had shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, but enough to feel different. Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡•𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢•𝕟𝕖𝕥
Kelvin let out a short laugh, half disbelieving.
"This is real... I can feel it... - he murmured, flexing his knees, twisting his torso slightly, like testing a new configuration"
The sensation was strange. It was as if he had practiced dribbling for years, but only now did his body truly understand what control meant. It was like a new language had been installed directly into his muscles.
He looked at the ball lying on the ground and suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to test it. With a light flick of his foot, he started to guide the ball across the uneven field. The worn-out soles of his cleats skidded on the poorly maintained grass, but something had changed. The ball felt glued to his feet, as if tethered to him.
He spun his body, feinted one way, then switched to the other. Alone on the pitch. Yet in his mind, he saw defenders, legs reaching for the ball. And as if someone was really there, his body reacted. Instinctively. A hip twist here, a gentle tap there, a minimal shift of direction. The ball followed like a newborn duckling following its mother.
This is... something else. I’ve never moved before, he said, breathing heavily, still in disbelief.
[Style activation allows new progression pathways. From now on, the system will recognize skills related to Dribbling, Ball Control, Reaction Time, and Spatial Awareness.]
Kelvin exhaled, the golden interface slowly fading like magical dust in the air, leaving only the empty field before him. The quiet of the night returned, broken only by the distant sound of a passing car and the gentle rustling of trees in the square. But inside him, nothing was quiet.
His heart still pounded, vibrating with adrenaline. Slowly, he walked to the center of the field, trying to absorb everything that had just happened. The ball remained by his foot. He stopped, raising his gaze to the dark sky. It felt like the universe had answered him, with a path to his dream of becoming a footballer.
A soft notification tone snapped him out of the moment.
[Physical Self-Assessment – Conditioning Report]
Kelvin narrowed his eyes.
"Self-assessment?", he whispered.
A new panel opened in front of him, showing a luminous outline of his body, with multiple colorful bars varying in height and brightness. Each one seemed to represent a specific attribute.
[Analyzing General Physical Condition...]
[Endurance: 4.7 / 10]
[Body Control: 7.1 / 10]
[Flexibility: 5.8 / 10]
[Muscle Recovery: 4.0 / 10]
Kelvin’s eyes widened, impressed by the detail.
"This is like... a medical report mixed with a video game stat sheet"
He was still processing the information when the panel began to close, the lights fading like stars dying in the night sky. The field now looked darker. The breeze a bit colder. A quick glance at his phone confirmed, it was late. Way too late.
He left the ball beside the goalpost and began walking toward the exit. Each step felt calmer now, his muscles in perfect sync.
The streets were nearly deserted. Yellow lampposts cast long shadows over cracked asphalt. Kelvin walked with his head full of thoughts, dribbling sensations, stats, and the taste of evolution.
Arriving at his street, he glanced at the modest houses. His was in the middle, paint peeling, with a dim light glowing in the living room window. He entered quietly, not wanting to wake his mother.
He took off his cleats and placed them beside the door. Without turning on any lights, he walked straight to the cramped bedroom he shared with his younger brother, who, fortunately, wasn’t home that night.
He shut the door and collapsed onto the bed with a deep breath. The day’s exhaustion finally caught up to him.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead and accidentally dropped his phone. Staring at the ceiling, his thoughts swirled. Menus, styles, notifications, still floating like ghosts in his mind.
Turning on his side, he pulled the thin blanket up to his shoulders and closed his eyes.
But before sleep arrived, one last silent notification appeared at the corner of his vision:
[Daily Mission: Successfully Completed]
[Status: Journey Initiated]
Kelvin smiled with his eyes closed.
"Let tomorrow come..."
And as he drifted off, a quiet scene replayed in his memory, his foot guiding the ball through imaginary defenders, his body responding before thought, like music written for only him to dance.
In that moment, even in his dreams, the dribble never stopped. The field extended endlessly. The stars above blinked like the system’s icons.
He dreamed of matches under stadium lights. Of jerseys with his name. Of crowds chanting. Of being more than just a kid from the neighborhood.